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.

Sunday, August 25

Arizona Rain & Tiger

A corollary to that other overused Arizona adage, “It rains in Arizona, but it’s a dry rain.” It’s Sunday morning and we’re in the midst of a gentle rainfall, and how nice it sounds at it tinkles off our back patio roof. Too often in the summer we get what’s known as virga, stuff that evaporates before it gets down to us, but this is what we used to call in upstate New York “a gray drizzler.” I hated it back then, but now it’s a most welcome change from our normal dry heat.

I won’t be watching the D-Backs show because I can’t stand to see what folly they’ll be involved in today. Thank heavens the Cardinals aren’t playing again for a week after that abominable display they put on last night. So, the only sports on the tube today worth watching will be the Barclays, with Tiger in the hunt. He seems to be nursing a tender back. Hard to believe someone as physically fit as he is could be suffering from lower back issues. But then, the torque he builds up on that swing could strain even the fittest of backs. I’m amused by the comments of the color analysts, especially Nick Faldo and Jim Nance, who lamented Tiger’s occasional fits of anger at bad shots, like his “Goddammit, Tiger!” and sand slamming after a bad bunker shot. “What,” they ask, “will young viewing golfers think?” Almost everyone who’s ever played this confounding game knows that almost everyone at one time or another has emitted far worse epithets after bad shots. In fact, probably every other PGA tour player has shown the same anger but their every move is not recorded for posterity as it is with Tiger. Did anyone in the broadcast booth say anything about Jason Dufner’s protruding bottom lip and his occasional on-camera spit of what had to be snuff juice? Weren’t they worried about what young golfers might think? I remember hearing Lanny Wadkins dropping F-bombs all over the place when he played, but he wasn’t on camera when he dropped them. I remember Curtis Strange’s comments about a course in Florida (obviously forgetting that he was miked for all the world to hear): “F-bomb this mother F-bombing course!” he grumbled as he strode after a shot into the off-course swamplands. Tiger lovers as well as Tiger haters insist on seeing Tiger’s every shot, every move, every epithet. They follow him in droves on the course, they tune in on tv religiously whenever he’s in the hunt, and even when he’s not. They, just as I do, want to see golf history being made. So today I’ll watch, hoping he can produce some of that old Tiger magic and come from behind to win this first step in the FedEx finals.
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