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The good, the bad and the bogey
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So three college buddies and an Alaskan decide to play a round at the local golf course.

Sounds like the exposition of a joke doesn’t it?

It would take a long time for a proper, accurate telling of what happened Thursday, and the punch-line would be a number – my score.

My truck was in the shop, costing me many fishing trips worth of dollars, so Danny had to pick me up after I rode my bike home from work. I dug out my lucky golf shirt I bought from American Eagle in 2000, sprayed on some SPF 50 that expired in 2009 and we were on our way.

I shot an 86. It is not at all respectable once I divulge the details.

At the turn I was 12-over, and we didn’t play the ninth hole because of the epically slow four-some in front of us.

The new app I downloaded that afternoon to keep score calculated I hit 17 percent of the fairways on the front eight. I like the app, because I actually hit 16.666666 percent but it rounded to help with my self-esteem. I lost two balls, put one in the sand and it took me 18 putts to finish off those eight holes.

However, I did par the eight, which I saw as a turnaround. I don’t play with any consistency anymore and being self taught my bad-habits are engrained, but after that par, I knew things would get better. We skipped 10 too and started our back eight that ended up being a back five because of daylight.

After a double-bogey things got really exciting. See if you can follow me as I describe the 12th hole using non-golf descriptions to articulate how awful things were.

I popped out to the pitcher off the tee, then went swimming. From there I clubbed a stellar croquet shot 20 feet. I played golf again for one swing to get me on the green, then did some nifty puck-handling before sinking a crowd-pleasing 9.

My new golf app does not have a color assigned for scores that are five over the recommended per-hole goal. Purple is the color for double-bogeys. I got one of those on the lucky 13th hole. On 14 I did a regular old bogey which warranted a fist pump. With the sun graciously setting, we had to skip 15 and 16. I kept my regular-bogey streak alive on 17 and ended the day with a triple on 18.

Danny drove me home and I sat in my recliner to debrief. I shot a 38 on the back six. That’s 6.3 shots per hole. If I only played one hole, I would have been paying almost a dollar per shot for the evening special. Those fools that chase birdies would be paying more than twice that.

That kind of mathematical reasoning would make me a good politician.

You know what I think? I think those scratch golfers are the rich, golfing-elite, so they can afford and should pay more per hole. Maybe that could be my political platform along with my bureaucratic math.

Vote Lund for Congress!!! I’ll get your golf game subsidized by the government!!!

The thing is, I am too competitive not to care. I’m not one of those guys that uses lack of skill as an excuse to not take it seriously. I try. I expect the ball to go straight...ish and to card a score below 100.

I think all those golf balls hit into the ocean back home lulled me into a false sense of security. The goal there is to hit the water. It’s big and it’s to the front, left and right of where we hit, so no matter which direction I decide to curve my ball, I’d be successful.

But I guess that’s like getting an 11th place ribbon.