Practice?

When I was a kid, I used to spend hours and hours shooting a basketball.  I’d shoot and shoot until my imaginary game as a member of Michael’s Bulls ended with me hitting the winner over Magic or Worthy.  And if I missed the shot, there’d be an imaginary late whistle, or a scorebook correction to send it to overtime.  I can’t remember a loss, I hate losing and c’mon, who loses the imaginary game?   Those misses that I had would eat at me.  I knew in my head I shouldn’t have won the game, so it would actually lead me to shoot more and more, sometimes so late into the night that mom or dad would have to tell me to come in because they figured I was keeping the neighbors up.  What I’m getting at, is that I practiced and practiced to become very good at a skill that allowed a 6’3” un-athletic white boy to play four years of college ball.  A very simple equation, hours of practice = mastered skill. 

I fully realize that in no way could I have ever stepped onto a basketball court and competed at a high level without that practice.   So what is it about the game of golf that leads me to believe that I can just show up to a course and play at a sufficient level?  I am that guy that steps on the course and expects greatness.  I seriously step on every tee box and envision a great drive, a great approach, and a great putt.  Then, after aligning my shot and chunking my tee shot 50 feet in front of me, I’ve got the nerve to toss my driver 30 yards down the fairway in disgust.  Then, while being very mentally tough in almost every other activity I do, I let the 50 foot tee shot bother me for the next 5-10 shots and card a 4 over, 8 on a 319 yard, dead straight, par 4, what a great game.  Seriously though, it’s great.  What a challenge.  So, why can I not get myself to go practice?

I’ll tell you why.  The other day I suffered through a hole only to find myself standing over a 25 foot triple bogey putt.  I knelt down and lined up the putt just like the guys on TV.  I tricked myself into believing I knew what I was doing as I gave three smooth practice strokes.  I then took a deep breath, and one last look at the hole.  Backswing, contact, follow through, bending, breaking………..  IT’S IN THE HOLE!!!

No imaginary whistle or correction needed, who needs practice?

Until next time, 

Apologizing to John Adams

John,

I’m turning in my family.  That’s right, I want them prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for raising me to ‘mis-celebrate’ one of our nations most glorious and celebrated days, July 4th.

You see, while reading my buddy Brent’s blog (click here) about celebrating this historic day, I realized that for 25 years July 4^th has meant goodbyes, sadness, 12 hour drives in a minivan stocked with 6 adults, 2 dogs, and twice as much luggage as needed, and the end of my absolute favorite time of year. 

Each year right around this time I start looking forward to next year’s beach week.  Beach week is when my family and the entire Zulauf side rent a house on the beach and have exhausting days of sitting in the sand listening to the ocean, playing bocce ball, boogey-boarding, and drinking yuengling.  It is hands down my favorite time of year.  It’s like a week-long celebration of good times and family that we get to look forward to all year, pretty much the very thing you wanted us to do when you spoke of July 4^th some 200 years ago. 

The problem is that each year the celebration ends within a day or two of July 4.  And to make matters worse I really only get to see my cousins 3, maybe 4 times a year because they live in Virginia.  And it’s really cool too because when we do get together it’s like we see each other all the time.  We hit mid-season form with smart-ass comments, debates, and storytelling within minutes.  There’s really never a dull moment.  For me it’s like having two brothers for a week that you never really fight with, awesome right?   I want all this used as evidence against my Uncle Harry for taking a job in the mid 1980’s that moved them from Columbus to Richmond.  I know it has worked out great for them, they are all happy, but come on, I’ve got to be a little selfish here because if they still lived here I’d see them all of the time. 

I’ve got to confess as well.  I don’t exactly get over goodbyes all that well.  So, when I do get home in time for fireworks and parades, my emotions are still so low that I don’t do anything to celebrate freedom.  As a matter of fact I do the opposite.  Like this year I slept for 6 hours (partly because I drove from 1:30am-6) and then got up and pouted about being home for a solid 2 hours, then made a very lame attempt at celebrating by watching fireworks from the sidewalk in front of our house while throwing a fake “ooo” or “ahh” out of my state of depression every 10 booms or so, but really never got into it. 

So anyway, I just want to say I’m sorry.  I really haven’t celebrated July 4^th the way it is supposed to be celebrated.  I’m prepared for whatever sentence my family and I receive, just please keep it to under 348 days, we’re leaving for the beach. 

Thanks,

Scott