Barb and I were sitting on our deck sometime before 7 am drinking coffee and watching the world wake up. Looking over the rim of my mug I gazed wistfully, whatever that means, at the 16th hole stretching along the River below us. Clouds drifted by like mondo golf balls moving in slow motion. Beyond the pond on the green below, the flag on the pin flapped gently in the morning breeze. All I needed now was the Grateful Dead playing in the background: Walk me out in the morning dew....
She who shouldn't be ignored was onto me. She knew I was jonesing to spoil a good walk even though I'd played RTJ the day before and had a B-team match on Sunday.
"You ever think about all you could get done if you didn't play golf?"
"Uh oh," I mumbled to myself. Don't go getting defensive, or you've lost the game before the ball is off the first tee.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot about that lately. I'm contemplating giving up the game and writing a book called A Year Without Golf."
Barb didn't hesitate. "I love it! You have to do it! That's such a good idea! You could learn to play piano or guitar like you've always wanted. Or clean out the basement like I've always wanted."
"Let's not get crazy now. If I did it, I'd have to do something meaningful, like take up guitar or learn to speak Icelandic. I'd sooner take up knitting than spend my former golf time cleaning up the garage."
"Fair enough. You can knit me a sweater for Christmas."
What the hell had I gotten myself into? I immediately fell into that state of mind that afflicts any addict contemplating withdrawal: The desire to OD before shaking the addiction.
"I guess I better go get it in while I can."
"Not so fast, balata boy. You need to start weaning yourself from the game here and now. Why don't you go to yoga class? Or get the garage out of the way so you won't have to clean it once you've given up golf?"
I grabbed my yoga mat and headed for the first tee.
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