Thursdays are match days.  We at Fort Belvoir are members of the Northern Virginia Retired Mens Golf Association.  So almost every Thursday starting in late March and running through September, we play a golf match with one of the Northern Virginia country clubs.

I start getting ready on Wednesday.  I assemble all my gear (clubs, bag, shoes, etc.) and put it in the trunk of my car.  Two years ago, I arrived at the golf club without my clubs.  So now, I do it on Wednesday.

This Wednesday was out of sync.  We had a crew spring cleaning our yard.  I had both cars parked in the street so they could dump mulch in the driveway.  The clean up went well, but as they were leaving, I went down the back steps to make sure the gates were closed.  I didn’t make it.  I was pretty close to the bottom when I started falling.  This may sound stupid, but I believe there is an art in falling and not getting hurt.  I consider myself a master.

On this occasion, I was out of control.  But still I was twisting and turning.  When I finally bottomed out, I had scraped my head, shoulder, elbow, knee and butt; not necessarily in that order.  I lay there for about a minute gathering myself.  When I finally got up, I assumed my golfing stance and took a practice swing.  I may have been hurting, but if I could swing a club, then all was well.  All was well.  Another bullet had been dodged.  Following orders, I dutifully sprayed Bactine all over my body.

The next morning at 7:30, I marched out of my house for my 9:00 match.  My car would not start.  The battery was dead as a door nail.  I raced back upstairs.  Carole was getting a permanent at noon time, but she told me I could take her car.  She would hitch a ride with a neighbor.  I went back to the garage to move my clubs from my car to hers.  Then I realized that with my keyless 2009 Infiniti, if the battery is dead, you can’t open the trunk.  My clubs, my shoes, my golfing glasses were locked in the trunk.  I climbed into the backseat with a flashlight.  I knew there was a hole about the center arm rest.  I found the hole, but could do nothing with it.

Carole suggested finding my starter cables and jump starting the car.  Great idea.  After searching for ten minutes, I concluded that my starter cables were in the trunk with my golf clubs.

Carole then reminded me that I had a lot of extra clubs in the basement.  Another great idea.  I called my team Captain, Peter Huhn, and told him I would miss the 8:00 check in time, but I would be there for the match.

In the basement I found my Ping G-2 driver and my Ping nickel ISI irons.  I was happy with those clubs.  The grips were a little slick, but who cares.  I had three putters and selected two of them.  Then, I decided to take only one so as to be decisive.  I selected an old reliable Acushnet Bulls-Eye putter.  My problem was fairway woods.  As I bought new fairway woods, I gave my old ones to my son, Paul.  The only clubs I had were 1970 vintage.  These were not metal woods, but wood woods with persimmon heads.  The 3 and 5 wood heads looked tiny and the shafts were stiff as iron rods.  But that was my fate.

I made it to the club with 35 minutes to spare.  I saved time by not putting on golf shoes, or changing glasses because I had none.  I raced out to the driving range to get accustomed to the clubs.  The driver worked.  Nothing else was comfortable.  Then I went to the putting green and nothing worked.  My regular putter is a Scotty Cameron mallet head and has some weight in it.  The old Bulls-Eye was exactly the opposite.  What a dummy!

I don’t think you are up to a hole by hole accounting of my round.  I would love to tell you I had a great round, but I didn’t.  I would have had a decent round if it hadn’t have been for the putter.  I missed at least six three to five foot putts.  Toward the end, on a par 3, I had a straight three-foot putt for a par.  I tried hitting it cross handed (I was desperate).  I was on line, but left the three-foot putt short.

When the dust settled, Fort Belvoir had beaten the previously undefeated International Country Club 27-9.  My partner, Art Brill, thanks to his great play, and I, defeated our opponents 2-1.

When you have a bad round, it is important to have an excuse.  I had many.  But if it hadn’t been for this experience, I might never have learned how to hit a knock-down driver shot.

When I got home, I found out that Tiger Woods shot a 42 on the first nine of the Players Championship and then withdrew citing knee and Achilles injuries.  Karma’s a bitch.

Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com