Can't Putt
I was always a pretty good ball striker, but being a bit nearsighted, my putting has always been mediocre. I tried to listen to every tip, but nothing seemed to help. Nevertheless I was determined to improve, so I hung around the supermarket magazine racks with the teeny-boppers, hoping to find a golf magazine that could give me that one magical tip to cure my putting woes.
What's this? An article that says to try a cross handed grip? No no no, that is for beginners who don't know how to hold baseball bat, much less a golf club. Boy you would have to be really desperate to try something that weird, backhanding the ball like a hockey player.
The last straw came during our company golf league. On the last green I had a medium length birdie putt, and as I was lining it up, the other players in my foursome were commenting openly that it was an easy putt because each of them had holed it from about the same spot last week. The pressure was on. They continued to comment that 2 weeks ago our worst player had holed a putt from there. I could feel perspiration forming upon my furrowed brow. Then they said two of the ladies in our league sank one from about that spot. The throat was getting dry, it's choke time. By now this quivering mass of protoplasm was thinking he would be lucky if he could 2 putt from there. One of them made a bet that I would 3 putt. He lost the bet because I four putted.
As they all exited the green laughing, I went back to the original spot and something made me try the cross handed grip out of despair, and with nobody watching I sank 3 in a row. Since the following group was approaching, so I went to the practice green and waited until it was vacant because I was too embarrassed to let anyone see me holding the putter like that. Then I snuck on, looked around and made sure nobody was watching this strange grip, and sure enough, this grip worked much better than my conventional grip. I got carried away and started doing imitations of Chi Chi Rodriguez until I realized I was being watched, so I skulked off the practice green and raced back to the magazine rack, pushed the teeny-boppers out of the way, and got 4 paper cuts trying to find that magazine article again so I could find out if there were any good reasons why this grip worked.
The article said the left hand was the control hand for right handed golfers, so by placing the control hand farther down the grip, control is enhanced, and the right hand, or power hand, becomes less important, in fact the power hand is what causes most putting strokes to get messed up. At this point, being desperate enough to believe anything, it almost made sense. The article went on to say which pros were already using it, so why should I feel so self conscious about it? If the putts are going into the hole, why should I care if someone says "Whatsamatter did you forget how to hold a club", or "Stand on the other side of the ball if you want to hold the club like that", or "Gretzky with a slap shot and he SCORES".
Fortunately for me, nowadays this grip has gained acceptance. They even gave it a fancier name, the left hand low grip. Ooooooh, that sounds better. Now I can come out of the closet, so to speak (stay away from me, fruity guys, that's not what I meant).
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Chess Is A Dog-Eat-Dog Game
I enjoyed learning chess when I was a kid, but had not played in awhile. One day while I was in the military, they posted a notice for a chess tournament, so I thought it might be fun to try it. It turned out to be what they called a Speed tournament, you had to make a certain amount of moves in a certain amount of time, otherwise the tournament would take forever due to those who play with the speed of a department store mannequin.
Not knowing what to expect, I envisioned a room full of nerds with thick glasses, because everybody knows they are really smart and good at chess, but when I got there I only saw regular GI's with fatigues, just like me. Then I got to meet my first opponent, who happened to be a nerdy looking guy with thick glasses. Where did he come from? Did he materialize out of thin air just to torment me? Already I was intimidated.
I had never used a chess clock before, so I kept forgetting to stop my clock after my move, so my time ran out. If your time runs out, you lose. Darn. My second opponent was wearing no glasses, so I figured I had a chance this time. This guy had the same problem I did, so neither one of us remembered to stop our clocks after our moves. Fortunately, his clock ran out before mine did. It was a good thing too because I was getting my butt kicked.
Then I had to play a guy whose personal hygiene was worse than Pigpen's. Every few seconds he would alternate belch or fart. Talk about distractions. I was tempted to fight fire with fire, but I feared the building would have to be evacuated. The distractions were too much to overcome, so rather than suffer death by asphyxiation, I let my clock run out.
My next opponent was one of these guys who could swagger while he was sitting down. Mr. Suave De Boner. He was so good he even remembered to stop his clock after every move. He was a large guy and a heavy breather. All during the game I felt like I was in the middle of an obscene phone call. Whenever he made a move he would smirk and glance at me, like why am I lowering myself to play a peasant like you? And then there were the cerebral remarks like, oh I see you are using the Jirkov opening from the 1920's. And I am thinking who the heck is Jirkov, and the way I pronounce it, it might be describing the guy across the table from me.
So I figured if he is going to play a textbook game, I might as well take him out of his game by forcing trades. He did not like that, but chess is war. Then he made a mistake and all of a sudden I realized I had him. My game plan had worked perfectly, but my clock ran out again and he won. Then he went on to win the whole tournament. Afterwards, he turned out to be a pretty good guy. We chatted for awhile and he congratulated me on giving him his toughest match.
Chess can be fun, but there is some gamesmanship involved. Here are some ways to really annoy your opponent:
Never move any piece once unless you have touched every other piece twice.
If you have a piece under attack, immediately put another so to confuse your opponent.
Bang your pieces down when you move, it intimidates your opponent.
Never resign, there is always a chance your opponent might drop dead before he checkmates you.
Always give a check when you can, it may be a mate. Anyhow, it is better to have checked and lost than never to have checked at all.
Stick to one textbook opening even if it is bad and you don't understand it. One day you will find someone who knows it even less than you do.
Castle, take en-passant, promote pawns to minor pieces whenever you can, it helps to create the impression that you have a deep knowledge.
Never think before you move. You can always retract your move, but your opponents must never be allowed to retract theirs.
If you can announce checkmate, do so and say nice game and walk away before your opponent has a chance to make sure.
Give away your pawns, they only get in the way and hamper your other pieces, and those of your opponents.
When you accidentally stumble upon a win, at once declare noisily that you played it that way.
While watching two other people play who you do not like, be a kibitzer, comment openly, even move the pieces on the board for them, they will not bug you anymore after that.
If you really want to f*ck up your opponent, show up wearing coke bottle glasses and false buck teeth, and practice the timing of your belches and farts. All is fair in chess and war.
I enjoyed learning chess when I was a kid, but had not played in awhile. One day while I was in the military, they posted a notice for a chess tournament, so I thought it might be fun to try it. It turned out to be what they called a Speed tournament, you had to make a certain amount of moves in a certain amount of time, otherwise the tournament would take forever due to those who play with the speed of a department store mannequin.
Not knowing what to expect, I envisioned a room full of nerds with thick glasses, because everybody knows they are really smart and good at chess, but when I got there I only saw regular GI's with fatigues, just like me. Then I got to meet my first opponent, who happened to be a nerdy looking guy with thick glasses. Where did he come from? Did he materialize out of thin air just to torment me? Already I was intimidated.
I had never used a chess clock before, so I kept forgetting to stop my clock after my move, so my time ran out. If your time runs out, you lose. Darn. My second opponent was wearing no glasses, so I figured I had a chance this time. This guy had the same problem I did, so neither one of us remembered to stop our clocks after our moves. Fortunately, his clock ran out before mine did. It was a good thing too because I was getting my butt kicked.
Then I had to play a guy whose personal hygiene was worse than Pigpen's. Every few seconds he would alternate belch or fart. Talk about distractions. I was tempted to fight fire with fire, but I feared the building would have to be evacuated. The distractions were too much to overcome, so rather than suffer death by asphyxiation, I let my clock run out.
My next opponent was one of these guys who could swagger while he was sitting down. Mr. Suave De Boner. He was so good he even remembered to stop his clock after every move. He was a large guy and a heavy breather. All during the game I felt like I was in the middle of an obscene phone call. Whenever he made a move he would smirk and glance at me, like why am I lowering myself to play a peasant like you? And then there were the cerebral remarks like, oh I see you are using the Jirkov opening from the 1920's. And I am thinking who the heck is Jirkov, and the way I pronounce it, it might be describing the guy across the table from me.
So I figured if he is going to play a textbook game, I might as well take him out of his game by forcing trades. He did not like that, but chess is war. Then he made a mistake and all of a sudden I realized I had him. My game plan had worked perfectly, but my clock ran out again and he won. Then he went on to win the whole tournament. Afterwards, he turned out to be a pretty good guy. We chatted for awhile and he congratulated me on giving him his toughest match.
Chess can be fun, but there is some gamesmanship involved. Here are some ways to really annoy your opponent:
Never move any piece once unless you have touched every other piece twice.
If you have a piece under attack, immediately put another so to confuse your opponent.
Bang your pieces down when you move, it intimidates your opponent.
Never resign, there is always a chance your opponent might drop dead before he checkmates you.
Always give a check when you can, it may be a mate. Anyhow, it is better to have checked and lost than never to have checked at all.
Stick to one textbook opening even if it is bad and you don't understand it. One day you will find someone who knows it even less than you do.
Castle, take en-passant, promote pawns to minor pieces whenever you can, it helps to create the impression that you have a deep knowledge.
Never think before you move. You can always retract your move, but your opponents must never be allowed to retract theirs.
If you can announce checkmate, do so and say nice game and walk away before your opponent has a chance to make sure.
Give away your pawns, they only get in the way and hamper your other pieces, and those of your opponents.
When you accidentally stumble upon a win, at once declare noisily that you played it that way.
While watching two other people play who you do not like, be a kibitzer, comment openly, even move the pieces on the board for them, they will not bug you anymore after that.
If you really want to f*ck up your opponent, show up wearing coke bottle glasses and false buck teeth, and practice the timing of your belches and farts. All is fair in chess and war.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Tennis Anyone?
It so happened that our company's Sales Department held a doubles tennis tournament, and the winners posted notices on the public bulletin boards that they, Robert and David, the Dynamic Duo, had proclaimed themselves that they and they alone were the tennis champions of the company, and should anyone disagree, let them step forward and take their lumps on court.
For several days, no one dared take up the challenge until the news reached my boss, who happened to be a long time tennis buff, and he was so aghast at the brashness and audacity of the Dynamic Duo, that he came to me, since I was the company sportswriter, and said "I hereby deputize you to arrange a match against them to be held TONIGHT after work". I said OK, I can arrange that but this is doubles, so who will your partner be? He said he did not have time to look for a partner so it would have to be ME. But I do not play tennis. No matter, just show up at the park district courts tonight after work. But, but, but....oh well, OK.
Now although I am OK at ping pong, I suck at tennis because of rim shots. Ping pong paddles are much more forgiving on off-center hits than a tennis racket. I also did not want to make a spectacle of myself because not only did I not want to wear those fruity white shorts, but word of this match was spreading like wildfire and I feared there would be spectators. As it turned out, there were hundreds of spectators, but each of them was watching from their cars, waiting for the stoplight to turn green.
It turned out that I did not have to do much, so I just stood there while the boss was flying all over the court. Since I was standing close to the net, the few times I had to hit the ball were rim shots that just barely made it over the net, making it look like they were deft touch shots. When the smoke had cleared, the Dynamic Duo had been stripped of their championship, 6-4, 7-6.
The Dynamic Duo caught a lot of flack at work about this, and their defensive statement was that their loss was the upset of the century, made possible only by a combination of their own overconfidence and the fact that their opponents played over their heads, and it was only 2 sets. So a second match with 3 sets was arranged to let the Dynamic Duo prove to their fans (all two of them) that the first match was only a fluke, and this time they would surely dash their opponents into oblivion.
Well it turned out that the first match was not a fluke after all, the Dynamic Duo lost again, 6-4, 6-2, 6-3, and they were forced to admit that it was not quite the upset of the century, maybe just the decade, and one of these days they will win, especially since by now the law of averages was on their side.
Meanwhile, the boss and I had the company championship, and should anyone disagree, let them step forward and take their lumps on court. No takers, and I have not played since.
It so happened that our company's Sales Department held a doubles tennis tournament, and the winners posted notices on the public bulletin boards that they, Robert and David, the Dynamic Duo, had proclaimed themselves that they and they alone were the tennis champions of the company, and should anyone disagree, let them step forward and take their lumps on court.
For several days, no one dared take up the challenge until the news reached my boss, who happened to be a long time tennis buff, and he was so aghast at the brashness and audacity of the Dynamic Duo, that he came to me, since I was the company sportswriter, and said "I hereby deputize you to arrange a match against them to be held TONIGHT after work". I said OK, I can arrange that but this is doubles, so who will your partner be? He said he did not have time to look for a partner so it would have to be ME. But I do not play tennis. No matter, just show up at the park district courts tonight after work. But, but, but....oh well, OK.
Now although I am OK at ping pong, I suck at tennis because of rim shots. Ping pong paddles are much more forgiving on off-center hits than a tennis racket. I also did not want to make a spectacle of myself because not only did I not want to wear those fruity white shorts, but word of this match was spreading like wildfire and I feared there would be spectators. As it turned out, there were hundreds of spectators, but each of them was watching from their cars, waiting for the stoplight to turn green.
It turned out that I did not have to do much, so I just stood there while the boss was flying all over the court. Since I was standing close to the net, the few times I had to hit the ball were rim shots that just barely made it over the net, making it look like they were deft touch shots. When the smoke had cleared, the Dynamic Duo had been stripped of their championship, 6-4, 7-6.
The Dynamic Duo caught a lot of flack at work about this, and their defensive statement was that their loss was the upset of the century, made possible only by a combination of their own overconfidence and the fact that their opponents played over their heads, and it was only 2 sets. So a second match with 3 sets was arranged to let the Dynamic Duo prove to their fans (all two of them) that the first match was only a fluke, and this time they would surely dash their opponents into oblivion.
Well it turned out that the first match was not a fluke after all, the Dynamic Duo lost again, 6-4, 6-2, 6-3, and they were forced to admit that it was not quite the upset of the century, maybe just the decade, and one of these days they will win, especially since by now the law of averages was on their side.
Meanwhile, the boss and I had the company championship, and should anyone disagree, let them step forward and take their lumps on court. No takers, and I have not played since.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
What It Feels Like to Bowl a 300 Game
The ultimate dream of every bowler is to put together a long string of strikes and have everybody in the building gather around to watch you finish in a rousing blaze of glory for a perfect 300 game.
I am sure everyone at one time or another has started a game with a strike and some wise guy would comment "Only 11 more to go", which was the sarcastic comment tossed at me as I began the 3rd game in our company bowling league with a not very classy Brooklyn strike.
This was not a moment of great confidence for me as my first 2 games were well below average and I had been playing the old game show "What's My Line" all night, which means I am a spot bowler who cannot find the right spot to aim at. This is complicated after a few beers because all the spots are moving.
Frame 2 - I over compensated, but I got lucky with a light hit resulting in a mixer strike that saw the 7 pin fall just before the pinsetter came down. My team was ecstatic because this was the first double I had all night, and I had to endure remarks like "It's about time", and "Where you been all night, chump?", and of course "Only ten more to go".
Frame 3 - I finally found the right line. Right in the pocket. The 10 pin hesitated but went down. Remarks "Hey a turkey". Response "What did you call me?".
Frame 4 - Absolutely drilled it. A crusher. No doubt. Confidence is gaining. Delusions of grandeur are dancing in my head. Got to keep from getting too excited.
Frame 5 - Right in there. Drilled it again. Now people are beginning to take notice, especially Ron from 4 lanes away who currently holds the season high game of 264. Our opposing team is already so far behind that they have given up, so even they are cheering me on. I find this most unusual since some of them would only cheer me if I tripped over the foul line. People are starting to gather around. The spotlight is on, and I feel like a hundred eyes are piercing me like needles. I have an itch and I dare not scratch it. Got to act cool and suave. I am too nervous to sit down, so instead I pace the floor, strutting like a peacock.
Frame 6 - As I stand on the approach, you could hear a pin drop (bad pun). As I began my approach I forgot to stop strutting so my legs got wobbly, I missed my spot. The ball ends up smack on the nose leaving the dreaded 4-6 split, but wait, the pins are still wobbling, and with the help of background screaming and stomping, they finally fall, and so do I.
This time I sat down and could not help but hear the remarks "With a break like that, he BETTER get a 300". My silent reaction - "What 300 game, it never crossed my mind". Another remark "Nobody talk to him, you might jinx him or get him nervous". Reaction - "Who's nervous? Anybody got a cigarette? Wait a minute, I don't even smoke." The silent treatment is driving me crazy. Confidence is suddenly all gone because I missed my spot. Pressure is unbearable because I do not want to disappoint everyone watching. Ron is even more nervous than I am, I can imagine him silently screaming "Please don't break 264" as he drinks his cigarette and smokes his beer, teeth clenched, eyes bugged out, and hairs standing up (all 13 of them).
Frame 7 - Missed my spot again even more to the left, so instead of hitting the nose, it crosses over to the Brooklyn side for an ugly strike, but a strike nevertheless, and the crowd absolutely erupts. They do not care what kind of strike it was as long as it was a strike. My kind of people. Ron is sweating bullets.
Frame 8 - Had to compensate for the last awful shot, but oh oh, I think I over compensate, missing the spot to the right. It looks like I gave it too much room to the right, it is gonna have to hook a lot to get back to the head pin, the background noise is reaching a crescendo as the ball nears the pins. The hook did not happen, the ball misses the head pin, leaving a horrible washout 1-2-4-10. Crowd reaction "awwwwwww", "he choked". Then I missed the spare. Ron, sweating profusely, is busily scribbling to see if his 264 is still in danger.
Frame 9 - Emotion is drained, composure is gone, missed the headpin again, missed the spare again. Spectators are leaving in droves while Ron is doing cartwheels in the background. Some of my better friends stand there staring at me with hands on hips, and then slowly shake their heads, then turn and walk away.
Frame 10 - Finished with a spare. Score is not worth mentioning. I find some consolation
in realizing I would have been ready for a straight jacket if the string of strikes had gone any longer, Ron too. Can you imagine if I happened to get 11 and then tossed a gutter ball?
In conclusion all I can say is....bowling sucks, bring on the golf season.
The ultimate dream of every bowler is to put together a long string of strikes and have everybody in the building gather around to watch you finish in a rousing blaze of glory for a perfect 300 game.
I am sure everyone at one time or another has started a game with a strike and some wise guy would comment "Only 11 more to go", which was the sarcastic comment tossed at me as I began the 3rd game in our company bowling league with a not very classy Brooklyn strike.
This was not a moment of great confidence for me as my first 2 games were well below average and I had been playing the old game show "What's My Line" all night, which means I am a spot bowler who cannot find the right spot to aim at. This is complicated after a few beers because all the spots are moving.
Frame 2 - I over compensated, but I got lucky with a light hit resulting in a mixer strike that saw the 7 pin fall just before the pinsetter came down. My team was ecstatic because this was the first double I had all night, and I had to endure remarks like "It's about time", and "Where you been all night, chump?", and of course "Only ten more to go".
Frame 3 - I finally found the right line. Right in the pocket. The 10 pin hesitated but went down. Remarks "Hey a turkey". Response "What did you call me?".
Frame 4 - Absolutely drilled it. A crusher. No doubt. Confidence is gaining. Delusions of grandeur are dancing in my head. Got to keep from getting too excited.
Frame 5 - Right in there. Drilled it again. Now people are beginning to take notice, especially Ron from 4 lanes away who currently holds the season high game of 264. Our opposing team is already so far behind that they have given up, so even they are cheering me on. I find this most unusual since some of them would only cheer me if I tripped over the foul line. People are starting to gather around. The spotlight is on, and I feel like a hundred eyes are piercing me like needles. I have an itch and I dare not scratch it. Got to act cool and suave. I am too nervous to sit down, so instead I pace the floor, strutting like a peacock.
Frame 6 - As I stand on the approach, you could hear a pin drop (bad pun). As I began my approach I forgot to stop strutting so my legs got wobbly, I missed my spot. The ball ends up smack on the nose leaving the dreaded 4-6 split, but wait, the pins are still wobbling, and with the help of background screaming and stomping, they finally fall, and so do I.
This time I sat down and could not help but hear the remarks "With a break like that, he BETTER get a 300". My silent reaction - "What 300 game, it never crossed my mind". Another remark "Nobody talk to him, you might jinx him or get him nervous". Reaction - "Who's nervous? Anybody got a cigarette? Wait a minute, I don't even smoke." The silent treatment is driving me crazy. Confidence is suddenly all gone because I missed my spot. Pressure is unbearable because I do not want to disappoint everyone watching. Ron is even more nervous than I am, I can imagine him silently screaming "Please don't break 264" as he drinks his cigarette and smokes his beer, teeth clenched, eyes bugged out, and hairs standing up (all 13 of them).
Frame 7 - Missed my spot again even more to the left, so instead of hitting the nose, it crosses over to the Brooklyn side for an ugly strike, but a strike nevertheless, and the crowd absolutely erupts. They do not care what kind of strike it was as long as it was a strike. My kind of people. Ron is sweating bullets.
Frame 8 - Had to compensate for the last awful shot, but oh oh, I think I over compensate, missing the spot to the right. It looks like I gave it too much room to the right, it is gonna have to hook a lot to get back to the head pin, the background noise is reaching a crescendo as the ball nears the pins. The hook did not happen, the ball misses the head pin, leaving a horrible washout 1-2-4-10. Crowd reaction "awwwwwww", "he choked". Then I missed the spare. Ron, sweating profusely, is busily scribbling to see if his 264 is still in danger.
Frame 9 - Emotion is drained, composure is gone, missed the headpin again, missed the spare again. Spectators are leaving in droves while Ron is doing cartwheels in the background. Some of my better friends stand there staring at me with hands on hips, and then slowly shake their heads, then turn and walk away.
Frame 10 - Finished with a spare. Score is not worth mentioning. I find some consolation
in realizing I would have been ready for a straight jacket if the string of strikes had gone any longer, Ron too. Can you imagine if I happened to get 11 and then tossed a gutter ball?
In conclusion all I can say is....bowling sucks, bring on the golf season.
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