After missing them last weekend, I managed to track down Ralph and Bob Saturday. We played both Saturday and Sunday afternoons.
A gregarious 70-year-old, Ralph was only a once in a while player, then he retired and became a full-time player. Like me, he's a bit of hack. That makes us a good pair in the shared misery sense if nothing else. His normal routine seems to be playing nine holes in the early afternoon, going home and coming back for another nine in the evening six days a week. As such, he's sort of like the mayor of Miami Shores and knows just about every regular there. The one strike against him is that he's a bit slow. He'll stand over his ball and waggle in slow motion, take the club back equally slow and just when you think it will never happen, whips the club down and through.
Unlike us, Bob is a player. Appearing to be in his late 50s or early 60s, Bob plays from the tips and is in the fairway so much that you'd think he'd get bored. He had more birdies and pars than bogeys and I doubt he had more than a single double.
For myself, it was two rounds up to the new normal standards of hacking, a 94 and a 96. It was the usual suspects that did the most damage, driver and wedge. I was really pleased with how well I hit my 5W and irons. Those kept saving par a possibility on a lot of holes until my regretful short game scuttled that. Then there were a couple of blow-up holes to boot. The worst of the lot was No. 9 on Sunday. My tee shot on this longish par 4 was a freak slice that almost looked like it spun backwards towards the end of its sad, short flight. Then I misjudged a punch shot under a tree branch. The shot stayed under the tree branch ok, but I clobbered it through the fairway and into the junk. When the smoke cleared, it was the dreaded snowman on the scorecard.
My game isn't ready for prime time yet, but it looks like I got some guys I can play with from time to time. That's a start.