Weather or Not to Play

The anxiety kept me awake through much of the night. Sleep was fitful and unsatisfying. My mind kept replaying the possibilities. What would happen if I made the wrong decision?

It is a thankless task being the unofficial commissioner of my golf group. Not only do I have to send out countless reminders to some members of this troupe to let me know if they are to participate in this week's latest debacle on the links, but I am also the designated weatherman for early morning determinations if rain, sleet or snow will keep us from our appointed rounds.

Much of the calculus is based on my state of mind. Forget the hourly recitation from the meteorological source, or even the 15 minute version for the particularly obsessed. Discount the percentage likelihood that at 8AM we are 40% likely to be with umbrellas raised, while at 9AM we should have respite from the storm. Know only that it is early in the season, hope still springs eternal, and my last 18 holes were relatively successful. In that context, comes the conclusion on the impact of the inclemency.

This past Wednesday, a similar dilemma presented itself. The morning was punctuated with bursts of heavy precipitation. But when my friend called to discuss options, I considered most heavily the possibility that my game was about to come into focus.

That afternoon, as only light rain descended by the third hole and I had hit the first two greens in regulation, I applauded my tenacity. By the fifth hole, when the club felt like a slippery eel in my hands and streams cascaded across the green, I reconsidered the wisdom of my earlier decision.

It is not a good thing when your pants are so wet from stem to stern that it is impossible to tell whether you had just been standing in a downpour, or dived into a lake. And it is certainly not the optimum condition to return to work and be unable to sit down in a chair for the balance of the afternoon due to the squishy discomfort serving as constant reminder of how stupid one person can be.

So, you can understand the trepidation coursing through my body as I press send on the email that will impact not only my day, but those under my watch. Rest assured that with the first club that flies from the inadequate grasp, or the first rain that drips from the brim of a soaked hat and dribbles across a cheek, my name will be coupled with an unprintable verb, adverb or adjective. It is not easy being king.