Extreme Frisbee Golf
I had helped set up the flag-studded 5 gallon pails for the frisbee golf game at the family reunion. Some were short throws, some longer. Most were sited on flat places from which to fling the disc, but one was on a little sidehill.
I was in second place among 6 by the time we reached that sidehill lie. I took a mighty flip, and heard a “snap” from my right (downhill) side. A sudden pain lanced through me and my knees buckled, sending me crashing down. My right foot suddenly ached with a fierce pulse as I pulled myself to my feet.
My right 5th metatarsal had broken, meaning the long bone to my little toe. I’ve been limping around in a walking boot ever since. 6-8 weeks is the prognosis.
Oh, I did manage to come in second in the game.
Child predators murder people
The person who preys on children is rather like a skunk, in that their stench affects a lot more people indirectly than directly. (And my apology to our stripey friend.)
Consider how many children will die younger than necessary because their parents fear abduction. As a result, the kids don’t get the freedom to romp and race around that their parents had. That early exercise has been proven to add healthy years to one’s life, so by denying youngsters that, the predator is committing slow motion murder.
When a victim wounded during a robbery dies later of injuries suffered during that crime, the perpetrator is upgraded to murderer. By this reasoning child predators are murderers as well..
So why does our society treat such individuals with leniency?
They should be removed from society permanently. We owe it to our future.
Light Fire with Fire
I was peacefully camped in my Prowler near the St. Croix River in a Minnesota state park, when a group of young Chinese students approached my campfire.
“We are camping near you, and can’t get our campfire to stay lit. Can you help us?”
They had piled a stack of damp wood on top of some crumpled newspaper, which burnt away without starting the wood.
I had a sack of easy-start instant-light briquets (which come saturated with starter fluid) in the storage locker in my trailer, so gave them a few with instructions to pile them together under their logs. The briquets soon resulted in a merry blaze for the youngsters to roast their marshmallows, hot dogs, etc.
So if you’re RVing and need a way to get your fire going, invest in a bag of these things. They seem to last for years, and since you aren’t using them to cook over, the fumes shouldn’t be a problem.i
Table for One
My 94-year-old mother was invited to a fashion show at an American Legion post in Roseville, MN. It’s a semiannual event. Depending on the season, it’s filled with more than 100 ladies looking at new spring or fall fashions while they eat and visit.
I had chauffeur duty, so I had brought my book. Once mom was ensconced, I retired to the dimly-lit bar to wile away the time until she was ready to leave.
In addition to tables in the dining hall, many of the tables inside the bar were set up for the fashion show with tablecloths. Set away from the others was a solitary table with a single chair next to the sliding door. Heck, it already had a table setting. There was even a red rose in a vase.
I assumed the table for one was part of the fashion show seating, so sat away from all the tablecloths to grab a bite of lunch and have my beer. It was dim where I sat, and since my cataract surgery I need more light to read. That single table had the best lighting from the big glass door next to it, and I kept glancing over at it.
I was just nerving myself to go over and sit at that solitary table when I looked at the cover on the back of the chair.
In black and white, above the image of a man, was stitched “POW-MIA”.
Ray Lewis of Baltimore Ravens can’t moonwalk
He’s too damn big. But it appears he can do the Jupiterwalk.
It was a Longshot that paid off
This has numerous sheets for putter, woods and irons.
For 10 years I’ve had a pad of faceplate-shaped carbon-paper adhesive sheets called LongShot Maximum Distance System that you put on the faceplate of the club matching the sweetspot and grooves. It was a lazy day, so I decided to try them again. I’ve usually only used one faceplate and didn’t really learn much. This day, however, I settled down to really try to plumb my swing.
When you hit a ball, the impact of ball against face leaves an impression of the dimple pattern in the carbon-paper sheet so you can see where on the club you’re hitting the ball. Obviously, you want to hit it right in the sweet spot. If you’re always up, down, left or right, you can adjust your swing. These are impact recorders, in short.
Is this a clue to consistent shots?
I suddenly realized my pattern was toward the hosel side of the club…every shot. I was standing too close to the ball! So I started to move back. I put the club on the ground, then adjusted my stance so the handle was against my leg, then moved back so I could put my fist between leg and handle. I used up five faceplates worth, but by the time I was done experimenting, I was hitting on the sweet spot and the ball was consistent and straight. Well, sorta straight.
It was such an exciting development, I had to share it.
See ya. Lemme at the course
Let’s Ditch this Joint: Chiropractic in Golf
During the coldest month of a Minneapolis winter (Feb.), I went to a home show at our beloved Metrodome. Walking up and down the aisles, I chanced upon a young woman promoting chiropractic aid: $25 bought a gift certificate for an xray and a diagnostic in their office.
I’m not a believer in chiropractic medicine., but my lady friend said I was walking a little hunched over I always thought this backcracking was too close to quackery. I waited six months to use the gift certificate, but had already spent the money, so I went. I’m still a little undecided, but the xray of my spine looked like a bow instead of an arrow.
So I let the young woman chiropractor do some work on me. She doesn’t do much at any time. She crunches a couple of spots on my lower back, twists my neck like that Nikita TV teaser (but not so far as the assassin), and messes with my shoulder: whatever I’ve complained about that day.
I don’t know whether it works, but here’s the surprise: the first time I went to the course after I started the chiropractic treatment, I hit the ball straighter and farther than ever. It might be that she straightened out my shoulder problem from too many volleyball years. The second time I went out I was outdriving my buddies…and I never, never do that.
I seem to be in a little less pain from 67 seasons, and I’m enjoying the new length in golf. Did the backcracking make the difference? I don’t chip or pitch any better, but I’m hitting the long irons like never before, and driving a long way.
I’m pleased. Not ready to be the posterboy for chirorpractica, though.
Who Says the Number of Rounds of Golf Are Down?
The numbers–at least for the upper midwest–certainly don’t show that in 2010. As of April, they were up some 50+ percent over 2009. That’s according to a report from DataTech.
I’m certainly not adding to the stats: Tomorrow will be my first outing since last year, even if it rains! I’ve been changing my grip, trying to hold loosely with my left, while I almost let go with my right hand. (Sam Snead likened the grip to holding a bird in his hands.)
I’m also trying to keep my right elbow in and have the clubhead slanted a little bit left when I address the ball. I think that’ll give me a little draw.
My problem, as for so many amateurs, is trying to crush the ball instead of just hitting it. Powering down is hard to do.
The venue for the new stroke wil be Francis Gross GC, a Minneapolis Park Board course.
Free Advice, Freely Given
That’s a line from a Louis L’Amour novel I’ve always liked. And now that I’m writing for eHow under dale662, it’s fitting.
Take a look at what I’ve got so far. It’s about writing, but that’s what I’ve done for the last 40 years.
As for my growlin’ Ford E350? It only has 2-wheel drive, and when it gets stuck in a rut in snowy Minnesota, it gets stuck.
Free at last, free at last
Except I’m sitting in the Honda dealership in my Vikings jacket while they make some minor repairs to my 2000 CR-V. My contract ended last week, and I have a few loose ends to tie up around Minneapolis before I head for a warmer clime. I might get connected with another tech writing contract in the near future, but I doubt it: there are just too many bodies and too few openings.
So, the rattling from under the Honda bothered me, and I brought it in to the dealer first thing this morning. It turns out it was a loose heat shield. But it was time for an oil change, and the oil sensor was leaking, so with one thing and another it’ll probably run around $200.
If I’m going to head out to Calif. in it, though, it pays to have it in good shape. The van will have to wait its turn for travel until next year, doggone it.
I suppose I could take in my golf clubs for awhile. They’ve been rattling around in the Honda for a couple of months, without being used as implements of destruction. I’d better put them away before they get covered with leaves or–even worse–snow.
As for the Vikings? Brett Favre seems to have energized them. They needed a sparkplug like him.
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