Monday, March 21, 2011


Pitchers have a tough job, they have to protect the plate by throwing either with skill (ala Greg Maddux) or with fear (ala Nuke Laloosh). Protecting the plate with fear meant you had to throw the ball at the batter so he doesn't crowd the plate...sometimes hitting the batter in the process (hit by pitch HBP)...which can lead to all-out war between the two teams with usually the pitcher getting the worst of it.

Golf does not have this problem. Golfers spray balls all over the public courses and in golf tournaments. If it lands on a persons head or grazes their be it..."I yelled four!" is the challenging the hitter of ball, just a "I'm sorry my face got in the way of your ball" apology from the hitee.

This happened to me yesterday. Beautiful day...looking forward to the first day of hitting the links...oh, let me back up...I sprained my ankle 6 months ago, which left me confined to light walking and no running, nothing...except mostly watching other people do this.

So there I am...ankle feels great, I'm hitting the ball solid...except for a handful of bad shots... the cause of mental errors (which I poo-poo because after all I am getting older).
Coming up the 5th fairway, I'm ahead of the other players that are about 50 yards behind me (admittedly a mistake...did I mention mental errors?). So there I am, off to the side in the rough, waiting for the other players' shots...when..out of nowhere the hitter cranks a sidewinder that's heat-seeking straight for me! This is a Texas-sized worm-burner with a slight curve (like you see at the bottom of some of those Tequila shots) and there I am, posing with a deer-in-headlights stillness...well except for my brain, which was saying "MOVE!"

Luckily, I had just gotten my new prescription sunglasses, and I could tell with precision that the coming scud-like ball was going to graze one of my ankles...I leapt with uncanny ability...the last time I jumped I was 165, my healed ankle did not ascertain that I now was 175...therefore it was a low jump...the ball whizzed by my right ankle, and nailed the fatty part of my left heel.

I don't know if it was shock or awe...but the hitter comes up to me and says "did it hit your pants"...what?! "Yes it hit may pants...and my leg that was...yes this sounds crazy...IN my pants".

wow, brushed-back in can happen.

To make a long story incredibly would have been worse if it weren't for the fact that I played the next 3 holes under par, and I was bought a nice brandy after the round by the hitter.

In the end, I don't ask for much. Just a nice day...good friends to play golf with...

...and a wider fairway.

Thanks for reading. Keep it in the short-grass,


1 comment:

Dan said...

That's a funny post. Which is the fat part of your heel?