More golf. Deal with it.

So I went out to West Broad to the driving range out there to knock some of the rust off my swing. Came right off! Then it got down into the machinery and really screwed things up.

Imagine my surprise to learn that I’m now a hooker.

There will now be a brief pause for the golf-unaware to snigger.

Anyway, I’m sure my friends who know what a hooker in golf is will offer me their condolences. The really hardcore golfers out there can offer me congratulations, because unlike a slice, a hook is curable. So, sure, the ball is way ugly way left now instead of way right, but way left (for a right hander) is not a terminal condition.

Seven iron on down are pure magic. Too bad there’s no tour for executive courses only.

So, I’m working in Portsmouth tomorrow. My directions from home are: turn right on High Street. Stay there. When you get to Portsmouth about 90 miles later, turn left on Fourth Street. If it was any more a straight line, and but for the curvature of the earth, I could see it from here.

Par Three competition tomorrow at Augusta. Always good for a few aces, and of course the legend that the Par Three winner never goes on to win the tournament.

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