There's a reason why golf spelled backwards is flog.
Anybody who has watched me hack at the dimpled orb makes the reason obvious. It doesn't matter if I tighten my grip, reposition my feet, keep my head down or adjust the club face, the ball basically never goes where I want it to go.
For this scribe, golf is a perpetual challenge akin to oil-well drilling, fly-fishing or walking a tightrope suspended between Manhattan skyscrapers. You better be good at it or you eat dust, get drenched or go splat. The game has perplexed me since riding on my bicycle with a bag of clubs slung across my back to Chandler Park Golf Course.
Unlike most everything else in my life, my golf game has not improved with age. In fact, the decline continues down a slippery slope that no amount of advice, cajoling or outright criticism can change. What does improve, however, is the sense of camaraderie and bonding that a golf outing brings with great friends. That's the scorecard that really counts.
So polish the clubs, enjoy the outdoors and flog to your heart's content. Your game won't get better but your outlook will!