CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA | Being a man of Medicare age, I find that there are certain perceived advantages to being old enough to have watched the Beatles on “The Ed Sullivan Show” when it happened.
One of those senior moments happened recently during a one-day pro-am at my golf club where, because my age is the same as a very good opening-round score in most PGA Tour events, I was allowed to play from what I will describe as the forward tees.
As in, way forward.
As in, I didn’t know we had tees in some of those places.
One thing didn’t change from the super-short tees: I’m still as good as anyone at telling my cart partner that I’ll just grab a wedge and a putter and meet him at the green after yanking, chunking or flaring another approach shot.
And, given the advantage of playing a 5,400-yard course – nearly 1,000 yards shorter than I often play – you might think it would be more fun than free-beer night at the ballpark.
Funny thing about golf, at least the way I play it, is that it didn’t turn out that way.
I didn’t shoot my highest score of the year, but it was close. Didn’t have more than a 9-iron into any of the par-3s and never managed to par any of the shortest of the short holes.
Want to hear about both fairways I hit in regulation?
Didn’t think so.
At least I mastered the art of hitting it above the hole on firm, rolled greens running about 11 with enough slope in spots to qualify as foothills.
It had started so well. Lost my opening tee shot in the Bermuda rough that has turned every missed fairway into an Easter egg hunt thanks to what our superintendent said is really good fertilizer that has worked really well this year.
A friend just turned 65 and was only half joking when he said he can move up a set of tees now.
A word of advice: Be careful what you wish for.
Ron Green Jr.