My new dog, Lady (hey, I didn't name her and besides, her real name is Youngblood's Lady of Dixie so I count myself fortunate not to have her answer to Dixie) decided she wanted to go see the vet today. See, last night she strolls up to me, jumps up on my desk, shoves around some papers, and taps out in Morse code with her really long paw-nails .. - / .. ... / -- -.-- / ..-. --- -. -.. . ... - / .-- .. ... .... no, wait, sorry, you don't speak Morse, she said It is my fondest wish to be spayed tomorrow. Who am I to deny a lady, ahem, a Lady her dearest dream? So I made the arrangements, a little bit sad to see the days of all the juvenile delinquent guy dogs gathered outside my apartment, sad to see the blood drops on my (admittedly already destroyed) carpet, sad to -- well, it's just a tender moment when a parent sees his daughter reach menopause (hey, cut me some slack, willya?). So I drop her off and notice that it's 50 degrees and sunny out, party time, methinks, so I scoot up Ga72 towards Elberton.
Amazingly enough, it's still sunny when I get there so I stretch out, warm up a bit, and pull out a scorecard. Scorecard? You ask? Yup, I'm playing Forehand-Doug against Backhand-Doug. Which isn't entirely new for me, except today I'm playing Forehand-Doug Worst Shot against Backhand-Doug Worst Shot. That is, assuming Worst Shot is the one where you have to make both putts. If it's not, then I played Tough Shot.
First hole, three and change downhill, open on the left, trees on the right, I usually throw a forehand here (in fact, I usually throw forehands on the first five holes at RBRussell) so I figure Mr. Forehand has the advantage. He does, Mr. F parks his first shot and leaves his second about 40 feet short (both pretty good for me), Mr. B steps up, confident, and proceeds to turn over a Roc directly into the trees. Did I mention the huge headwind? Lucky for me I threw the second Roc directly into the trees, as well. Well, Mr. B came up big on the upshots (no, I mean, BIG, not good) and carded a 5 on the first hole.
I started getting into the rhythm of the match, it was a lot of throws and I changed my forehand grip after the first hole because it hurt too much, and after the front nine Mr. F was leading by a shot. (Oh, just to mention, the forehand guy didn't have to putt forehand, I sorta figured I'm out there for the practice and lord knows I need to practice my regular putts as much as possible)
So going into the locker room at halftime I get in Mr. B's face and give him a pretty good pep talk, you know, You call yourself a man? No, well, a hand? Uhmm, no, a throwing style? Nevermind. Just go out there and kick that forehand weenie's butt. Dammit. Seriously pumped up, he goes out and turns over one of the two or three worst drives ever thrown by human hands. It's good to know that some things never change.
So I make my way through the back nine, I play hole 12 really well, par for both players on a tough hole (easy pars, at that). To follow that up, on hole 13 I throw a brand new Flying Eye MRX into the lake and proceed to lose a brand new Flying Eye X-Clone in, essentially, an open field. Wonderful. But I have two birdies and on each the other player parred, and at one point Mr. Backhand had to hit two forehand putts for the birdie (and did, amazingly enough), all of which was cool enough to make the day feel like a success, despite shooting +10 and +13 (Backhand won, making a late charge, in no small part to losing two of my better forehand discs on hole 13).
On the whole, a great way to spend a couple hours. To quote Ferris Bueller, If you have the means, I highly recommend partaking.