First There is a Mountain, Then There is No Mountain...Then I throw a club

Ok, ok, I really have to keep my head about my progress at golf at this point because if I don't, I'm going to do something drastic like linking to an old Donovan song...

Seriously, these days I feel like that old hippie song is ruling my golf life:

"First, there is a mountain,
Then there is no mountain,
Then there is..."

Ok, listen for yourself.

And why not get a load of Donovan while you're at it?





















Sunshine Superman. That's not an album title Young Jeezy's likely to use anytime soon. Some things age well, and other things, well, they just age.

(On the other hand, John Cusack held up the radio and played "In Your Eyes" for Donovan's daughter, Ione Skye, in 'Say Anything.')

Anyway, what does Sunshine Superman have to do with anything?

We already discussed the stages of golf greatness, and after struggling with complete and total incompetence, I made some progress, even going so far as to make it to Golf School, as some of you probably recall.

And that's when it all went wrong. Since Golf School, I've probably gotten 10 to 12 strokes worse.

So first there was a mountain (improvement and the possibility of actually not being a terrible golfer), then there is no mountain (experience, practice and golf school makes you almost as bad as when I started), but I haven't yet reached the 'then there is' stage.

This mostly gratuitous pictures shows a happier, more innocent time...a time before being The Deceiver (Nick Faldo) lured me into his evil web of sound golf advice.

Back in the mists of those ancient times of a month or so ago, I regularly threatened 100 (for 18 holes, though to be honest not on the trip in question, which was terrible.) More typically, I'd shoot about 105 (or 52 or so on 9 holes).

Now, I'm right down at about 115, which isn't good. For all the non-golfing women who read my blog, it's like going from being Carrie to being Miranda. Ok, it's like going from being Charlotte to being Miranda. Seriously, it's like going from being Miranda to being that Polish nanny of hers.

I'm hanging on optimistically because of two things: everything I've ever learned seems to go like this. I remember when I was learning Japanese (in Japan, mostly in bars), I would go from feeling like I could handle tea with the Emperor or maybe even go on a game show where they made me sit naked in a bathtub of ice to win a giant stuffed bear one day to complete blithering idiot-hood the next. After a period of blithering, I would emerge realizing that when I thought I was being smooth and fluent before, I was actually making a jackass of myself and telling people to 'bite the wax tadpole' when I had meant to say they looked fetching in that Hello, Kitty sweater and could I buy them dinner sometime. It's a wonder that ever worked.

The second reason for optimism is that I've noticed something...more and more of my shots are going where I meant them to. Imagine that. I was about 35 yards behind the 7th green on Altadena yesterday with a 50 foot tree blocking my path. I got out my Cleveland wedge and envisioned a shot popping up into the air, clearing the tree and dropping cleanly onto the green. It was a very, very strange sensation when in fact it happened almost exactly as I had imagined it.

Maybe there's something to this "Hope" thing after all.