Scene: Dewy fairway, perfectly manicured, stretching into the morning mist. Wild turkeys in the wings. Big, black clouds hovering ominously.
If all the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts …… There has got to be someone who wins and a player that comes in last. Rob reprised his role of last place finisher stepping on to the first tee box with water-logged shoes from the day before and commanded the first Act (first 9 holes) with prolonged angry soliloquies, acerbic rhetoric (why do you bug me more than the bugs?) and philosophical meanderings (what the hell is happening?)
When a performance plummets it does so in spectacular fashion. Beautiful, straight drives on every hole are a titillating setup to abject failure and delusion. So much so that there must be some alien force at work backstage intent on sabotage. Branches grabbed at soaring six irons, sand swallowed unlucky bounces and a barely visible twig destroyed the fluidity of a perfectly struck putt.
And the rain poured and the tears fell as our protagonist made the turn and the curtain came down on the first 9 holes.
The cloudy curtain lifted as our hero stepped out on hole 10 to blazing sunshine and the shrill chorus of cicadas. The supporting players were chatty and supportive, an air of lightness prevailed (really, the performance, at this point, could only get better) and the crowds cheered! Peach found the wide, empty spaces and a rhythm that beat out 5 pars in a row.
The reviews will show a much stronger performance in the second Act. The leading man rocked a hat of 3 goose and 1 wild turkey feather. He skillfully ran the gamut of emotions from ruined to raucous and finished with his head held high.
The show will go on.
But that’s all for now, folks.
