Cornfield Safari

A cornfield safari is not for the faint-of-heart. Or the easily addled, the asthmatic, the claustrophobic or one prone to allergies. It is a dark and dangerous place.

Children get lost in cornfields and it is no wonder. After a few minutes among the rows you begin to wonder, "Which way am I going? Why did I come in here? How do I get out?" Before you know it there is a neighborhood brigade performing a search and rescue.

This time of year the corn is 8 foot tall. The stalks are tightly spaced. The leaves are long, slicing tenacles. The pollen forms a cloud when thrashing through the rows. The biting bugs easily hone in on human prey. And depending on the time of day, morning being the worst, the cornfield is a wet jungle.

I set out on a cornfield safari yesterday to retrieve a few of the estimated 50 range balls that are lost there. Finding 4 I declared mission accomplished and headed back out to the yard, grass, free moving air.

I lied about quitting golf. I suck at golf but suck more at keeping resolutions.

Farewell to Golf

Golf is a stupid game. Last night's attempts were as futile as ever. On the rare occasion when I actually advanced the ball I received a round of special-olympics applause. (oh look, the moron made the ball move!)

This morning I took my clubs out of the car, took out my 5 wood and hit the last of the range balls into the corn field before putting my clubs away forever.

The balls flew. Never has a club worked so well for me.