Golf by David McPherson To every season, there is a reason. For every reason, there is a season. Ask my son for one reason why golf season exists and I get nothing. Instead, my teenager offers a diatribe based on a George Carlin skit he recently watched that explains the stupidity of golf. If you are reading this column, you, like me, do not agree. Not only is there a reason for golf, but also the season – inmost parts of this country – is short. Ok, I admit I’m just rambling now and trying to find a poetic way to start this column. Turns of phrase aside, and getting back to my point (I promise it is coming), despite a gorgeous fall in Southwestern Ontario where I live, golf season passed me by once again faster than a bullet train. Back on April 1, I pledged to play a lot of golf this season. This was the year, I said, that I would get back to playing at least 15 or more rounds. I would play courses I had never played before. I would arrange games with friends I had not seen in a while. Wishful thinking. It was an April Fools’ joke on me. The season whizzed by and I only squeezed in five rounds. Mind you, those rounds were at some of the top courses in this country, so I have no complaints. But, my point is this, and finally I come to this column’s topic: the contents of my golf bag. You see, without playing frequently, my bag is not filled with as many treasures as in years past. At the end of each golf season, my golf bag is usually like a cabinet of curiosities. I’m excited to see what wonders and oddities surprise me when I dig deep into each of the myriad pockets before putting the bag into hibernation for winter. Maybe it’s a scorecard half filled out for a round where I started keeping score for the first few holes before What’s in Your Bag? A Treasure Trove of Curiosities 54 | www.snowbirds.org
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