Friday, November 22, 2013
Remembering November 22, 1963
Like most of us who were old enough to be aware of world events, I have vivid and painful memories of the day when President John F. Kennedy was killed. I was in class at Tustin Memorial Elementary School in Southern California that morning when the principal came into our classroom. She was crying a bit, and held herself very rigidly as she said softly, "Children, President Kennedy has been shot." One of my classmates, Patty McShane, yelled "Good! I hope he dies!" My teacher, Mrs. V, strode over to Patty's desk and slapped Patty's face, hard enough to knock her off her chair on to the floor. The principal looked over at Mrs. V and quietly said, "Thank you." She told Mrs. V to turn on the television (this being Southern California, every classroom had one), and left for the next class to deliver the news.
We all sat there, stunned by the news, by Patty McShane's outburst, and by Mrs. V's dramatic reaction to that outburst. Patty McShane had gotten back in her seat, and didn't utter another word. Once the TV warmed up, we kids were riveted by the chaos in the newsroom, which was normally a staid, boring deal. Of course, the channel was tuned to Walter Cronkite who was as much a part of our daily lives as our teachers. I kept hoping that Mr. Cronkite was going to announce that the President was going to be okay, since he was at Parkland Memorial Hospital. My hope was crushed when after what seemed like hours later, Walter Cronkite took off his glasses and with glistening eyes told us that President Kennedy was dead.
I remember we were let out from school early that day. I walked home and joined my mom in front of the TV as it alternated shots of Air Force One and scenes in Dallas. Then the news came about a Dallas police officer being shot, and then that the police had arrested Lee Harvey Oswald as the suspected gunman. I still remember everything from that weekend, but in black and white since we didn't have a color television. I was watching live when Jack Ruby shot Oswald. It's amazing how much that stuff makes an indelible impression on a ten year old kid. Even with all of the violence portrayed on TV, movies and video games these days, not many young people have actually witnessed a murder on live television. That's a good thing.
Regardless of the historical impacts and subsequent discussion about President Kennedy's flaws, I know that my personal view of the world was changed dramatically, beginning that day in November, 1963. It doesn't seem like 50 years have elapsed since then, mostly because I still feel strong emotion whenever I see a film clip or photo from those events. For me (and I suspect a lot of my peers), the terrible end to "Camelot" took its toll on us. Things were about to get a whole lot darker and real for an entire generation of American kids.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Ying and Yang, Army Style
My ongoing efforts to get several years of service credit restored, so that I might remain in the Army long enough to earn a retirement, and continue serving on the investigation task force I'm currently assigned to has hit a few speed bumps. While I remain optimistic that I will win this battle, I have learned something about the stark difference between my active duty hierarchy and the reserve side's chain of command.
When this latest issue surfaced early last month, I got good help and support from the admin folks at the local reserve personnel center, but they were limited in what influence they have. On the other hand, when I informed my active duty bosses of the potential for my impending discharge I was stunned by their immediate offers of support, including a plan to get several commanding generals involved to add their considerable weight to my side. These offers were genuine, though it remains to be seen whether some "heavy hitters" are going to bat on my behalf. But at least they are providing tangible help. (They aren't doing this just to be nice, they recognize the contribution I'm making as part of the task force, and want to keep me in the fight. That makes a lot of sense to me, and motivates me to not give up.)
I contrast this tangible and heartfelt readiness to do whatever it takes to keep me on the team with the response from the reserve side of the house, outside of my home unit. Our higher headquarters (battalion-level) is located in California, and their reputation for losing personnel paperwork is epic. Once my situation came to their attention, their apparent worry has focused upon how quickly they can get me out the door, and thereby rapidly resolve the inconvenient mark on the battalion's unit manning report. No phone calls from the S-1 asking if there's anything they can do to support me, or the Battalion Command Sergeant Major trying to retain one of his NCOs by exerting his influence. Of course, these are the same bunch of folks who showed zero concern when our senior NCO in my detachment has had to resubmit his retirement papers FIVE TIMES, and they still haven't processed them correctly.
That kind of slovenly treatment by staff and commanders would get active duty folks relieved on the spot.
No matter how this episode turns out, I will never forget how my current active duty superiors have behaved in the finest traditions of military leadership...and how some of their reserve counterparts have remained on their collective asses. By the way, I'm hedging my bets by filing a request for assistance from the Inspector General, and seeking even bigger firepower from Senator Patty Murray's office. Watch this space for updates... UPDATE # 1: I headed down to the post IG's office on Wednesday, and a very professional and courteous Master Sergeant informed me this case would have to be referred to the Army Reserve IG folks.(The MSG said she'd handle the referral, and send the documents I had provided.) My initial trepidation at this development, given the lukewarm performance so far by the reserve side of the house, was quickly overcome by the outstanding response I received by the next morning. First, I received an email from the USAR IG HQ, letting me know that they had opened a case on my behalf. Later that morning while in the office, I received a phone call from the Assistant IG who will be handling my case. She was very squared away, quickly grasped the elements of my situation, listened to my detailed expalnation, and then laid out her plan of action. While she predicted this would be a challenging fight, I am confident the USAR IG will indeed strongly advocate on my behalf. So, score one for the Army Reserve! In the meantime, I am preparing my cases to be handed off to some "lucky" agent for final action, and set up my out-processing appointments. The fight continues...
When this latest issue surfaced early last month, I got good help and support from the admin folks at the local reserve personnel center, but they were limited in what influence they have. On the other hand, when I informed my active duty bosses of the potential for my impending discharge I was stunned by their immediate offers of support, including a plan to get several commanding generals involved to add their considerable weight to my side. These offers were genuine, though it remains to be seen whether some "heavy hitters" are going to bat on my behalf. But at least they are providing tangible help. (They aren't doing this just to be nice, they recognize the contribution I'm making as part of the task force, and want to keep me in the fight. That makes a lot of sense to me, and motivates me to not give up.)
I contrast this tangible and heartfelt readiness to do whatever it takes to keep me on the team with the response from the reserve side of the house, outside of my home unit. Our higher headquarters (battalion-level) is located in California, and their reputation for losing personnel paperwork is epic. Once my situation came to their attention, their apparent worry has focused upon how quickly they can get me out the door, and thereby rapidly resolve the inconvenient mark on the battalion's unit manning report. No phone calls from the S-1 asking if there's anything they can do to support me, or the Battalion Command Sergeant Major trying to retain one of his NCOs by exerting his influence. Of course, these are the same bunch of folks who showed zero concern when our senior NCO in my detachment has had to resubmit his retirement papers FIVE TIMES, and they still haven't processed them correctly.
That kind of slovenly treatment by staff and commanders would get active duty folks relieved on the spot.
No matter how this episode turns out, I will never forget how my current active duty superiors have behaved in the finest traditions of military leadership...and how some of their reserve counterparts have remained on their collective asses. By the way, I'm hedging my bets by filing a request for assistance from the Inspector General, and seeking even bigger firepower from Senator Patty Murray's office. Watch this space for updates... UPDATE # 1: I headed down to the post IG's office on Wednesday, and a very professional and courteous Master Sergeant informed me this case would have to be referred to the Army Reserve IG folks.(The MSG said she'd handle the referral, and send the documents I had provided.) My initial trepidation at this development, given the lukewarm performance so far by the reserve side of the house, was quickly overcome by the outstanding response I received by the next morning. First, I received an email from the USAR IG HQ, letting me know that they had opened a case on my behalf. Later that morning while in the office, I received a phone call from the Assistant IG who will be handling my case. She was very squared away, quickly grasped the elements of my situation, listened to my detailed expalnation, and then laid out her plan of action. While she predicted this would be a challenging fight, I am confident the USAR IG will indeed strongly advocate on my behalf. So, score one for the Army Reserve! In the meantime, I am preparing my cases to be handed off to some "lucky" agent for final action, and set up my out-processing appointments. The fight continues...
Saturday, September 28, 2013
"Shoot/Don't Shoot"
That's the common term for law enforcement firearms training scenarios, where cops have to decide if they are justified with using lethal force. It also accurately describes the roller coaster we experienced today, 24 hours prior to a police combat shooting competition our office was entered in. Our team, with me included, consisted of five agents, and an MP Captain from Battalion.
A number of factors combined to make this competition projected to be less fun than we initially thought:
First, the weather here changed from mild and mostly sunny to rainy and windy...and the real heavy stuff is predicted for this weekend. No matter how much fun getting to shoot government ammo at targets (which aren't shooting back at you!) usually is, when doing so outside in a monsoon, that quickly sucks pretty much most of the enjoyment out of it.
Second, this event is planned, organized and will be carried out by the U.S. Army, which by Army Regulations is required to obliterate any remaining chance of fun. From the looks of the briefing powerpoint slides I saw, they accomplished that mission with room to spare.
The final factor leading to our team's ultimate "Don't Shoot" decision was when the rest of the agents on the squad ended up with "duty calls" (CID-speak for reported crimes requiring immediate investigation) last night. They were expecting to be working long past midnight, which left only me (I am exempt from stuff not directly related to my task force assignment) and the Captain. I gave him a call, and it took little convincing for him to throw in the towel. He notified the competition's organizers that we were withdrawing, and that was that.
UPDATE: The next morning, right about the time we would have been going through the first course of fire, the heavens opened up, dumping what the weather reporters claimed was over two inches of rain in less than three hours. This deluge was coupled with wind gusts of up to 40 mph. None of us felt any guilt over bailing out, though it looks like I may be stuck with a case of shotgun shells.
A number of factors combined to make this competition projected to be less fun than we initially thought:
First, the weather here changed from mild and mostly sunny to rainy and windy...and the real heavy stuff is predicted for this weekend. No matter how much fun getting to shoot government ammo at targets (which aren't shooting back at you!) usually is, when doing so outside in a monsoon, that quickly sucks pretty much most of the enjoyment out of it.
Second, this event is planned, organized and will be carried out by the U.S. Army, which by Army Regulations is required to obliterate any remaining chance of fun. From the looks of the briefing powerpoint slides I saw, they accomplished that mission with room to spare.
The final factor leading to our team's ultimate "Don't Shoot" decision was when the rest of the agents on the squad ended up with "duty calls" (CID-speak for reported crimes requiring immediate investigation) last night. They were expecting to be working long past midnight, which left only me (I am exempt from stuff not directly related to my task force assignment) and the Captain. I gave him a call, and it took little convincing for him to throw in the towel. He notified the competition's organizers that we were withdrawing, and that was that.
UPDATE: The next morning, right about the time we would have been going through the first course of fire, the heavens opened up, dumping what the weather reporters claimed was over two inches of rain in less than three hours. This deluge was coupled with wind gusts of up to 40 mph. None of us felt any guilt over bailing out, though it looks like I may be stuck with a case of shotgun shells.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Golf-Related Quote of the Day
"Golf seems to be a cocktail, made by mixing equal parts of hope, disappointment, joy and despair...and stirred with a credit card." ___The Fighting Leprechaun, September 2013
Farewell To "Old Faithful", Hello To "Mr. Versatile"!
I suppose it's a "guy thing", but I felt a few pangs of sorrow when I traded in my old shotgun for a new one this afternoon.
I bought my old shotgun, a Winchester Model 1200 with a long-ass barrel, in 1968 for $75, which was pretty much my entire two-week paycheck from my weekend job at trap and skeet club. It was a rental gun which hadn't been used much, and when the owner got in a bunch of brand new Winchester shotguns, he let us high school employees get first crack at buying the old ones. I won more than a few matches with that gun, and came THAT close to qualifying for the 1972 US Olympic trapshooting team. It was a good pheasant gun as well, as that long 32" barrel gave it longer range with a tighter pattern.
After I joined the Army and was stationed in Germany, I went out a few times to the Rod and Gun Club in Mannheim and shot trap with some of the other officers, but eventually I lost interest in that sport. Plus, I'd left my shotgun back home with the folks, and loaners just aren't quite the same.
When I came back Stateside after three years overseas, I retrieved my shotgun from the back closet at the folks' new house. To my dismay I found that it had rusted, and the nice walnut stock was covered in mildew, even though I had oiled it all down before leaving. I removed all the rust, re-blued the metal, and tried to refinish the wood, but it looked pretty sad, like a once-favorite shirt with a now frayed collar, and a big ink spot on the pocket. I went trapshooting a couple of times, but never regained that old thrill. After becoming a cop, I bought what was supposed to be the right model short barrel with rifle sights, so I could carry it in my patrol car. (My department issued 9mm carbines, and got rid of most of the shotguns, but sometimes only a shotgun will do, you know?) Well, the barrel fit, but it wouldn't allow me to chamber a shell, so that was a failed experiment! "Old Faithful" went back in the gun safe, only emerging to receive a fresh wipe-down of lubricant and preservative, and a nostalgic shouldering while I softly yelled, "Pull!" Even though replacing it with a more suitable tactical model entered my mind on a regular basis, the timing was never right. And despite increasing worries about a so-called "Zombie Apocalypse" or the desire to have a shotgun useable for deer hunting, skeet shooting, or home defense against non-zombies, I just never seriously considered parting with that unwieldy 12-gauge anti-aircraft cannon.
Fast forwarding to the beginning of this month: Our SAC (Special Agent in Charge) asked me if I'd be willing to put together a team to compete in the post's "Three-Gun Match", a tactical shooting competition which draws law enforcement officers from around the region to use pistols, rifles, and shotguns (hence the name "Three Gun") for engaging various targets while moving and using cover. While we all planned to use our Army-issued pistols and rifles (because if you do, the Army provides the ammo for the match), none of us owned a tactical shotgun. Our unit doesn't even have them in the inventory. Well, one thing led to another, and when our local Cabela's Outfitters store advertised a big sale this week on, among other things, TACTICAL SHOTGUNS!!!, the die was cast. And even though my beloved Spousal Unit didn't mention it, I wanted to honor our informal agreement concerning firearms, to wit: "One Gun In, One Gun Out." This meant trading in "Old Faithful", which ended up cutting the already great sale price of the tactical shotgun I had picked out by more than half.
Still, as I pulled my long-time scattergun companion from the gun safe, wiped it down one last time, and gently peeled the red "Dymo" label with my name which had been stuck on the fore-end the day I bought it 45 years ago, I felt a twinge of guilt and sadness. Which lasted until I got my new light-weight tactical gun home, pulled it from the box, cleaned, lubed and assembled it, threw it up to my shoulder, and softly yelled, "Pull!" 'Cause like they say, "Honey Badger and old shotguns don't care!"
(IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is in NO WAY, SHAPE OR FORM, an allegory about any kind of relationship other than with that one inanimate firearm; no one, especially any Spousal Units who might happen to read this, should draw any inferences of any kind. Thank You.)
I bought my old shotgun, a Winchester Model 1200 with a long-ass barrel, in 1968 for $75, which was pretty much my entire two-week paycheck from my weekend job at trap and skeet club. It was a rental gun which hadn't been used much, and when the owner got in a bunch of brand new Winchester shotguns, he let us high school employees get first crack at buying the old ones. I won more than a few matches with that gun, and came THAT close to qualifying for the 1972 US Olympic trapshooting team. It was a good pheasant gun as well, as that long 32" barrel gave it longer range with a tighter pattern.
After I joined the Army and was stationed in Germany, I went out a few times to the Rod and Gun Club in Mannheim and shot trap with some of the other officers, but eventually I lost interest in that sport. Plus, I'd left my shotgun back home with the folks, and loaners just aren't quite the same.
When I came back Stateside after three years overseas, I retrieved my shotgun from the back closet at the folks' new house. To my dismay I found that it had rusted, and the nice walnut stock was covered in mildew, even though I had oiled it all down before leaving. I removed all the rust, re-blued the metal, and tried to refinish the wood, but it looked pretty sad, like a once-favorite shirt with a now frayed collar, and a big ink spot on the pocket. I went trapshooting a couple of times, but never regained that old thrill. After becoming a cop, I bought what was supposed to be the right model short barrel with rifle sights, so I could carry it in my patrol car. (My department issued 9mm carbines, and got rid of most of the shotguns, but sometimes only a shotgun will do, you know?) Well, the barrel fit, but it wouldn't allow me to chamber a shell, so that was a failed experiment! "Old Faithful" went back in the gun safe, only emerging to receive a fresh wipe-down of lubricant and preservative, and a nostalgic shouldering while I softly yelled, "Pull!" Even though replacing it with a more suitable tactical model entered my mind on a regular basis, the timing was never right. And despite increasing worries about a so-called "Zombie Apocalypse" or the desire to have a shotgun useable for deer hunting, skeet shooting, or home defense against non-zombies, I just never seriously considered parting with that unwieldy 12-gauge anti-aircraft cannon.
Fast forwarding to the beginning of this month: Our SAC (Special Agent in Charge) asked me if I'd be willing to put together a team to compete in the post's "Three-Gun Match", a tactical shooting competition which draws law enforcement officers from around the region to use pistols, rifles, and shotguns (hence the name "Three Gun") for engaging various targets while moving and using cover. While we all planned to use our Army-issued pistols and rifles (because if you do, the Army provides the ammo for the match), none of us owned a tactical shotgun. Our unit doesn't even have them in the inventory. Well, one thing led to another, and when our local Cabela's Outfitters store advertised a big sale this week on, among other things, TACTICAL SHOTGUNS!!!, the die was cast. And even though my beloved Spousal Unit didn't mention it, I wanted to honor our informal agreement concerning firearms, to wit: "One Gun In, One Gun Out." This meant trading in "Old Faithful", which ended up cutting the already great sale price of the tactical shotgun I had picked out by more than half.
Still, as I pulled my long-time scattergun companion from the gun safe, wiped it down one last time, and gently peeled the red "Dymo" label with my name which had been stuck on the fore-end the day I bought it 45 years ago, I felt a twinge of guilt and sadness. Which lasted until I got my new light-weight tactical gun home, pulled it from the box, cleaned, lubed and assembled it, threw it up to my shoulder, and softly yelled, "Pull!" 'Cause like they say, "Honey Badger and old shotguns don't care!"
(IMPORTANT NOTE: This story is in NO WAY, SHAPE OR FORM, an allegory about any kind of relationship other than with that one inanimate firearm; no one, especially any Spousal Units who might happen to read this, should draw any inferences of any kind. Thank You.)
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Confessions Of A Fantasy Baseball Failure
I had a short and unsuccessful career as a baseball player in junior high school. In the one game I started, I missed two out of four fly balls hit to me in right field, struck out once, flied out once, walked, and was picked off by the pitcher when I tried to emulate one of my favorite Dodgers, Maury Wills, by taking a big lead in order to steal second base. Needless to say, I didn't try out for my high school baseball team.
Despite being a crummy player, I was a big fan of major league baseball, ever since my dad took me to my first game at Dodger Stadium, where some guy named Sandy Koufax pitched for the home team that day. Growing up in Southern California in the 60s and 70s, I rooted for the veterans who had moved from Brooklyn, as well as the upstart LA Angels, who played in "the other Wrigley Field" until Anaheim Stadium was built. When I joined the Army and left Southern California for good, I kind of lost interest in baseball, until my new home team, the Seattle Mariners, drafted some guy named Ken Griffey, Jr. So now I'm a Mariners fan, with all of the perennial hope and ultimately disappointment that comes with it.
Fast forward to Baghdad, 2010. I was invited to join in a fantasy baseball league by one of my fellow agents. I had always thought fantasy sports stuff was for geeky dudes who spent most of their lives in their parent's basement playing "World of Warcraft". I soon learned that my preconception was invalid; normal folks, including women (!), really got into fantasy sports competition in a really big way. I had really no idea of what I was doing, but managed to "Forrest Gump" my way into the playoffs that year.
I've been doing fantasy baseball ever since, and added football a couple of years ago. One of my best friends from high school invited me to join the leagues he runs, and so I was in two baseball and two football leagues every season. Through all this fantasy sports activity, I learned a couple of things about myself:
1. Playing in fantasy leagues has added to my knowledge and enjoyment of both baseball and football, leading me to follow other teams outside of my region, and keep my interest going even when my home teams get bounced out of post-season contention on a regular basis. (Especially those damn Mariners!)
2. I absolutely suck at fantasy sports.
I'm sure a big reason for #2 is that I don't spend a lot of time tweaking my daily/weekly line-ups. I usually draft pretty good, even great players, but I hang on to them way too long after they go from "hero to zero", or I make the mistake of dumping someone who has underperformed, just in time for them to get picked up by another team at the start of the player's MVP comeback. Also, I'm really don't get too bummed out if my team loses. Don't get me wrong, I prefer to win as much as the next guy, but if I do my best, but my players stink at the wrong time, oh well, I did my best. There are undoubtedly lots of strategies I could study to improve my team's performance (that's why some guys usually win every year, even without a roster full of superstars), but I've got other things which interest me more.
This year's fantasy baseball season is drawing to a close, and once again my team isn't going to make the playoffs. I'm cool with that. Unfortunately, my "fantasy slacker" attitude led me to commit an apparent faux pas the other day. After realizing I was eliminated from playoff contention by my third straight loss, I figured I would help out the other teams still in contention by dumping most of the players I wasn't planning on keeping for next season, and replacing them with up-and-comers who may be the rookie sensations of 2014. Turns out that this approach is frowned upon in fantasy sports circles,
which my good friend was kind enough to let me know. So I guess there is even an etiquette to sucking at fantasy sports. (Which makes it more like golf than I previously realized!)
Oh, well...Lesson learned. Now it's time to get ready for fantasy football. Which, by the way, I've already set the tone for a dismal season by trading for an all-star receiver, who was arrested for murder the week after the trade went through. At least you can be assured I won't be dumping my players after we're eliminated from the post-season!
Despite being a crummy player, I was a big fan of major league baseball, ever since my dad took me to my first game at Dodger Stadium, where some guy named Sandy Koufax pitched for the home team that day. Growing up in Southern California in the 60s and 70s, I rooted for the veterans who had moved from Brooklyn, as well as the upstart LA Angels, who played in "the other Wrigley Field" until Anaheim Stadium was built. When I joined the Army and left Southern California for good, I kind of lost interest in baseball, until my new home team, the Seattle Mariners, drafted some guy named Ken Griffey, Jr. So now I'm a Mariners fan, with all of the perennial hope and ultimately disappointment that comes with it.
Fast forward to Baghdad, 2010. I was invited to join in a fantasy baseball league by one of my fellow agents. I had always thought fantasy sports stuff was for geeky dudes who spent most of their lives in their parent's basement playing "World of Warcraft". I soon learned that my preconception was invalid; normal folks, including women (!), really got into fantasy sports competition in a really big way. I had really no idea of what I was doing, but managed to "Forrest Gump" my way into the playoffs that year.
I've been doing fantasy baseball ever since, and added football a couple of years ago. One of my best friends from high school invited me to join the leagues he runs, and so I was in two baseball and two football leagues every season. Through all this fantasy sports activity, I learned a couple of things about myself:
1. Playing in fantasy leagues has added to my knowledge and enjoyment of both baseball and football, leading me to follow other teams outside of my region, and keep my interest going even when my home teams get bounced out of post-season contention on a regular basis. (Especially those damn Mariners!)
2. I absolutely suck at fantasy sports.
I'm sure a big reason for #2 is that I don't spend a lot of time tweaking my daily/weekly line-ups. I usually draft pretty good, even great players, but I hang on to them way too long after they go from "hero to zero", or I make the mistake of dumping someone who has underperformed, just in time for them to get picked up by another team at the start of the player's MVP comeback. Also, I'm really don't get too bummed out if my team loses. Don't get me wrong, I prefer to win as much as the next guy, but if I do my best, but my players stink at the wrong time, oh well, I did my best. There are undoubtedly lots of strategies I could study to improve my team's performance (that's why some guys usually win every year, even without a roster full of superstars), but I've got other things which interest me more.
This year's fantasy baseball season is drawing to a close, and once again my team isn't going to make the playoffs. I'm cool with that. Unfortunately, my "fantasy slacker" attitude led me to commit an apparent faux pas the other day. After realizing I was eliminated from playoff contention by my third straight loss, I figured I would help out the other teams still in contention by dumping most of the players I wasn't planning on keeping for next season, and replacing them with up-and-comers who may be the rookie sensations of 2014. Turns out that this approach is frowned upon in fantasy sports circles,
which my good friend was kind enough to let me know. So I guess there is even an etiquette to sucking at fantasy sports. (Which makes it more like golf than I previously realized!)
Oh, well...Lesson learned. Now it's time to get ready for fantasy football. Which, by the way, I've already set the tone for a dismal season by trading for an all-star receiver, who was arrested for murder the week after the trade went through. At least you can be assured I won't be dumping my players after we're eliminated from the post-season!
Monday, July 8, 2013
If A "Poor Workman Blames His Tools", Should A Good Workman Praise Them?
I am playing better golf these days, partly because I am getting out more often, but also because I am using equipment which maximizes my strengths, and minimizes my weaknesses. While I have pretty much resisted buying gimmicky stuff (like Rene Russo's character in "Tin Cup"), I realized earlier this year that I needed certain new "tools" if I was to significantly improve my game, and consequently my enjoyment.
Here's a brief inventory of what "stuff" has lowered my scores, and made golf a lot more fun:
1. Clubs:
a. Irons/hybrids: When I transitioned from 35 year old Ping Eye 2 irons to Adams AOS12 hybrid/irons, I was able to reach a lot more Greens In Regulation than I ever had before. It has taken me some time and practice to start striking the ball with anything like mid-handicap consistency, but better than 60% of my shots are either on the green, or very close. I used to dread having to hit my irons...now I get excited! In fact, one of my most reliable clubs is the sand wedge I picked up for $22 on E-Bay; it's the women's version of my irons, and maybe channels Annika Sorenstam considering how accurate it is. Adding 30-50 yards to my iron shots hasn't hurt either.
b. Fairway Woods: I have named my only fairway wood "Kristen" in honor of one of my golfing gurus, "The Golf Chick". (Check out her excellent golf blog: www.thegolfchick.com ) Even on bad days, the one club which always comes through in the clutch is my Ping G-15 5-wood. I can reliably hit a draw shot off the tee, and have launched a ball over 200 yards from the fairway at least half the time I've used it. While the G-15 model is several years old, I predict it will stay in my bag for the rest of my golfing days...it makes me appear to be a much better golfer than I really am. (That quality comes in handy during tournaments, especially in "best ball scramble" events.
c. Balls: All testicle puns aside, balls are really important to consistent play. One of my golf coaches, Molly Miller, strongly urges her students to find a single brand/model of ball that works for them, and use it exclusively. I hadn't really considered that bit of wisdom before, and had stocked my bag with a mixed lot of whatever was on sale or I had found on the course when looking for my own lost ball. Again, Molly's wisdom made perfect sense, because how else was I going to develop consistency if the ball characteristics were not? Now I only play Wilson "50 Elite" balls, in high-visibility orange color. Yeah, a lot of my playing partners and my brother give me a bit of crap about playing an orange ball, but who cares? I can find my ball in the rough or undergrowth, and also track its flight and roll so much easier than with traditional white or optic yellow varieties. I can knock it just as far as any other ball out there, and with my military discount at Puetz golf stores, I pay just about $10/doz., so what's not to like? (I add a black shamrock mark using a "Tin Cup" stencil, making it 99% certain no other golfer will successfully claim my ball as theirs.)
As an addendum to this category, I recently discovered a product called "Flex-Head Tees". These are miniature marvels of engineering, allowing me to consistently tee up my ball at the same height for whatever club I'm using. They come in different lengths, but all feature a solid, fluted pointy end and a flange, plus wide prongs to hold the ball solidly. They are guaranteed to be unbreakable, and are easy to find after I've hit my drive. You can find these awesome tees at www.flex-head.com and they are reasonable priced.
d. Cart and Bag: I prefer to walk whenever possible, but carrying my bag over a hilly 18 holes on a hot day saps my strength. I acquired a Clic Gear folding 3-wheel cart and matching bag last year, and couldn't be more satisfied. It's a great combo; keeps my clubs from bunching up, there's plenty of storage pockets in the bag, and the cart rolls like a dune buggy, handling all terrain with ease.
e. Other Accessories: I just got a super deal on a Bushnell "Neo-X" GPS watch, which has some 3,000 courses pre-loaded on it. I've used it twice, and both times I've shot lower scores as a result. Now that I have a really good idea of how far I hit every club in my bag, knowing exactly how far the front, middle, and back of the green is from wherever I'm standing has simplified my club selection. Again, more Greens-In-Regulation means more pars, and fewer bogies.
By the way, I haven't received any compensation from any manufacturer or retailer for shilling any item mentioned here, and although I've gotten most of my gear on sale, none of it was free. I just enjoy sharing some of the good quality equipment out there which has led to making golf a lot more fun. The one downside to that fact is that I am seriously looking forward to retirement (and playing several times a week on a regular basis) more than ever!
Here's a brief inventory of what "stuff" has lowered my scores, and made golf a lot more fun:
1. Clubs:
a. Irons/hybrids: When I transitioned from 35 year old Ping Eye 2 irons to Adams AOS12 hybrid/irons, I was able to reach a lot more Greens In Regulation than I ever had before. It has taken me some time and practice to start striking the ball with anything like mid-handicap consistency, but better than 60% of my shots are either on the green, or very close. I used to dread having to hit my irons...now I get excited! In fact, one of my most reliable clubs is the sand wedge I picked up for $22 on E-Bay; it's the women's version of my irons, and maybe channels Annika Sorenstam considering how accurate it is. Adding 30-50 yards to my iron shots hasn't hurt either.
b. Fairway Woods: I have named my only fairway wood "Kristen" in honor of one of my golfing gurus, "The Golf Chick". (Check out her excellent golf blog: www.thegolfchick.com ) Even on bad days, the one club which always comes through in the clutch is my Ping G-15 5-wood. I can reliably hit a draw shot off the tee, and have launched a ball over 200 yards from the fairway at least half the time I've used it. While the G-15 model is several years old, I predict it will stay in my bag for the rest of my golfing days...it makes me appear to be a much better golfer than I really am. (That quality comes in handy during tournaments, especially in "best ball scramble" events.
c. Balls: All testicle puns aside, balls are really important to consistent play. One of my golf coaches, Molly Miller, strongly urges her students to find a single brand/model of ball that works for them, and use it exclusively. I hadn't really considered that bit of wisdom before, and had stocked my bag with a mixed lot of whatever was on sale or I had found on the course when looking for my own lost ball. Again, Molly's wisdom made perfect sense, because how else was I going to develop consistency if the ball characteristics were not? Now I only play Wilson "50 Elite" balls, in high-visibility orange color. Yeah, a lot of my playing partners and my brother give me a bit of crap about playing an orange ball, but who cares? I can find my ball in the rough or undergrowth, and also track its flight and roll so much easier than with traditional white or optic yellow varieties. I can knock it just as far as any other ball out there, and with my military discount at Puetz golf stores, I pay just about $10/doz., so what's not to like? (I add a black shamrock mark using a "Tin Cup" stencil, making it 99% certain no other golfer will successfully claim my ball as theirs.)
As an addendum to this category, I recently discovered a product called "Flex-Head Tees". These are miniature marvels of engineering, allowing me to consistently tee up my ball at the same height for whatever club I'm using. They come in different lengths, but all feature a solid, fluted pointy end and a flange, plus wide prongs to hold the ball solidly. They are guaranteed to be unbreakable, and are easy to find after I've hit my drive. You can find these awesome tees at www.flex-head.com and they are reasonable priced.
d. Cart and Bag: I prefer to walk whenever possible, but carrying my bag over a hilly 18 holes on a hot day saps my strength. I acquired a Clic Gear folding 3-wheel cart and matching bag last year, and couldn't be more satisfied. It's a great combo; keeps my clubs from bunching up, there's plenty of storage pockets in the bag, and the cart rolls like a dune buggy, handling all terrain with ease.
e. Other Accessories: I just got a super deal on a Bushnell "Neo-X" GPS watch, which has some 3,000 courses pre-loaded on it. I've used it twice, and both times I've shot lower scores as a result. Now that I have a really good idea of how far I hit every club in my bag, knowing exactly how far the front, middle, and back of the green is from wherever I'm standing has simplified my club selection. Again, more Greens-In-Regulation means more pars, and fewer bogies.
By the way, I haven't received any compensation from any manufacturer or retailer for shilling any item mentioned here, and although I've gotten most of my gear on sale, none of it was free. I just enjoy sharing some of the good quality equipment out there which has led to making golf a lot more fun. The one downside to that fact is that I am seriously looking forward to retirement (and playing several times a week on a regular basis) more than ever!
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