Living On Island Time

Rum-inations On A Lifetime Of Lousy Shots.

VISUALIZE A PLASTIC BAG of a size comparable to that with which you’d outfit a typical kitchen trash bin. Now imagine that bag filled with ganja, and you have a solid idea of what was once, many years ago, offered to me by a young entrepreneur who emerged from the trees while I was doing irreparable damage to a golf course in Jamaica. I was thinking of that round recently, because it featured the most humiliating single stroke I’ve ever played— and brother, that is saying something.

Swings that have rendered me humble were on my mind because in less than 10 days I would tee it up for the first time in roughly 10 years, and I was wondering, give or take, how bad it might be. For the record, I am not someone who has played a handful of rounds over the years and claims to be a serious golfer. I started playing regularly when I was nine years old, and hung up my sticks at the end of the season the year I turned 44. I’m not entirely sure why I stopped playing, I just did.

Now, for some quick, rough math: If I estimate conservatively that I played 30 rounds per year for 35 years, with an average score of 80 (which is probably a few tap-ins low, but I prefer zaftig figures when doing complex equations), that leaves us at 84,000 strokes played in 1,050 rounds. Compared to many players I know, those numbers are small beer. However, even if you aren’t a CPA, they reveal ample opportunity for my wife’s favorite idiot to underperform, hence selection of the godawful isn’t easy.