June 26, 2017

I like this…

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 06:55 | Comments (0)
June 25, 2017

Days until the 2017 Goodboys Invitational: 27
Location: Trilogy Golf at Power Ranch
Score: 44 / 52 = 96
Handicap: 23.7 / Trend: 23.9 (+.02)

Would have been a great day for some David Lee Roth out at Trilogy Golf Club at Power Ranch, because crazy from the heat did we get. It was already 105 at 9:30 AM when we teed off, by the time we finished in a tidy 3:15, it was 115. And not a whiff of a breeze out there to move the air around. Definitely the hottest conditions I’ve ever played in out here, tho’ still not as brutal as that day on Goodboys Friday at The Ledges in York, Maine where it hit 105 degrees with humidity. Comparing today like that day in 2013 is like comparing the steam room and the sauna at the Wynn Las Vegas Spa – different kinds of heat, neither suitable for playing golf.

But with just 27 days remaining until Goodboys Invitational weekend I gotta play, so me and my playing partner for the day, Ryan (a 13-handicap, he) kept pushing the fluids to stay hydrated and got the round in and done without getting hurt or getting heat stroke. But it was hot: so hot, in fact, that beside the par 5 7th, in the shade of a large Palo Verde, a family of thirteen – count ‘em, thirteen – rabbits, everything from adults to young ‘uns, just lay there in the open trying to stay cool, not even moving a muscle when we sauntered up to the tee just yards away from them. Wish I had a pic, but that would have meant walking back to the cart to grab my camera. Believe me, there was no extra walking if we didn’t have to.

On to the golf. Obviously if you make the turn – any turn – in 44 you’ve doing something right, but I was scrambling out there because of my driver. One of my take-aways from today’s round is that I have to do a better job of hitting my driver once I get a few holes in. I can feel it starting to slip away from me: my swing gets a little longer, I start pushing the ball out to the left, and by the tenth hole I’m missing fairways entirely. But for that opening nine, my ball-striking was the best it has been all year (thanks Matthew!), and while I missed two putts less than two feet in length, I also made a magnificent (and lucky!) birdie on the par 3 8th out of the sand – on a downhill lie, no less, that came out silky, hit the stick, and dropped into the cup. The short game giveth, the short game taketh away.

It was on the back nine that I started to get sloppy. Maybe it was the heat, but I didn’t help things with some questionable course management decisions. I gave up the prospect of a certain bogey on #10 by pulling my 3-hybrid from 190 yards away (given the hole and the angle a 3/4 5-iron would have been more than enough), but I wanted to hit my hybrids as much as possible today and it was an opportunity. I caught it good and the last time we saw my orange ball it was rocketing its way over the restrooms well left and beyond. Triple-bogey seven. On #12, knowing I was pushing my driver I should have aimed left of the fairway, but there’s a road on the other side of the fence I didn’t want to take a chance with, so my big push left disappeared into the dirt and brush by an adjoining subdivision. Could we have found it? Probably, but in New England that ball was OB in the woods. A couple of sloppy recovery shots and a two-putt, and that was another triple-bogey seven. Fortunately, the par 3s (bogey, par) and the par 5s (par, bogey) kept my back nine from going completely off the rails. Another big push on the par 4 #16 (#1 handicap hole) and more sloppy play (including a shanked 9-iron) led to a third triple-bogey, and a quad bogey on #18 after finding the fairway (including a whiffed 5-iron) led to a 52 that could have been even worse were it not for my short game.

There’s a lot of good I can take away from today’s round – 12 holes bogey or better, 33 putts, much better ball-striking with my irons. I even hit two really solid 5-woods that helped me par and bogey two of the par 5s (needed to see that, fer shure). But looking ahead to Goodboys weekend I’ve got to tighten my game up once I start getting deeper into the round. By the back nine I was falling back into bad habits: over-swinging, playing the ball too far forward, etc., so my work this coming week and my next planned round at Stonecreek Golf Club will be focused on staying within myself. I need to learn to slow down and take more practice swings until I feel exactly the swing I want to make, then replicate it – especially when I’m on the tee. Stonecreek will pose a sterner test than Trilogy, so reigning my excesses in will definitely be needed.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 02:43 | Comments (0)
June 24, 2017

Not quite what the Tradewinds sang about, but you get the idea. Yep, that’s the view of the Kokopelli Golf Club driving range, looking from the far right-hand side of the range to the first fairway. It was 11:30 AM on a Friday, the sun was shining bright, the temperature was hovering around 106, and I felt like I was a member of a very exclusive golf club where I was the only member as I walked out onto the range. It doesn’t get a whole lot better than that, does it?

It’s my fourth time out in a week to try and nail down the incorporation of Matthew’s “Five-Minute Fix” into all the work I’ve put in since I got my new clubs six weeks ago. Am I 100% there yet? No. Do I feel as if I’m striking the ball better and more consistently than I ever have? Yes. Will it all translate to the course? I’ll tell y’all after my round at Trilogy Power Ranch tomorrow. The high is supposed to be around 115, and I’m going off at 9:30 AM, so hopefully I’ll be off the course by the time the witching hours of 2 PM and beyond come in. I will say I feel very confident about the changes that I’ve made with a lot of hard work, self-assessment, and, of course, Matthew’s tip. I’m still going to scull or shank the occasional ball, but the key is that when I do so, I know what I did wrong and can fix it pretty damned quickly.

My work on the 5-wood and the 3- and 4- hybrids continues to come along. Just trying not to over-swing and shift my weight with these clubs is so important, and still a work in progress, but I’m not going to play defensively: they either get the job done when they’re called upon or they don’t. But I guarantee you they will get their chance, fer shure.

Hard to believe that one month from today the 2017 Goodboys Invitational weekend will be history, the twelve Goodboys who have spent the last three months or so e-mailing and yukking it up in gleeful anticipation all scattered to the four winds like late autumn leaves. My clubs will find their normal place in the back corner of the garage until the fall, and I’ll go back to my normal routine – there’s lots to do around the house and the backyard.

Until that time, however, I’ll just focus on continuing to get my swing in order. There’s lots of golf to be played in the next month, and I’ll be playing at least once a week until I head back to Massachusetts for the third week in July. This weekend it’s Trilogy at Power Ranch, next weekend it will be Stonecreek Golf Club in Phoenix, with its ponds and gazillion sand traps. The Friday after that it will be back to Lone Tree Golf Club, and finally, two days before I head east, the traditional send-off at the quirky and always-tough Superstition Springs Golf Club. I have a feeling that by that time I’ll have a pretty damned good idea of where my game stands, and I think I’ll be ready. If not, well, let’s not talk like that, keep focusing on the progress I’ve been making. Sooner or later it will translate in scoring – you watch.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 02:47 | Comments (0)
June 23, 2017

Every picture tells a story:

You first.

Class act.

Heroes work.

Classic surf.

Very cute, but evil.


One can only hope.

Napkin math:

[Jon] Ossoff raised $23.6 million to make a symbolic run against President Trump, most of it from Marin County, California and Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts. Running the numbers, Democrats might have been better off considering that same amount would have bought 855,072 school lunches (at $2.76 each); 236,000 elementary school textbooks (at $100 each) or even 956 Priuses (at $24,685 each).

Max Weber said that the purpose of a bureaucracy is to maintain or expand its own power. Who cares about children, education or the environment when there’s power to be grabbed? Either that, or Democrats just aren’t very good with numbers.

And they most certainly liberals don’t give a sh*t about anything else except exerting and maintaining their power. They’re beyond reprehensible. (Hat tip: Instapundit)

World gone mad.

Monster vote in Georgia.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:41 | Comments (0)
June 22, 2017

Hat tip: Mark Simone

Hey liberals, I forget – why weren’t you fifty points ahead? Indeed.

I don’t care, President Trump, bring it on. I’m still not tired of all the winning.

Filed in: Politics & World Events by The Great White Shank at 03:39 | Comments (0)
June 21, 2017

Poor Jon Ossoff, the pajama boy candidate Democrats from all over poured massive amounts of dough-re-mi into in the hope they’d finally have something to crow about in their ongoing resistance to Donald Trump’s presidency. Turns out not even the mainstream media and Hollywood show-biz elites could stop him from getting smoked in Georgia’s 6th Congressional District special election.

As it turns out, Ossoff appears to have suffered from the same affliction Hillary Clinton did: the more voters got to know him and see him, the less they liked him. Take a look at this chart of the vote shift between the first April 18 election and July 20th’s. Never mind the fact that pajama boy didn’t even live in the district and couldn’t even vote for himself because of it – he was the Dems boy who would lead their journey out of the political wilderness they’ve found themselves in since Donald Trump’s election.

Sooner or later, Democrats and liberals are just going to have to accept the fact that not only is Donald Trump President, he will be for another 3 1/2 years. Moan about it all you want. Groan about it all you want. Proclaim yourself the “resistance” all you want. The fact is, Democrats need to take a long, hard look at what their party has become. A party that stands for nothing beyond the obstruction of Donald Trump’s agenda for working Americans. A party who stands for larger and more intrusive government. A party who believes in greater taxation, unfettered illegal immigration, and waging war on average Americans using race, culture, gender, and every other kind of social injustice they can gin up as a way to tear us apart instead of uniting us.

How’s that working out for ya?

Most Americans between the coasts have come to realize that the Democratic Party, their operatives in the mainstream media, and the liberal/progressive agenda they espouse have become a joke. They’re nothing but a bunch of losers (and sore losers at that) pushing a loser agenda who can’t accept the fact that their crappy candidate lost a presidential election to the likes of Donald J. Trump. Donald J. Trump!

The Democrats are now 0-4 in special elections. And Democrats can hem and haw all they want about pajama boy’s loss, but this little political race was a referendum on Donald Trump’s presidency. Karen Handel might have won the seat, but the biggest winner of the night was President Trump. And you know what that makes them? Losers. In the words of Boston’s iconic radio talk-host, Howie Carr: their agony is my joy.

Oh, and the biggest losers as far as this election goes? CNN. Can you say, constipation?

Filed in: Politics & World Events by The Great White Shank at 03:20 | Comments (0)
June 20, 2017

Not only the longest day of the year, but out here in Phoenix likely the hottest as well. Just before I posted this at 3:30 PM, as you can see our backyard patio (in the shade) it showed 119.

It was already 108 when I hit the driving range for a large bucket at 11 AM. And it wasn’t just hot, it felt a little humid as well. By the time I was through it was 112 and I was a sweat-drenched rag from top to bottom. Taking a dip in our 90-degree pool felt pretty refreshing when I got home, I can tell you that!

And “Matthew’s Five-Minute Fix” continues to pay dividends. Ball-striking wise, it was my best range session in a long time. Not my personal best – I still remember one large bucket a couple of years ago where everything I hit was a beautiful controlled draw; not sure what I was doing right then, it never reappeared again. But right now I’m very pleased. I’m planning another session on Friday ahead of playing a round somewhere on Saturday. I’ll try and ride this wave as long as it lasts.

I’ve been saying all along that once all the investigations are done it will be shown that Donald Trump would have won at least 4 or 5 more states had it not been for all the illegal voting that undoubtedly happened. If this happened in 2008, you know damned well it was just as bad or worse in 2016. Between the Trump initiatives on illegal immigration and national election voter fraud, expect the Democrats to have even more of an uphill climb in 2020. If they can’t cheat, they can’t win.

Good luck with your new vocation, Colin Kaepernick. Hope you’re a damned better Social Justice Activist than you were a quarterback. At least no one will be able to accuse you as a SJA of throwing a ball like a girl.

…and speaking of troubled athletes, didn’t I tell y’all this was gonna happen? I’m still confused by one thing: what was he doing out there at 3 AM if he was taking such powerful pain meds? Something isn’t making sense. But the truth will eventually come out.

A hero in every sense of the word. May he rest in peace.

The Red Sox aren’t going to go far this year with the infield depth they currently have. The Josh Rutledges and Deven Merreros of the world just ain’t gonna cut it. Given that even with that lack of depth they once again sent Pablo Sandoval to the DL makes me hope we’ve somehow seen the last of “Fat Pig”. What a waste of money…

Never mind just how bad a candidate Hillary Clinton was. How the Democrats lost a completely-winnable 2016 election all wrapped up in a single post. It would be a must-read for every Democrat strategist out there, but that train left the station a long time ago and it ain’t never coming back.

You can’t have it be the longest day of the year and the start of summer without a bitchin’ surf band performance with Fender guitars and a hot chick bassist. With shoes that match her skirt, no less. :-)

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 15:34 | Comments (0)
June 19, 2017

I’m at the driving range at Kokopelli Golf Club, ten minutes from my house. It’s a bright, sunny late Saturday morning, the temperature already hovering around 100 degrees, and there’s just me and another guy four spots down hitting balls.

The goal of my session was to try and figure something out with my hybrids and my 5-wood. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’d hit them miserably during my round at Lone Tree, and I was determined to at least get to the bottom of the problem if not fix it altogether.

I wasn’t making a whole lot of progress. The 4-hybrid, in particular, was abysmal. I tried playing the ball forward in my stance, back in my stance, in the middle of my stance. Didn’t make any difference. I tried choking down on the 5-wood, playing that in the middle of my stance, then forward in my stance. Didn’t matter – just when I thought I’d found something, it seemed I’d scull the next two balls. Thin hits. Deep-trench fat hits. It was all weight shift, I knew – or at least I thought I knew – but I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. After one particularly ugly swing, I slammed the club on the ground then cursed myself.

The guy who was out there with me didn’t believe in taking his time between balls. I was probably halfway through my bucket when I saw him heading back into the pro shop to have his bucket refilled again. I’d already seen him hitting balls out there by himself as I walked from the parking lot into the pro shop, then I passed him as I walked out with my bucket, he walking inside to get his bucket refilled.

It was getting hot, so I set my club down, grabbed my towel, wiped my face, drank out of my bottle of water.

“You’re not keeping your ‘V’s, mate!”

I look up and see the guy who was hitting balls walking towards me.

“Your ‘V’s are breaking down, mate. I can see it from where I’m hitting.”

Now (at least in my mind) there’s an etiquette out on the driving range that I would never, ever consider breaking. As far as I’m concerned, you keep to your own shit no matter what else is happening around you. I’m not a great golfer by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve seen beginners hitting balls next or near to me, flailing away hopelessly, and even though I know I could help them with a simple recommendation, I would never consider invading their space. To me that would not just be improper, but rude. I mean, who do I think I am, David Leadbetter?

But here he is, David Leadbetter, or someone who looks like a dead ringer for him, walking towards me. He certainly looked the part: tall, sunglasses, wide-brimmed straw hat (it wasn’t Callaway), that Aussie accent and him calling me mate. Were there other people there I think I would have handled it differently. But since we were the only ones out there, I resisted the urge to say, “Thanks for your concern, podna, but you’re not exactly lighting it up out there yourself from what I can see. If you had, I doubt you’d be on your third large bucket, correctamundo?” Instead, I decided to allow him some of my space.

“I can see why you’re struggling, mate. It’s your ‘V’s. They’re breaking down. Here, let me show you.”

He demonstrates his swing to me, tries to show what it is I’m doing wrong.

“Y’see, if you’re not keeping your ‘V’s, then that makes it tougher to stay on top of the ball. If you’re not staying on top of the ball, then it’s much harder to transfer your weight from back to front. And it’s damned near impossible to make consistent contact with the ball. Let me demonstrate…”

He took one of my balls – I started to raise my hand in protest – but he was on a roll now. “See, this is what you’re doing…”

He takes a swing with his hybrid and stripes it down the middle, 190 yards.

“…well, in this case I guess I made up for it. But what you want to do…” He takes another of my balls, then takes a couple of practice swings “is this…”

He drubs one down the middle about thirty yards.

“OK, well that wasn’t so good.” He then takes another ball of mine and hooks one into the far left side of the range, just next to the first fairway. He then goes into a long spiel about his swing from the ground up, then from the top down. Tells me he used to be a boxer in Melbourne, and that he learned his weight transfer from learning how to throw punches.

“But you have to always be careful not to over-swing. Even if you’re keeping your ‘V’s it won’t make any difference if you over-swing. I’m tellin’ ya mate, you keep your ‘V’s and don’t over-swing you’ll be fine.”

While he’s talking I’m only half-listening, drinking from my water bottle. He’s tall and sun-burnt. When he smiles he has what looks like a gold or wooden tooth in the front. I reach out my hand, ask him his name.

“It’s Matthew, mate.”

I ask him why he’s hitting his third large bucket on such a hot day, and he tells me he’s working on a move where, at the top of his swing, he then turns the shaft slightly to closed before starting his downswing.

“I’m already getting ten more yards with that move.”

I thank him for his time, tell him I’ll definitely take a look at my ‘V’s.

Matthew goes back, yanks his next shot way left into the first fairway. I pick up my towel, wipe my face, take another sip of water. I grab my 5-wood, put the ball slightly forward in my stance, then focus only on keeping my ‘V’s and shortening my swing. Clean contact. The ball takes off like a rocket, 180 yards or so down the middle of the my make-believe fairway. I drop another ball, same thing. Drop a third ball down, same thing.

I look at Matthew, give him a thumbs up. He smiles, drops another ball and hits a big push into the netting separating the driving range from the putting green and chipping area.

It would make for a great story if I said that every ball I hit thereafter was striped down the middle. They weren’t. But I’m guessing the ratio was 70/30 good hits and sculls. And even with the sculls I could immediately feel that I had strayed from the program. I went back in, got a small bucket and started working my hybrids into the same program. Again, 70/30 decent shots to crap sandwich.

Halfway through my bucket, Matthew grabbed his now-empty large bucket and headed for the pro shop.

I went out on Sunday with just my hybrids and 5-wood, this time at the Papago Golf Club range. Different day, different range, different conditions, little bit hotter. I followed Matthew’s advice to the ‘T’ and found myself hitting the same ratio of solid hits to poor hits – something like 70/30. More importantly, I committed myself to two very simple, easy to understand swing thoughts: keep my ‘V’s and don’t over-swing. The idea being, if I do that everything else will fall into place all by itself. Thanks to Matthew, I’m starting to gain confidence in clubs that, just a little more than a day earlier, I had zero confidence in.

Sitting in the cool, dark Mexican restaurant over a margarita afterwards, I thought back to Saturday. I had finished my small bucket, and the heat was really starting to come on. Walking back to my car, I stopped and turned around to look in time to see Matthew, the only soul in sight, stripe a hybrid down the middle, then yank the next one into the first fairway.

Matthew may not be David Leadbetter, may not even be a good golfer, but as a golf instructor he’s good enough for me.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 01:50 | Comments (0)
June 18, 2017

It was one year ago today that my mom passed away. I look back on the days preceding her passing and the week that followed and it all seems so unreal. It’s not like you can ever prepare for something like that happening (and to be truthful, compared to others who have had to witness one of their parents withering away with cancer or just fading away from view due to Alzheimer’s, I know we as a family had it about as best as anyone could rightly expect), you just have to go through it. True, my mom had had a rough 3-4 months at the very end, but she was under great care from family members and health care providers during that time, and she still had her wits about her to the end.

We should all end up so fortunate.

It was two days before she passed away that I was awoken by her care manager at the rehab facility. We were to discussing her status and (I thought) her treatment plan when she asked me when I was planning our next visit. I told her our intent was to get back around the first of July so we could be there for my parents anniversary on the 4th. I could feel the blood drain from my face when she said, “I think it needs to be sooner than that. Much sooner.”

“Like how much sooner?”, I asked.
“As soon as you can.”

Well, that was that. I called Mom at the rehab place, spoke to her for only a few minutes. She sounded kinda groggy and tired, but as was her way she didn’t want us to be bothered making the trip out there just for her. We were at the airport Saturday morning when I got a text that the family had been called to her bedside, so it became a question of whether we’d get there on time. I think we would have just made it had our rental car at the Logan Airport facility not been delayed by 45 minutes. Instead, we got there about 20 minutes or so after she had passed.

The following week was the most stress I’d ever felt myself under in my life. To me, it was all about keeping my mom’s wishes regarding her arrangements. She wanted it simple: no wake, a simple funeral, but in the end you’re just trying to compromise and keep everyone reasonably happy and things within reason, and I felt I did pretty damned well under the circumstances. The day we flew back to Arizona, a week after her passing, Tracey and I nursed Bloody Marys at the Legal Seafood at Logan Airport; my brain was like cotton candy, my nerves frayed to the quick, and the world around me out of focus like a shimmering fog.

It wasn’t until a month later when, in the midst of my Goodboys friends on the first day of the Goodboys Invitational weekend, a shanked 7-iron triggered an emotional breakdown that left me a blubbering puddle of goo that lasted the better part of the day. Being the Goodboys they are, my friends were cool about it and understood. I guess it just took being in a safe place and surrounded by friends that my body felt it could finally let go of the stress. It took a while longer for me to come to grips with her passing and start to make peace with the events that surrounded it.

To be truthful, I’m not there yet.

All in all it’s been a sad year. Having all the anniversaries, occasions, and holidays where I’d expect to either hear from Mom or call her just roll by one day after another is something that has to be handled. As to be expected, my dad had it rough at the start and it took him several months to (in his own words) get his bearings, but he’s come through the other side of it and is doing great. I’m so proud of him.

I look back on Mom’s death as the ending of an era, the final chapter of a book whose epilogue is still being written by everyone who knew her, loved her, and miss her. For me, her passing has changed the way I look at everything, although I can’t say exactly in what way. I still feel in my spirit a void that will never go away. But along with that sense of loss there’s also a feeling of gratitude that I was able to have her along for the first six decades of my life. Not everyone can say that, that’s for sure! In the end, all you can do is offer up thanks for having known someone so caring, so loving, and so wise for so long.

I go on. The family goes on. But it’s all different now. You simply can’t have someone who held the fabric of two families together through her life, love, and personality depart and not expect things to be different once she’s gone. That’s just life and the way things go. I think about her a lot, wonder what she’d think or have to say about the various events that have taken place in everyone’s lives since her passing. She had a wisdom and a way of putting things in context that can never be replaced – not in my life, not in the lives of those she loved and those who loved her.

That’s just the way it is.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 16:43 | Comments (2)
June 17, 2017

Days until the 2017 Goodboys Invitational: 35
Location: Lone Tree Golf Club
Score: 50 / 53 = 103
Handicap: 23.7 / Trend: 23.7 (no change)

It’s a good thing I’ve got more than a month to go before Goodboys Invitational weekend because it’s clear that, while I’ve been working harder on my game and my swing than I ever have, I’m not seeing the kind of progress I would have expected to see at this point.

When I last played Lone Tree Golf Club a year ago, I shot 87, my lowest round ever. Now I wasn’t expecting to shoot another 87 this time out (there are too many things I’m working on), but a 103 is still pretty disappointing. Right now I just can’t seem to put good shots and good holes together. I’m having to do way too much scrambling out there, my hybrids and my 5-wood are absolutely killing me, and I just can’t get comfortable with the yardages and my new Steelhead XR irons.

A look at the raw numbers tells the story: I hit ten fairways today, yet played those holes fifteen over par and hit only one green in regulation. That’s just not getting the job done. The course played almost 6,500 yards, so there were some long par 4s, but that doesn’t excuse one quad and two triple bogeys. Granted, had I been trying to shoot as low a score as possible I would have left the 5-wood and the hybrids in the bag, but I’ve got to learn to hit them sooner or later. I thought I’d been baking progress at the range with them, but they killed me today. My putting improved a little bit (35 putts, six less than the last time out), and those ten fairways hit showed my recent work with my weight transfer is starting to pay off with the driver. I also did a better job out of the sand today than I have been doing, so that bucket of balls I hit solely out of the sand last weekend helped out.

My biggest issue continues to involve my iron play: the way I’m hitting them at the range still hasn’t translated to playing real golf. Today it seemed I was always “in between” and questioning my club choice, and then I started jumping at the ball and yanking them on the last four holes. I realize that between trying to change years of bad habits out there and breaking in new irons I’m not going to see results overnight – especially when I’m playing one time a week at the most, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating.

There’s a big difference between hitting balls and scoring, and right now the scoring part is eluding me in a big way. I’m not giving myself any chances at making par right now, and as long as that’s happening one can’t expect to shoot a good score. All I can do is keep working at it and have faith that sooner or later all the work is gonna pay off. The improvement I’m seeing right now may be only incremental, but improvement it is – I’m not lost out there like I was at times last year: when I make a bad shot I know what I did wrong, and when I make a good shot I know what I did right. The 5-wood and the hybrids remain a mystery but I will figure them out sooner or later – hopefully sooner.

With the big heat coming on there won’t be much of a chance for hitting balls next week. I’ve still got four rounds of golf planned before I head back to Massachusetts for Goodboys Invitational week, and then I plan on playing at least twice before Goodboys, so there is still time, but for right now all I seem to be doing is treading water.

Filed in: Golf Quest by The Great White Shank at 01:07 | Comments (0)


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