Golf Frustration: Here you can find solace in knowing that there actually someone whose golf game sucks worse than yours does. Here you can track my frustration throughout the years. After truly sucking this year, I changed my golf stroke. Guys who golf with me have named me Happy Gilmore. I used a golf swing that resembled the batting stroke of Lenny Dykstra or John Kruk if they were right handed. So far, I have made progress by finally getting a sound swing somewhat instilled in my muscle memory. I still expect to break 90 this year. Instead, I am still golfing in the 120s. Fuck golf. Fuck golf up its stupid ass.

I golfed thrice on vacation - more than the times I've been golfing in Bermuda. I golfed something close to my best score (94) in Toronto, Canada. In Calgary, Alberta, I sucked (125), but Heritage Pointe is a nice golf course, even if they don't know how to spell point. In Edmonton, Alberta, I sucked (124), but almost broke 50 on the back nine. I had a few pars, which makes golf somewhat acceptable.

Since moving to Bermuda, I have only golfed here twice, despite Bermuda having the most golf courses per square mile in the world. In fact, I have golfed more times while on vacation than while in Bermuda. Yeah, I prefer playing football, hockey or basketball to golf.

I am the most honest person ever. I broke a personal record this year! I shot +21 on a hole this year, after depositing the first seven balls into a water hazard off the tee box. Don't let anyone tell you that I ain't honest.

I am an angry young man. I have started golfing again. As my contemporary Michael Jordan did, I have unretired from the game I hate. I still suck. My hand really hurts. It all started as of yesterday. I had been paying special attention to the fundamentals of golf. My last time out, I golfed 104, but had 39 putts. This round, I had replaced my generic driver with a Ping IST, and my bent generic putter with a Nubbins putter. I expected to break 100 with such improved weaponry. Instead, my suckitude, reminscent of the Maple Queefs playing the Sabres, resurfaced. I started acceptably, shooting a bunch of doubles - something which I could recover from. I wasn't happy, but I wasn't overly upset. My shooting continued to suck. A three putt here. A duff there. A blown tee shot on a par 3. Then the thrown 5 wood in sight of the marshal. Next hole, I nearly hit the goddamn stop sign on the par 5, after the rest of my foursome was talking about it AS I WAS DRIVING. Bastards. I begin sliding down that slippery slope quicker than Michigan's hopes of winning a Big Ten title. My anger continued to fester, increased with a quadruple bogey on #9. I shot 62 on the front. So much for breaking 100, thought I. Was I wrong in thinking that. After being 3 over on #10 (par 4), I went to hole #11, a 154 yd. par 3. I take out my 8. First shot goes right, killing all the worms facing its Shermanesque wrath. I am pissed. Expletives are as commonplace as spectuclar plays by LaVar Arrington. I shoot two more shots to help soothe my nerves. One goes into the water. I shoot my errant first shot back on the fairway. Next shot should be an easy chip. Instead, Chris squeals the brakes on the power cart during my backstroke. The bitch. I don't say anything to him as I scuff the ball 20 yards forward. Jun begins to realize the tension of the situation. I three putt and I am pissed. I take the ball out of the hole. Bad ball. Evil ball. Time to baptize your ass. I hit a line drive into the adjacent water hazard, using my putter as a bat. My anger, not yet satiated, needed to be calmed. I put the expensive putter back in my bag. I took out a cheap 5 wood (which I never use, except for throwing as noted above). I decided to attack a tree with my 5 wood. With a swift blow that would make Lawrence Phillips proud (plants are half female), I decapitate my 5 wood. Still, I am not satisfied. I need to hit the tree again. Like Cecil Collins, I hit the tree again. However, this time, part of the shaft impales my hand as quickly as Courtney Brown penetrating thru a Buckeye defensive line. I feel no pain, but when I look at my hand, it is covered in blood. I am losing blood quickly. Mushtak turns into Florence Nightingale, offering to take me to the nearest emergency ward. The others join the parade to the hospital when I offer the possibility of cheaper long distance calls. Thanks to Mush's wonderful ways, we all got a 9 hole rain check. We drive to the hospital. We honk at some blond with a lot of mileage. Then I check into the hospital. I get all the paperwork out of the way. The wait is expected to be 45 min. I decide to come back in a half-hour. In that time, the three stooges I golf with decide to go to a bar. It took that long because Mush was feeling maternal and nurturing. When Jun convinced him that he had testicles and not ovaries, Jun grew a pair of ovaries; now he wanted to stay in the emergency ward. Chris added nothing to the conversation. I then went back, and the nurses were already looking for me. After apologizing, I got my tetanus shot. Between that and getting stitched up, I read childrens' books. There was one book describing how the intelligence of dolphins allows them to kill sharks. I thought it was pretty damn funny, but the nurse decided to take the book and throw it out. Damn fundamentalists. I then got stitched up, we went to the bar for a bit. Mushtak had to leave, being overwhelmed with his newfound marriedness. Then we went out to the House of Chan to celebrate Chris' 40th birthday, Toronto's best steakhouse (even though they don't have creamed spinach or shrimp cocktails). After a black and blue porterhouse, Chris and I were unable to convince Jun of the suckitude of soccer. He must have been drunk.

Here's a golf cart I fucked up during a company golf day: only did $40 worth of damage, but still it was pretty funny. If you look closely, you can see the right side of the bumper is bent in. The cart was actually rented in Anne Marie's name. Yeah, more honesty from yours truly. The accident happened while driving across an out-of-service footbridge.

I have retired from this stupid, stupid game. I don't have the money or the time to pursue it with enough zeal to get any good. So screw it. And the links to improve your golf game are now deleted. If anyone gains a few strokes on their golf game because of it - good. I hope your game goes to hell like mine.