July 13, 2018

Seems like it was yesterday, stuck in the grunge of “The Client Who Shall Remain Nameless”, and the Goodboys all wondering about where we are going to play, how much will it cost, who is my partner, who will tuck me into bed at night, etc. etc. etc. I’ve melted down couple-two-three times, hurt my back, saw Arizona winter turn into summer, saw the monsoon season come in, then hurt my back again. The calendar doesn’t care. As Jimmy Buffett sang, “the days drift by, they don’t have names.” I’ve been trying like hell to get my last “Client Who Shall Remain Nameless” deliverable done, but things keep getting in the way and what was December is now July and not just July, but Goodboys July, and I’ll be heading to the airport in, like, two hours and there’s still so much to do.

The golf clubs are packed. The orange balls of Arizona golf have been swapped out for brand spankin’ new white Callaway Supersofts. The Hawaiian shirts are all hanging by the suitcase, the golf shorts picked out by Tracey to make the loudest statement possible. If you can’t play well, then look good doing it.

I feel really good about my golf game. I love my TaylorMade M2 irons, and as good as I thought my game was going into last year’s Goodboys Invitational weekend, I feel like my golf game is light years ahead of that. Most certainly, my “situational awareness” is better and my strategy of sticking with the “three principles” – 3/4 swing, keeping my lower body quiet, finish up on my back big toe” – is a great strategy that only The Great White Shank can torpedo if he lets what lies between his ears get in the way.

The back is a big concern, though. I’ve been taking some muscle relaxants that seem to work really good, but if it’s Goodboys week I’ve got to play. I’ve got five rounds in the next nine days scheduled, and the back has to hold up. After that, I don’t care. I’ll hit the gym when I get back and just work on my back muscles to ensure this doesn’t happen again.

There’s a sense of change in the air. My dad really wants to transition away from the apartment he and Mom shared for the past ten years and he has lived in for the 2+ years since Mom passed away. Hard to believe it’s been that long, but the calendar doesn’t lie. To me, Goodboys is really the mid-point of the year. When Goodboys weekend is over, my New England bones start thinking about fall (even though summer here in the Valley of the Sun still has more than 2 1/2 months to go. I have a weekend in Vegas planned for December where I want to repeat almost to the minute everything I did last year before I got that text while driving back to Phoenix from that dick-head that started the whole descent into madness that to a lesser extent is still going on. As if creating an alternate universe will make things better. Oh well, at least the stress and the slurring of words is gone, and I can sleep most nights without dreaming about work.

Well, I gotta take a shower and finish packing. See y’all in the Eastern Time Zone.

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 20:02 | Comments Off on Heading East
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