The Back Nine...

Thank you for being here... My life can be, perty frequently, boring - so, deducting you must be too! Anyways, thanks.

I was returning an email to my first cousin. She'd returned an email to me thanking me for Birthday wishes (70-something, but who's counting!)- and she related a story where she'd gone to her grandson's little league game - the team won convincingly... after the game, instead of heading to leftfield for their normal 'talk', they headed toward the grandstand, piped out singing "Happy Birthday" to her, then awarded her the game ball.. How cool was that?!"

I closed my email to her with, "playing a lot of golf.. Monday thru Friday in fact, walking 18 holes (a small par 3 course).." and "you'd think TWO things would happen.. One) I'd get better at golf (I ain't) and Two) I'd work somea this damn fat off my belly (I ain't)"...

Fast forward to 8:20am this morning. I was walking up the 9th fairway, found a brand spankin' new ball (a "Bridgestone") hidden under some mowed grass.. pocketed it, and the plan was to put it in onea those 'ball washer' thingies once I got to the back nine.

In golf, the back nine is kinda like starting over.. a do over.. a second chance.. I'd shot 2 strokes more than what I'd hoped on the front nine, SO, the back nine was my second chance.

In life, you can't go back, nope - but, mebbe it can be considered 'the back nine' from this day forward. Will we make similar mistakes? Oh sure, but there ain't nuttin' wrong with hope, a pumped up attitude and positive thinking. Yes, all the damn strokes add up to 'make life', your score, the summation - but you get my drift, it's like filling up the gas tank, yippie, let's go!

So, I turned the handle on the ball washer thingy, scrubbing the new ball clean, wiping all the grass, dirt off. Damnit darnit, as I pulled it from the thingy, I noticed (on the other side of 'Bridgestone') "LADY". Symbolic, probably, and that's nuttin' derogatory toward women golfers, cause I've had my lunch handed to me many times by some fine lady golfers. Victor, shut up, we get your point.

So, I tucked Lady in my pocket, teed off a different ball on #10, all is good, life is good, pep in my step, "DO BETTER DANGIT VICTOR"... I'll try.

Long about the 12th hole I remembered I always use a 7 iron here, I always hit it short right (You don't get better without instruction and I've learned my head is hard, or at least a woman or four have relayed that info to me.) So, I hit my 7 iron, and damnit darnit, it was short right. The pep in my step quickly went to poop, I yanked Lady outta my pocket, told golf "I'll show you", opened my stance, hit a sweet shot onto the middle of the green. It didn't/couldn't count, you don't get mulligans, and besides, God was watching me write my scores down... but, it felt good, thank you Lady.

Played 13, got to 14, it's a tad longer.. wanted to use Lady, then I remembered there was tall grass around the hole, and yesterday I'd played a hole with tall grass, couldn't find my ball.. three kind fellows waiting to tee off assisted me and one of them found my ball. So.. I pictured the same happening, dude picking this one up, laughing and yelling "HA, LADY!"... so, I played a different ball.

#16. Pond staring at me just on the other side of the tee off, plush green ahead - short, recently mowed grass all around. Not all that long ago, the pond woulda skeered me, but with fair regularity of late I've been getting over it, and in fact hitting close to or on the green. Thus, "Lady.. you're on." I teed her up, WHAM... damnit darnit I lifted my head, I topped the ball (which means it barely gets off the ground) straight to the pond it went, but lo and behold, 'she' had such force it SKIPPED across and actually rolled pretty close to the hole. I found this symbolic of all the help I've received from "Lady"(s) in my life. Meals cooked, clothes washed, encouraging words, etc., and of late, rides to and from surgery. Thank you Lady, ladies.

#17. Wind in my face. Pond behind the hole this time. So, I used a 'club up' (one that I would normally hit into the pond, but since the wind was in my face, I chanced it hoping it wouldn't go as far.) "Come on Lady, do your thing." She did, high and mighty, and right into the damn pond. Story of my life, "Lady leaves here, on this date." Ha.

Played #18, totaled my card. In spite of paring #18, two over plan on the back nine too - again mebbe symbolic, sometimes second chances can be butchered. (I typed "parring" but the guy inside my computer underlined it in red, so I guess it's "Paring", that just don't look right. Wish the Birthday girl, my English teaching cousin were here for guidance.)

As has become fashion, I sat atop a shady mound just beyond the 18th, to give thanks, say a prayer. YOU VICTOR? Yes, me Victor. Ya turn around, there's the beauty. The green, the trees, the water, the deep blue sky.. the nice people encountered (Lil gal that picks up trash on the course had seen me hit Lady into the water.. drove up, "Here, I found these (golf balls) today and I sawya hit that one in the water.").. so, included her in my prayers.. and even the two most recent Ladies the bid me adieu. And, EVEN my ex. No Victor, not her, yes.. her. She's a good person too.

See how boring my life is and you're still here, ha!

Down the Interstate, "home here I come." My "Front nine" radio station is talk radio. I love love love the afternoon folks. I can't stand the specific laughs of the two morning folks (eh, I'm sure good people, they just ain't for me) so - I switched to my old people's rock station. "Can't You See" by Marshall Tucker blaring, hell to the yes. I know the words are sad, but dadgum, the beat, gets me up.. and the flute, yum. Long song. People passing me, hearing it blared, seeing a Senior Citizen with it cranked, so I sneered and gave em a "Bite me, I coulda been at Woodstock" look.

THEN, "Another Brick in The Wall", another LONG song, great beat, fun, again, cranked. Thinking to myself the disc jockey has either got diarrhea or he's a chain smoker, anyways, enjoyed rocking to the exit ramp. "If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding.. How can you have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat?"

The exit ramp. Filled. The traffic, my little ole hometown. "Who the hell are all these people? We usedta wave at every other car." Oh well.

Home. Thought, thanked The Back Nine, second chances, God, Lady(s), golf, life - all.

Tomorrow is another day, the Good Lord willing.

By Henry Gibson,

Love, Victurd.