"Moderns" Musings

I'm scheduled to play in a two-man team scramble tournament later this morning, not a hickory event, but using my "moderns". That's the term by which the really cool hickory golfers refer to their non-hickory clubs. (I haven't yet achieved that level of coolness, but I am learning the lingo!) While there's a question as to whether the tournament is a "GO" today, due to the almost unceasing rain that's been drenching our local courses, all the same I am wide awake at 4:00 a.m. Why? Oh, just the usual weird dream before any kind of competitive golf event, you know the type...everything goes sideways, running late to the course, forgot your shoes, the golf balls have all turned into granite...

In my case, the tournament was being held at the course where I work, and while I arrived well in advance of my tee time, I hadn't bothered to assemble my push cart since the last time I'd used it, and it was falling apart. The rest of my foursome called to me from the tee box as I struggled to insert and tighten wing nuts, but the cart collapsed as soon as I put my bag of clubs on it and tried to push it. As the starter called the next group to the tee, I frantically rooted through the cart's compartments to grab what I needed, then shoved the pieces of my cart behind a bush, then grabbed my heavy cart bag and began high-stepping down the grassy slope to the tee box. The next foursome was laughing at me as I skidded to a panicked stop at the white tees, where I realized I'd left my golf shoes with my busted push cart...and I'm wearing slick-soled dress shoes. That's when I woke up.

How come I don't have these dreams before playing a hickory golf event? Maybe I don't put any pressure on myself to perform, even though the competition can get pretty intense? Perhaps I need to approach playing golf with my "moderns" the same way I do with those 100 year old hickorys; just have fun, keep the swing nice and easy, and be happy when the ball flies 'Far and Sure'. Yeah, that's the ticket! Now let's see if this writing has been therapeutic enough to allow me to go back to sleep for a couple more hours. Or at least until I have another recurring nightmare about that time in Iraq when some buddies and I were hitting golf balls, and a rocket attack drove us into a bunker...and not the nice greenside variety...