I can’t golf under pressure and that fact, in and of itself, makes me puke in my mouth. Sometimes, I hit shots that can’t be explained. Last year, I hit a tee shot in front of people that I drove straight into the ground with the sole of my new Titleist driver. Then, the ball actually bounced backwards, spun in place like Scooby and Shaggy running from a monster then slowly rolled forward between my feet. At first, I thought someone had rolled a ball there, because I was looking out in the fairway, where I thought my ball had gone.

When I go out with friends, I can play to my handicap. But throw my boss on the first tee and suddenly I’m bouncing heel shots off the damn tee markers. Jesus, it’s depressing. I don’t think I can take the fact that I might not have the guts for the game. If golf reveals character, mine is the kind you don’t want to loan money to.

What else can explain an 82 on a day when I’m accompanied by two beer-drinking sots followed by three scores in the low 100s just because I’m playing a money match for ten bucks a hole?

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