Going For It

You strut up to the tee box of the reachable par 5 like you’re hitting the last leg of Amen Corner tied for the lead on Sunday. You’ve played this hole hundreds of times and hit the green approximately once. But you’re about to about to increase that percentage marginally.

Trouble left. Trouble right. The play is down the right half because the left trouble is closer. Plus you snap hooked your last two drives.

You go through your pre shot routine.

Two practice swings, a deep breath, and 6.5 steps forward with your eyes half closed as you visualize the shot. You’re envisioning a butter cut that starts down the middle and peels about 6 yards into the right half. It will leave you in position A, somewhere between 240 and 280 yards out with a clear look at the green if you can fade the next one around the tree line.

You take one more deep breath before executing the shot, and you let it rip.

It starts down the left edge, about 30 yards off your intended starting line. Your heart rate increases as it flirts with the white stake line. It starts to back toward the fairway and you unclench slightly. Only when it fully settles in the left rough do you fully exhale.

You decide before the big stick is tucked back into its headcover that you’re going for it.

As you approach your ball you see that the group of hackers in front of you is just getting onto the green. You estimate their remaining time to be roughly the longest 4-6 minutes of your life.

Your heart rate increases and you start to breathe faster.

You look around frantically for something else to do to occupy time.

You root around in your bag for something. Anything. A ball marker. A protein bar. A yardage book from another course.

You remember that one of your buddies hit one pretty close to the tree line and perk up at the thought of helping him look for his ball. Your hopes are dashed when you look over and see him punching it back into play.

The other two hit it about 50 yards past you, so now it’s your turn. They’re watching in complete silence. Running through every swing you’ve made today. Trying to remember if you’ve ever hit a 3 wood solid. Ever.

A group rolls up to the tee.

They’re 224 yards behind you, but your senses are heightened and you can feel their presence. You can sense the looks of disbelief they’re giving one another as they wait impatiently for their turn to hood one into the houses.

What are they even doing up there on the green? Hit the putt, man! How long has it been?

You’re  now beading sweat as you wrap up the story that you already told the group 6 holes earlier. You wipe your brow and check your bag again for something else.

Finally, the green clears.

You unsheathe your 3 wood and go through your routine. You step up to the ball and unleash.

Absolutely flushed. Within about 5 seconds your anxiety turns to arrogance as you shoot a wry smile to your three playing partners sequentially. As you turn to slide your club back into your bag you gaze triumphantly at the group on the box. Sorry for the holdup guys, I just had to hit one on the screws real quick.

Amid all the smug looks of satisfaction, you don’t even watch the ball land. If you did, you would have seen it drop in the middle of the fairway about 120 yards out.

At least you left yourself a full club in.

Two Inches Short is a place where amateur golfers can unapologetically be themselves. It’s where we can all relate to the greatest game ever played at a level we can all understand.

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“Making triple bogey from the middle of the fairway isn’t just about skill, it’s a lifestyle.”