Two Things From Yesterday
Against my better judgment, I went golfing yesterday. The friend of a friend was having a low-key bachelor party, and my friend was in charge of getting a group together. They needed people, so I agreed to join in their bastardized skins/scramble game. This was a bad idea, and I knew it. You see, I’ve only golfed (not counting putt-putt) one other time in my life, and that was six years ago. Add to this the fact that I have no inherent athletic ability–any skill I have in sports comes from nothing more than insane amounts of repetition. Then, just for fun, throw in my ultra-competitive nature and my tendency to scream and throw things when I get angry, and you start to see why this was such a bad idea.
The round went much as expected. I managed to put four balls in a row into a pond that was 45 degrees to my right. Probably about a third of my tee shots ended up on the fairway of another hole, and about another third ended up rolling thirty feet in front of me before stopping. The remainder did something else–something that almost never involved going straight and a reasonable distance. I missed three- and four-foot putts like it was my job. The only reason I am able to return my brother’s golf clubs intact is that there was someone worse than me in my group. Lucky draw, that one.
Later that evening, I got to see the end of Mike Tyson’s career. My friend and I tuned in at the start of the fifth round of the Tyson-McBride fight, just in time to see Tyson get knocked around, head-butt McBride and try to break his arm, get pushed down at the end of the sixth round, and give up after he got back to his corner. The part of the fight I saw looked terrible. Tyson looked out of shape and slow. I don’t see him fighting any more–or, I don’t see people caring any more, at least.
It was an interesting day.
September 3rd, 2005 at 10:00 pm
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poker The feminine mystique has succeeded in burying millions of American women alive.
October 10th, 2005 at 7:53 pm
forex trading
forex trading Bear away that summing-up fenestra, and hang him up at the singable sign-post : Craster, when I am in male-ass, I