As I always say, the scorecard doesn’t lie.

51 + 61 = 112. As it will always be.

If you had told me going into my round at The Crossings at Carlsbad in beautiful Carlsbad, California – one of the loveliest tracks I’ve ever played – that I’d go 1 over on the par 3s, hit nine fairways, and play eight holes at bogey or less including two pars, I’d tell you I’d shot somewhere between 95 and 99. But you throw in among the two pars and a bogey on the back nine two 8s, two 9s and a ten, and make a whopping 42 putts and you know there’s still trouble in River City.

Clearly, something had to change, and the first thing was my putting stance, which got thrown out the window forever after three-putting for the third time of the round – you simply can’t be banging your head against a wall over and over again expecting something different to happen. The next thing getting tossed is the putter itself – Tracey was the one making that suggestion after seeing how the blade isn’t level to the ground when I putt.

What’s truly sad is the fact I’ve never hit my irons better, and I’m still going backwards. The last three rounds I’ve played at 107, 112, and 112 is simply unacceptable for the amount of work I’ve put in. This weekend it will be back to basics and lots of hours put in putting with a as-yet-to-be-determined putter to start finding a way to play solidly from tee to green.