Despite the age difference, activities involving me and my sons ultimately turn into some sort of Competition.
As I mentioned in my introductory post, I’ve been clinging to the 3rd golfer position in my family for some time. When the boys are on their game, I feel much like the “agony of defeat” ski jumper from the old ABC Wide World of Sports intro. However, once in a great while, old age and treachery can persevere, and even overcome, that cocky youth and vitality thing.
The weekend started with the weekly golf lesson for my 10-year-old grandson. While he gets a lesson with a nearby pro, his dad and I have a spirited putting competition on the adjacent practice putting green (there’s that C word again). He can’t overpower me with a putter like he does with a driver in his hands (he uses the phrase Super Walmart as “that is what they could build between my drive and yours”). I was having a good day—when it was nearly time to go, I was ahead by 5 points. He talked me into playing 5 more “holes” and I agreed. That was my critical mistake—not just agreeing to extend the match, but I then 3-putted the first of the last 5 holes, which gave him the right to call the next hole. I was now up by 4 points (1 point per hole, 2 points if you make an “ace”).
But first a little background. My oldest son has that Joe Montana quality about him that comes out when the “money is on the line”. On countless occasions, he has made the critical putt, or made the last-second shot on the basketball court, to propel him or his team to victory. If he stands over a meaningless 20-foot putt, he has about a 15% chance to make it, but if you put $5 on it, his odds go up to about 90%!
So there we were, 4 holes to play, and he chooses the next hole. He picks a hole about 25 feet away, uphill, with a slight right-to-left break. He strokes the putt and buries it dead-center in the hole. I hit a good putt, but missed slightly left, and now I’m only up by 2 points (aces are double). He then picks a hole about 18 feet away and proceeds to drain another putt! Once again, I was close, but no cigar—now we are tied! He picks again, this time a much longer putt, a 40-footer with about 2 feet of break. And guess what, he drains another one! Are you kidding me? I ate his lunch for the past 20 minutes, only to see it all fade away as he aces 3 consecutive holes when the “chips are down”. I was able to tie him on the last hole, but lost the $1 bet—it’s not about the money, it’s about bragging rights.
Later that evening, we decided to take the family out for bowling. We normally bowl about once a year, just to keep those bowling skills sharp (Mom had a Groupon). It started out as a friendly game, with Mom and Grandma and the kids, but, you guessed it, soon a competition emerged between me and my son. Unlike our golf skills, we are lucky to figure out which fingers go into which holes on the bowling ball, and a score over about 120 is pretty spectacular for us. The tension began to mount as my son threw a couple of strikes in the later frames, and before I knew it, I was down by 2 going into the 10th frame. He is up first and manages a spare with his first 2 balls in the 10th frame. A slightly errant throw with the 3rd ball resulted in me being down by 20 pins (so you’re saying there’s a chance…). I needed at least a strike and a spare to tie. Bear in mind that I hadn’t thrown a strike the entire game, and was now in a situation where I needed at least a strike and a spare just to tie. First ball—down the middle, just right of the head pin—strike! Second ball, down the middle, just right of the head pin—strike! I had just pulled a Joe Montana on him! The third ball needed only knock down a single pin, and despite throwing a mediocre ball, 6 pins ultimately fell, and I strutted away with a $1 victory and bragging rights until next year!
It turned out to be a banner weekend. The next day on the golf course, playing from the same tee boxes (no “JV Tees” trash talking from my son), yours truly had a 1-stroke lead after 9 holes. No Joe Montana comeback for him today—3 birdies on the back nine propelled me to a 4-shot victory, and gave me bragging rights for golf as well as bowling. Nobody pinch me--if I’m dreaming, I don’t want to wake up!
Somewhere along the way we did something right as parents. I’m proud of the sons we raised, but can’t resist the chance to get bragging rights on either of them, even if it’s playing marbles or tiddly winks. I hope that many of you can relate, and that once in a while, old age and treachery can triumph! TTFN…
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http://the-iseiblog.com/the-thrill-of-victory/
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