Golf is a funny game. It should be easy, right? The ball is just sitting there. You have a flat grooved blade on the end of a stick to hit it with. There are no other golfers out there playing defense. Like I said, it should be easy. However, some of the terms used to describe the game are frustrating, maddening, mind boggling, and many other expletives not suitable for this blog. You probably know them all, and have used a few, if you play.
Saturday is my sister Mary’s birthday. On July 25, 1955 our mother Taffy gave birth to a healthy and beautiful baby girl. All was right with the world. That gave my parents four kids, two boys and two girls, and they had artfully spaced out the births to make things easier around the house for my mom, who had to handle nearly everything for as much as eight or nine months a year when my dad was gone to play, coach, or manage baseball. Each child was three or four years separated in terms of birth order. Del Jr., Rick, Cindy, and Mary. It was all good.
I’ve always been known as an optimist. As a matter of true fact, after my former roomie Lance McCord introduced me to Barbara he told her, “Bob is the most optimistic person I know.” I’m not sure I’m really all that, but I’ve rarely been a pessimist. I guess I’d describe myself as a guy who tries to see the positive side of life, and strives to get there, but at the root of it I’m also a realist. Of all the chances I’ve taken in my life, and those of you who have read my book “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” know all about that “plow forward” mentality, I never really took any of those leaps unless I thought there was at least a chance for it to work out well. When I can see the brick wall and know there’s no way around or over it, I’m a realist.
I’ve always been known as an optimist. As a matter of true fact, after my former roomie Lance McCord introduced me to Barbara he told her, “Bob is the most optimistic person I know.” I’m not sure I’m really all that, but I’ve rarely been a pessimist. I guess I’d describe myself as a guy […]