Round of a lifetime

S.J. CAHN

First off, a quick recap for those lucky enough to have missed last

week’s lead-in to today’s climactic column.

After driving half way around the world and seeing nothing beyond

curving Irvine streets, I arrived tired, angry and nearly late to a

golf outing last month at Strawberry Farms Golf Club in Irvine. I had

to bum entry money to the informal, bi-weekly tournament of Orange

County businessmen. I had to risk one or two indecency laws. I didn’t

stretch, swing a club or pick up my putter as I headed to the first

tee.

This is going to be a great round, I thought sarcastically (and

wrote last week). Given that my two previous scores here were 106 and

104, there was no telling how bad it might get.

Amazingly, though, my first drive wasn’t awful. I’d stretched and

tried to calm down and was grateful that there wasn’t an audience

beyond my partner, Ray Saporita of Impact Graphics & Design, and the

other two in our foursome: Bill Pierpoint, who runs Safeguard

Business Systems and who’d loaned me the above-mentioned entry money,

and his partner, Mark Hardtke, who works for Northern Trust in

Newport Center and has about as an aggressive swing as you’re likely

to see.

I’m not saying it was great. It curved maybe 175 yards into the

right-side rough. At least it wasn’t a shank, lost or out of bounds,

which is entirely possible given my ability to slice a ball back

toward me.

The next shot was one I should have listened to. Standing about

170 yards from the green, I pulled out a 3-iron and hit the ball

solidly. It landed in front of the green and rolled onto the dance

floor.

Three putts later I was back down to earth, cursing mildly that I

hadn’t had a chance to practice a few strokes.

But the 5s Saporita and I carded, with our handicaps, had us at

even par. And I wouldn’t three putt again until the 17th hole.

The second hole, 335 yards from the white tees we were playing, is

supposedly one of the tougher holes on the course. Right now, I

actually love these holes because with my handicap -- a solid 24 when

I started this round -- I earn two strokes on the hardest holes. And

if I shoot well enough, I have a decent chance at getting a bogey and

carding a net birdie.

Saporita, though, on No. 2 was solid enough to shoot par, equaling

my bogey, and we were suddenly 1-under. But my bogey on the hole --

in part because of an errant fairway wood -- was a good one. I was

striking the ball surprisingly well.

We stayed that way on the third, and then hit the fourth and fifth

holes -- the first and third hardest on the course. But both allow

for a bit of a fade, especially the fourth, so I was able to whale

away on the drives without worrying too much about my occasional

monster slice.

Looking back, I’d say that my drive on the fifth, which went 250

yards, was a turning point of the round. It built my confidence and

relaxed me, except that after bogeying the two difficult holes, and

netting Saporita and me two birdies, I double-bogeyed the sixth and

seventh holes, which included losing my sole ball of the day on the

par-3 seventh.

Luckily, Saporita chose the right moment to bogey and then par the

holes, taking us to 3-under.

Strawberry Farms’ eighth hole is a tease. It doglegs pretty

strongly to the right, inviting someone like myself with a fade to

pull out the driver in an attempt to get near the green, which from

the white tees is just 282 yards away.

Even from the blue tees, the hole is only 292 yards. But the last

time I’d played, my partner, Newport’s Troy Lindquist, had pointed

out that it isn’t a hole one needs to drive. A conservative iron or

lofted wood will leave you within 100 yards of the green -- an easy

pitch.

I hadn’t taken his advice that time and had sliced my ball out of

bounds. But this day I felt I was hitting well. My slice was under

control. My fade should curve right in line with the fairway.

What else could I do?

Man, did I hit it. It was one of those shots -- few and far

between for me -- that truly shoots off the club, where you take just

a little advantage of “compression.”

The ball came to rest near a green-side bunker, about 255 yards. A

better pitch would have given me an easier birdie opportunity, but I

still managed to two putt for par, a net birdie that had us at

4-under.

Saporita finished our front nine with a par, and net birdie, on a

straight, long 492-yard par 5. My bogey looks worse than it was. I

was about 30 yards from the green after my second shot, but failed to

pitch low enough under a tree that, with me as proof, protected the

front right of the green.

We were at net 31 on the par 36. I’d shot a 46, net 34 (thank you,

handicap gods). Compared to my earlier scores of 106 and 104, I was

well ahead of the game.

And then, business picked up.

On the 10th hole, I easily cleared the water, landing about 235

yards down the fairway. My bogey, and net par, started us even on the

back nine.

Saporita’s par (and my net par) on the 11th kept us even, and at

5-under. In early rounds, a 64 or 65 on the par-71 course had often

placed first. But Saporita, Pierpoint, Hardtke and I were hearing of

other groups at 5- and 6-under already. I figured it would be close.

Starting with the 12th, though, it wouldn’t be. On both the 12th

and 13th my handicap gave me two strokes, and I bogeyed both,

including a one putt on the 564-yard, par-5 12th.

We were now 7-under. And I was playing well enough that I began

waiting for it all to fall apart. Saporita might remember my repeated

warnings that at some point he’d have to save us the rest of the way.

I earned a net par on the 14th with another one putt. I then got

par on the short, 134-yard par-3 15th for a net birdie.

The 16th hole, like the 10th, is one where Lindquist encourages

smart “course management.” It’s also an intimidating-looking hole,

with water to the left and a big tree breaking up the fairway. And

after another 250-yard drive (I was still waiting for my driver to

forsake me), I hit an 3-iron up to the right of the green.

And there I waited, as others in our foursome got caught in a wash

that’s just 30 yards short of the green. Trying to keep from getting

nervous, I busied myself looking for balls in an out of bounds (but

not off limits) mess of brush near my ball. I was intent on trying to

distract myself from my play.

It worked, and I managed to two putt for par and another net

birdie.

The wheels threatened to come loose on the par-3 17th. My tee shot

landed on the green, but about 50 feet from the hole. I three putted

(the first time since the first hole) and both Saporita and I bogeyed

the hole.

We were lucky that my handicap gave us a stroke and I earned a net

par -- but the last time I’d played I’d managed to par the hole and

net a birdie. This is a hole to score on, and I’d guessed by not

taking advantage of it, we were out of the money.

Plus, I was smarting from three putting.

Heading into the tough 18th, we were 9-under. What we had going

for us was the two strokes I got on this No. 4 handicap hole. Of

course, every other time I’d played the hole, I’d needed them just to

get par.

Another good tee shot, leaving me about 130 yards from the green,

gave hope. I then hit an errant 7-iron, off to the right and toward a

rocky, out-of-bounds cliff that rises above the green.

And the stupid ball bounced off those rocks and onto the green.

After an easy, nerves-free two putt, I had one last par and,

amazingly, a net eagle.

Rather than flying off, the wheels had stayed on the cart, so to

speak. On the back nine I’d shot a 41, for a total of 87 -- two

strokes better than my best round, at Mesa Linda, since I’d started

playing again last summer.

My net score was a 63, including a back nine 29. Perhaps equally

surprising, our team score was a net 60, which took first place by

two strokes.

But what was the most gratifying of all, is that even though my

overall score was relatively unimpressive, the guys I played with

made me feel like I’d had about the best round ever. They talked

about how well I’d played my shots, how much fun it was to watch

someone playing well (and it wasn’t all that well!).

It was at least good enough to relate to Sports Editor Rich Dunn

the next day.

And apparently good enough to inflict on our readers.