So there I am, outside on a 98-degree night and skimming an endless layer of small yellow leaves off the water of the pool (registering 92 degrees, BTW) courtesy of my neighbor’s tree on the other side of the wall – and all of a sudden I feel it. Very strange and unexpected.

The itch.

I mean, it’s only been a little over two weeks since Goodboys Invitational weekend (it already feels as if it were a month ago) and upon my return to Arizona I felt absolutely z-e-r-o inclination to pick up my clubs for a long, long time. Oh, I gave them a good wash to make them spankin’ clean for whenever the next time came they would be used, but the bag was cleaned out, all the pockets opened up, and the gloves laid out carefully so they wouldn’t dry out and crunch up during my self-imposed 3-4 months sabbatical until the next “itch” came.

Wrong.

Perhaps the itch originated when I saw the final handicaps coming out of Goodboys weekend, where I’m now tied with “Possum” Shepter at 26.1; it kinda got me fired up to think that, as bad as I played on Saturday and Sunday, my 94 on Friday helped even things out a tad and put me in a great position to “Pass the Possum” and position myself solidly in tenth place on the Goodboys handicap index. More likely, I think that I’ve come out of Goodboys weekend knowing I’m a helluva lot better golfer than I showed during that weekend and its time to let my numbers do the talking.

I’ve already decided my next outing will be back at Superstition Springs – for me it’s the traditional start and end of my golf season; the only question is when. I look in my golf bag and see one – one pathetic orange ball, so perhaps it’s time to go back to traditional white. But I’m not quite ready to just dive in; I’d like at least one range session at the Kokopelli G.C. range before I kick another golf season off.

But I sure feel the itch.

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Oh, and there’s a beautiful half-moon above turning the swimming pool into all different colors of deep aqua. Hence, my choice for the tune of the day.