Translate

My books can be purchased as e-books for only $1.99. If interested, just click here: Books.
Match Play is a golf/suspense novel. Dust of Autumn is a bloody one set in upstate New York. Prairie View is set in South Dakota, with a final scene atop Rattlesnake Butte. Life in the Arbor is a children's book about Rollie Rabbit and his friends (on about a fourth grade level). The Black Widow involves an elaborate extortion scheme. Doggy-Dog World is my memoir. And ES3 is a description of my method for examining English sentence structure.
In case anyone is interested in any of my past posts, an archive list can be found at the bottom of this page.
My newest novel, Happy Valley, can be found here.

Saturday, February 25

Tiger?

Tiger, Tiger, what are we going to do with you? Feet of clay, hands of lead. Just when I thought you were about to find your old form and start winning again, you showed me and the world that you still aren’t there. And it all seems to be linked to the putter. In the old days, you could will a putt to go in, no matter how long or how much break. Now you can’t seem to make anything, especially when it really counts. You couldn’t make anything on Sunday in Abu Dhabi, couldn’t make anything on Sunday at Pebble Beach, couldn’t make the big putt in your Thursday match at Marana. Although neither match, the first against the unknown Spaniard Gonzalo Fernandez-Castano nor the second against Nick Watney, were very well played, you still had every chance to win both. On the 18th against Watney, needing a five-footer to square the match and go to extra holes, a putt that was almost automatic in the past, you shoved it right and that was that. After the match, when asked what about your game needed fixing, long game or putting, you chuckled and said fixing the putts was easy. Hmm. We all know that putting success depends on a positive attitude. If you can imagine a putt going in, it probably will. That was what separated you from the rest, your ability to will a putt in. So, you’re faced with a five-footer, knowing you either make it or go home. You could give it enough speed to take out any break. The spectators around 18 started rushing to the first tee. They and the whole world were waiting to see what was going to happen on the first playoff hole. You struck the putt. Didn’t even touch the edge. Tiger, Tiger, I still want you to regain the old roar, but I’m beginning to think you never will.

Blog Archive

Any comments? Write me at jertrav33@aol.com