Oct. 23--The other day I played my last round of golf for the year -- a quick nine holes on the lakefront course formerly known as Waveland.
I ended up 12 over par, a score even lousier than it sounds given the generous rules by which my friends and I play. And a score identical to what I shot on the same course just a little more than 20 years ago, according to a little golf journal I used to keep.
Twenty years of playing nearly every week during the warm months, tweaking my swing based on tips from the self-assured and periodically upgrading my clubs. Yet I'm still a common duffer, spraying the ball off the tee, flubbing chip shots and stabbing at putts.
The difference is that now, at last, I'm OK with it.
People who play golf often refer to "swing thoughts" -- those telegraphic mental reminders they click through just before and during the process of striking the ball.
Left arm straight ... relax the grip ... shoulders square ... bring the club back slow ... head down ... club face open ... bring your weight through ...
For many, what happens next is a series of unwholesome post-swing thoughts expressing rage and self-loathing with a full range of Anglo-Saxon oaths. And that was me until this summer, when, in a moment of clarity I hit on a calming pre-round thought:
I choose to be a mediocre golfer.
I could hit straighter drives, crisper chips and truer putts. I could regularly shoot 3 or 4 over par for nine holes. But that would require professional instruction and, most important, practice -- hours at the range and on and around the putting greens, turning those swing thoughts into reflexes. And I've chosen not to do that.
I've taken three lessons in the last 20 years and made maybe a dozen separate trips to practice facilities. Week in and week out I've made the decision that I'd rather not spend the time and money to get better. The frequency with which I hit errant shots isn't confounding, it's inevitable.
In this light, every shot of mine that sails out of bounds, drops in the water or skitters pathetically along the grass in front of me isn't a failure so much as it is a consequence.
And the solution remains at hand.
I could choose, next spring, to devote myself to improving my game. I could sign up with a pro, steal away on occasional evenings and weekends to hit buckets of balls, and start putting at targets in the living room to groove my stroke.
One of the members of my regular foursome, a guy I used to beat regularly, made such a choice maybe a dozen years ago. Now it's a fluke when I beat him -- a divergence from the natural order so eerie that Rod Serling should narrate it.
Realizing that I choose to be a mediocre golfer was emotionally liberating. And it made me realize what other choices I've made -- what else I've blamed on fate, genetics or a lack of natural aptitude that are actually the result of decisions I've made and continue to make, decisions that reflect my actual priorities, not my fantasies.
I choose not to speak Spanish (or any foreign language). I choose to have major gaps in my reading of fine literature. I choose to be in lousy shape. I choose to be an idiot about investing. I choose to be a terrible sketch artist. I choose not to be much of a cook. I choose not to be able to play the accordion.
You could probably make a similar list of choices you've made, though it probably wouldn't include the accordion.
Sure, natural limitations, including those of age, can take away some of these choices. And practical limitations, money as well as time, mean you can't possibly have time to exceed mediocrity in all areas that tempt you.
And that's what I'm talking about here -- a choice to attain competence that exceeds mediocrity, not a choice to attain professional excellence.
I don't tell myself that I choose not to be on professional golf's Champions Tour, the circuit for players 50 and older. No amount of practice, probably even starting when I was a child, would have vaulted me into those elite ranks. Or put my pen-and-ink drawings into the Art Institute of Chicago or let me play accordion at Orchestra Hall.
Innate talent and physical gifts take over at the margins. But in this vast middle ground of talent and accomplishment, the lesson is not to storm and swear about the results of the choices we've made, but either to accept them or change them.
Me: When it comes to golf, at last I've accepted my choice.
You: If you're playing one fairway over, you've been warned.
A pox on both of your caucuses
In my column last Wednesday I took note of Gov. Bruce Rauner's sagging poll numbers as a reason he ought to set aside, for now, the union-weakening portions of his agenda and just negotiate a budget with the Democrats.
Thursday, another poll came out from Ogden Fry showing a slight uptick in Rauner's job approval rating -- to 34.4 percent from 32.3 percent -- but far worse approval ratings for Democratic House Speaker Michael Madigan -- 19.9 percent -- and the entire Illinois General Assembly -- 9.8 percent.
The poll, commissioned by an arm of the conservative Illinois Policy Institute, shows a plurality of respondents saying they would have an unfavorable view of politicians who cut services or who raised taxes to balance the budget.
Bottom line: Voters are feeling dissatisfied and unreasonable.
Your move, Springfield.
Re: Tweets
The best entry I saw on Twitter last week was "Actually, Frankenstein was the name of the scientist. I, the person correcting you on this trivial point, am the monster," by @JosephScrimshaw.
But readers who participated in the Change of Subject Tweet of the Week poll selected the also excellent bumper sticker-worthy sentiment, "God, give me the strength of a woman with good ideas and the confidence of a man with bad ones," by @julieklausner.
To be alerted by email when the poll goes live every week, write to ericzorn@gmail.com and I'll add you to the list.
