ANATOMY OF A GOLF HOLE

Written by Joel Zuckerman

subject I return to again and again in this space is the capricious nature of golf. For recreational players, it’s not month-to-month, round-to-round or even hole-to-hole. Much of the time it’s shot-to-shot. Allow me to illustrate the point by dissecting a most interesting hole I played recently with one of my good golf buddies Rob.

The scene: A 380-yard par 4. I smack an extremely solid drive down the center stripe, the ball coming to rest adjacent to the 150 marker. (Yes, I realize a 230 yard drive is nothing to do handstands about, but it is hot and humid in mid-summer, the air is thick, we exist at zero elevation, the course is perpetually soggy, and hey, I just ain’t that good to begin with!) Rob counters with a “toe job,” it has a nice little draw, but only travels about 180 yards in total. (Hey, he just ain’t that good to begin with!) Advantage: Joel.

He compliments my tee ball from 50 yards in arrears. I mutter “all it does is put pressure on the approach.” He then uncorks a superb 5-wood from 200 yards that runs onto the green, stopping perhaps 20 feet below the hole. I choose a 5-iron, as the pin is tucked back left, and there is a hurting breeze. I yank the ball horrifically left of the target, into a cavernous greenside bunker. I have ten yards of sand to cover, then an additional ten yards of rough and green to the flag. Advantage: Rob.

Although my bunker play can only be categorized as mystifying, I manage to extricate my offending orb cleanly. It arcs out of the bunker, over the rough, onto the green and comes to rest some 15 feet from the hole. All in all it was a beautiful execution. Rob, eager to capitalize on his magnificent approach shot, runs the birdie bid some four feet past the hole. We both lay three, although he’s just outside of “gimme” range. Advantage: Rob.

I improbably run in the 15 foot putt, completing an up and down that seemed virtually hopeless. Rob, as he did time and time again that afternoon, watched dejectedly as his putt grazed the rim but refused to fall. Advantage: Joel.

To recap: I was solid, then atrocious, then was clutch, then was lucky/skillful/triumphant. Rob was weak, then Rob was admirable, then he was overly bold, then he was shaky/dejected/mortified. An entire mini-drama played out over fifteen minutes time and taking nine shots in total. (Four for me, five for him, in case math isn’t your best subject.) Then it was off to the next tee, where an entirely new set of highs, lows and in-betweens awaited us both, the prior hole destined to recede and then disappear into the memory banks of a lifetime of mostly average golf shots. (Of course this cursory reminiscence insures that the ebb and flow of this one little slice of the golf life will exist in perpetuity.)

Isn’t the game grand?