So I have things to tell. So I have a place to tell them. So I've had things get in the way of said telling. It's this that I come to tell.
Well, not really.
So this weekend I went to Atlanta for the Lenora league thing on Friday, which was cool again (we had 28 players, which I'm pretty happy with). Then I went to my parents for the weekend, figuring I'd be the devoted son for mothers day and all that (not that I'm not the devoted son the rest of the year, mind you...). So on Saturday we decide to go out to Oregon Park to play a round or two and get ready for our Sunday trip to Oregon where we had grandiose plans to hit an ace or two and collect the nice fat ace pool. I suggest that, since it looks like it would be me, Todd, and Brett going, that I'd like to play them singles against doubles. Well, let's just say that Todd had great doubts about my ability to beat 'em ("No chance"). Turns out my dad went with us, so we played singles.
We ran into Mike Dammes and played with him, but nobody really shot well. I was at -3 or something equally awful, while both Brett and Todd were +3, I think, which is just dire on that course. Actually I guess Mike shot -6 or so, which isn't embarrassing. So we take a quick Dairy Queen break.
This was going to be a parenthetical aside (as opposed to my traditional pathetic aside) but I think it's gonna be a bit long, so it gets its own paragraph. There are lots of price variations between dairy queens and this is one of the more expensive ones. Thing is, not only is it more expensive, but the cup sizes are shifted down one level (for instance, I believe the "normal" DQ medium milkshake is 20 ounces, it's that tall skinny cup, but here it was the short squat 16 ounce size). So we're at the counter and I'm gonna get a cone and a coke or something and Todd gets, well, just that. So the kid behind the counter comes out with the smallest, wormiest looking cone I've ever seen. So I mention that it's not exactly gargantuan and order a milkshake to avoid just that fate. Well, it turns out I get a midget milkshake, too, but it's all good, we retreat to a table to watch it rain and dine in, ahem, royal splendor. So as we're leaving Todd goes up to the counter to get a refill on his coke and the kid goes back, gets a cone, fills it nicely and brings it to Todd saying, "Sorry about that last one." Heh-heh-heh.
Ahem, but I digress. Which, really, is ok since I told you that's what it was gonna be.
So we head back to the park and decide to play doubles, me and my dad against Todd and Brett. I start off throwing very well, as does Todd. We cruise along for a bit with both of us parking each hole. Dad would make our 15 foot putt and all were happy. After 9 holes we were at -6 and I think Todd and Brett were at -5. Well, suffice to say we ended up at -13 and Todd and Brett were at -8. Dad made one putt longer than 15 feet, about a 25 footer, and every drive was mine (dad putted first on every hole), so I'm taking the reasonable (if not quite rock solid) stance that I shot a -13 by myself and beat the doubting Todders by a whopping 5 shots.
Very satisfying. And this is the last time you'll hear about it.
So anyway, we went out for doubles the next day and I played with Andy and Brett played with the guy that runs the doubles whose name I've forgotten. We shot a -12, Ryan's team and Brad Hammock's team tied at -16, so we picked up 3rd place cash and were pretty happy (and surprised).
You know, I swear I had more to say than this but I really can't remember it right now. Maybe I'll come back and write more later. Who knows?