A Bucket of Balls

The sun was shining.

Yeah, it was only 44 degrees, but I felt all right this morning.

“I’m gonna’ hit a bucket,” was my first thought.

I made the short drive to the range, and noticed that there weren’t any other cars in the lot.

Saw the owner walking by.

“Can I hit a bucket?”

“Yeah. The mats aren’t set up, but you can hit from the dirt in front.”

Which was fine with me. I’d rather hit off the ground than a mat any time.

“But it’s a little muddy,” he said.

Which turned out to be the understatement of the year.

I struggled mightily with the tee as I hit a dozen balls with my seven iron.

Then I moved forward a little more and hit about 25 balls with the cheat club that is my 7 wood.

Finally, pulled the driver out and swung until I was tired.

I could count the number of balls I hit well on one hand, but I was winded.

Felt good.

A little more waiting, but getting there.

I cleaned each club, and put the right club in the right slot in my bag.

They’re talking sunny and fifty tomorrow.

I’m here…

…ready to roll around in the mud.