Banana Balls and the Blue Dreads
Yes. I've been away from these halls of iniquity and pain for some time now, due to my foray into the corn-laden country of the state of Iowa in order that I might meet up with 7 old friends. A golf weekend was planned, which had been preceded by much braggadocious e-mail extolling the can of golf whup-ass this or that fellow was about to open up upon this or that, or in some cases all, other(s).
The day of the outing dawned blue and hot. I found myself, before I knew what hit me, pushing my ball and tee into the earth prior to taking a stance and attempting to address club to ball. What resulted from my ill-gotten swing was a tee shot that swung hard arcing right, well into what is known as severe rough and/or 'jail' depending upon who you confer with upon such things. And no matter what corrections I attempted to assimilate, the following tee shots all resembled the first. The corresponding scores were not satisfactory, to say the least. Have you ever tried executing a precision 5-iron power draw when you are somewhat snookered by a rather leafy linden tree? The chances are small that your effort will be successful. And all the while, you are thinking back to days of straight tee balls and very little clover, when your modus operandi was mostly fairways and greens. Alas, the flash of youth that once clove you to the straight and narrow had been replaced by the infirmities of age.
Likewise, the trepidation with which you interacted with all your old friends. Once we smelled the flowers, but now we ask the price of the land. My apologies to Peart! So much conversation wasted upon material pursuits. But then again I am in no position to fault them, seeing as how I am the CEO of TQR capital industries and want for nothing. However, the lurid twisting of my guts could also be attributed to the fact I was too long away from the familiar confines and disapprobation of my loving wife and son. Both excuses used here may have some validity. But it is of no consequence and all I can do is give the facts of my existence these past few days I spent back in my boyhood land or origin. Friday night, after my initial failure at an old game I once played quite well, I found myself lying awake in my hotel bed with what can only be described as night terrors. What was I doing here, and why again? Was death not waiting down these misguided corridors wherein I found myself? Following me, as it had, all the days of my life. What use in utility if you cannot bring yourself to forget this ultimate exigency. Get on with it, and fucking stop whining!
Now. Here I am again. Please, read TQR. Thank you for the ramble.
The day of the outing dawned blue and hot. I found myself, before I knew what hit me, pushing my ball and tee into the earth prior to taking a stance and attempting to address club to ball. What resulted from my ill-gotten swing was a tee shot that swung hard arcing right, well into what is known as severe rough and/or 'jail' depending upon who you confer with upon such things. And no matter what corrections I attempted to assimilate, the following tee shots all resembled the first. The corresponding scores were not satisfactory, to say the least. Have you ever tried executing a precision 5-iron power draw when you are somewhat snookered by a rather leafy linden tree? The chances are small that your effort will be successful. And all the while, you are thinking back to days of straight tee balls and very little clover, when your modus operandi was mostly fairways and greens. Alas, the flash of youth that once clove you to the straight and narrow had been replaced by the infirmities of age.
Likewise, the trepidation with which you interacted with all your old friends. Once we smelled the flowers, but now we ask the price of the land. My apologies to Peart! So much conversation wasted upon material pursuits. But then again I am in no position to fault them, seeing as how I am the CEO of TQR capital industries and want for nothing. However, the lurid twisting of my guts could also be attributed to the fact I was too long away from the familiar confines and disapprobation of my loving wife and son. Both excuses used here may have some validity. But it is of no consequence and all I can do is give the facts of my existence these past few days I spent back in my boyhood land or origin. Friday night, after my initial failure at an old game I once played quite well, I found myself lying awake in my hotel bed with what can only be described as night terrors. What was I doing here, and why again? Was death not waiting down these misguided corridors wherein I found myself? Following me, as it had, all the days of my life. What use in utility if you cannot bring yourself to forget this ultimate exigency. Get on with it, and fucking stop whining!
Now. Here I am again. Please, read TQR. Thank you for the ramble.
posted by Theodore Q. Rorschalk at
12:04 PM
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