Improving My Lie

I committed perjury today.  And I state, without fear of contradiction, that I will transgress many more times in the coming months. I am, after all, a golfer.

My score is truly only an approximation of what I would wish for in the best of circumstances. When no errant tee shots stare at me from the wrong side of those white stakes when the lies in the rough are all fluffy when the 3 foot putts all decide to come to rest at the bottom of the cup when Jupiter and Mars are actually aligned.

If success in baseball is getting a hit 3 times out of ten, then the measure of my  greatness in golf is only in how much cheating is required.  The perjury scale is comprised of all the do-overs the gimmes the sun was in my eye you sneezed I lost my concentration or my contact lens moments that occur during the course of any given 18 holes.

Today was a relatively light day for me. I never had to rely on my back just tightened up I was at the doctor earlier this week and got some distressing news I can't feel my fingers or my toes. I did require the obligatory multiple drives let's count the best one on one tee, and I did adjust every lie in the fairway or rough at each opportunity but I am sure no one noticed so it doesn't really matter (the tree falling in the forest theory) and in my universe that is almost perfection. And I don't think I forgot how to count on all my fingers except maybe on that one hole where the out of bounds marker had no right to be placed where it was.

It must be something to be one of those players who is truly capable and need not utilize deception and sleight of hand to be able to fill a scorecard with birdies and pars, nor rely on I really wasn't trying to make that putt which I was sure you were going to tell me was good I would have given it to you to discover your best of times. What must it feel like when skill rather than inside the leather is the answer to the question?

Can it always be the fault of the caddy (when one is fortunate enough to have an assistant along) for misreading the line or handing you the wrong club? Can there ever be an instance where the damage was not created by the spike mark in the green or the failure of the idiot who came before you to properly rake the trap?

It is only the beginning of April and the start of what will once more prove to be endless opportunities to be creative, if not with my swing, then at least with my pencil. Who needs lessons when one can make numbers dance on a page?