As I've mentioned before, I firmly believe in the existence of Golf Gods. They are very real. They are mighty, powerful, omnipresent, and sadistic bastards. They giveth, but mostly, they taketh away. And when they do giveth, it is incredibly rare.
So why do I continue to endure this self-imposed damnation? Because these precocious golf deities are also the biggest drug pushers in the history of time. And their delicious elixir? It is that feeling of euphoria that exists when I hit that one great shot.
Even when I first started playing this infernal game and I had even less of a clue than I do now, somehow I managed to be able to hit that one beautiful shot. The moon was in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars. And there really is no other feeling in the world like it. Your body, mind, and soul are all in sync as you just launch that little white ball several hundred yards down the middle of a fairway on a beautiful sunny day.
And it works with short shots too. Oh yes. There was that mythical shot that I once hit from the side of the green. I hit a chip shot about 10 yards away, between two trees, on a big sloping green. Right into the hole. I don't know what I scored that day (Probably like a million), but the only thing that I remember was that perfect shot. The memory of that shot will give me comfort when I'm old, drooling, and have lost the ability to control my bladder.
So as I continue to rant and rave (and swear), I fully understand that it is all an infuriating attempt to chase a high. A high that, hopefully, I will get to feel more and more as I improve. Then peace will guide the planets and love will steer the stars.