I just played my first round of golf this season. I'm thrilled to see that I still have my slice. I call it a slice but it should be called something worse, like a boomerang. If I could get enough height on my drives, I swear the ball would make a complete 360 and land at my feet.
We played at Four Seasons, which is north of Pickering, and I shot an 89. The course is very easy so the score is deceiving. The best thing about the day, aside from the witty banter that usually accompanies the round, was hole 18. It's a par 4, 245-yard hole (I wasn't kidding when I said it was an easy course) in which I drove the ball to within two and a half feet of the hole. Of course I missed the eagle putt. I know the chances of me putting for a three-foot eagle ever again are slim to none, I figured my ball had no business getting that close to the hole in the first place so I wasn't upset with the birdie.
I welcome back golf ... the game I hate to love.
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