We teed off at 9:28 at The Golf Club of California with Ian, Dav, and Rick — high sun already up, the air sitting at sixty-five, a breath of wind that wasn't worth reading most of the day. The kind of morning that asks you to play.
And you played. You pushed the drive on 1 into the left rough and then, from 116, dropped a fifty-degree on the pin — aimed left, came out right, kicked in close. Tap-in birdie out of the gate. You were under par before some of the group had cleaned their spikes. Then the round did what rounds do. We yanked a 4-iron left on 2 and gave the stroke back, then leaked a 9-iron into the rough on 3 and gave another one back. Nothing dramatic. Just the front nine clearing its throat.
The middle of the front held. The PW on 4 hit the bank and rode down to a few feet — you'd called that approach yourself, off the bank, and it was. We two-putted from five and moved on. Five and six were quiet pars, the kind that don't make the Read but make the round. Then 7 — the par-3, 177 — you played a touch short with the 8-iron and we had 32 yards left in the fairway with a clean look. I'd like that one back. The 54 came up well short, and a fifteen-foot lag turned into a tester. Bogey. Pretty view from where we stood, like you said.
Eight was the hole that bent the front. You flushed the drive 282 down the middle but didn't read the right-to-left, and the ball drifted into trouble — a stroke before we'd even reached it. From 126 we couldn't recover, chunked a 54 three yards, and walked off with a six. Honestly, that's where the round got away from us — by my count we gave up a stroke and a half on that chip alone against how you usually play it. But credit where it's due: you steadied on 9, found the fairway, scrambled to fourteen feet, and rolled it in for par. *Nice to end the 9 with a decent length putt* — your line, and it was.
"Hitting some really good shots! Nice to the the 9 with a decent length putt "
The back was the better nine, and it wasn't really close. After a sloppy three-putt for bogey on 10 from off the green, you locked in. Eleven through 15 was five straight pars, four of them GIR, fairways found, the round under control. The drive on 12 was 254 down the middle and the approach left us a comfortable look — you noticed the pair of hawks before I did. Thirteen, you striped it again and ran a forty-two-footer down to gimme range. Fourteen — par-5, the longest hole on the back — you played it intelligently, drive in the fairway, then worked it down with the 3-wood and two wedges to three feet for the up-and-down. That stretch was as composed as you played all day.
Sixteen and 17 leaked — a pushed 7-iron on the par-3, a fat pitching wedge from 125 that found rough — and we gave two back coming home. But 18 closed it cleanly: 5-iron from 186 to the green, two putts, walk off.
We finished at 1:58, seventy-nine on the card, +7. Thirteen fairways. One kick-in birdie still in the photo roll. The driver was a friend today; the wedges were not. If golf is a game of misses, the misses today were mostly the short ones — and we'll take that home and think about it some other afternoon.
