Hole In One: A Short Story

My pace was brisk climbing up the final fairway, bag feeling twice as heavy as I knew it to be. The energy that had surged within me hours before was almost depleted, and frustration coursed through me at the way I had “ruined my score.” My attitude induced an inability to enjoy the beauty surrounding me, as it usually did when I golfed. I trudged up to my ball (that, of course, had rolled into the thick rough). Bag clunking onto the ground as the legs sprang out, I pulled out the overworked range finder to find the distance to the flag. After staring at my clubs, considering, I pulled the five iron out of my bag. At that point, it was nowhere near as shiny as it had been at the beginning of the round. Scraping off most of the dirt, I stepped up to the ball and tried to keep my mind free of the memories of past rounds.

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze. We're singing in the car, getting lost Upstate. Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place,

The first pitch that the coach threw to me seared the hair right off my head since it was going so fast. “Strike one!” called the ump. Alright, I needed to believe in my abilities. The next pitched was hurled right in line with my face! When I opened my eyes, I saw that the baseball was a perfect pitch and the catcher hadn’t moved his glove. The coach was making a fool out of me with his famous curve ball. “Strike two!” the umpire proclaimed. The next pitch was the one that I would make my mark on. The pitcher wound up and thrust the ball toward the catcher’s glove. I loaded and fiercely swung as hard as I could. After what seemed like forever, I looked into the catcher’s glove, and there was the ball. I felt dreadful. “Strike three!” I heard in the background. As I walked back to the dugout, I wondered what did I do wrong, what could I have changed, and what does the coach think of

the sun, dreaming and dazed with the warmth about her as if it were a kind of love, the caresses

I step out of the batters box to gather myself. I take a couple of check swings. I tell myself now you are ready. I Step back into the batter’s box and prepare myself for the next pitch. In my mind, I am thing if he pitches a fast ball I am going to swing for the heavens. The pitcher throws a fast ball. I can see the ball moving towards me as if it was moving in slow motion. My eyes zoom in on the ball like a pair of binoculars. I swing it is a hit into the outfield over the centerfielders head. I run with

He wrenched the club free. The first time he knew he had missed and struck a shoulder, but the second time his crushing blow found the head, and as the heavy man sank down, three more blows found his head. The lights danced about. There were shouts, the sound of running feet, crashing through brush… Ahead he saw bushes that bounded the field, bushes along the edges of an irrigation ditch.

“Hit a home run,” he told me. I smiled and laughed. “You know I will,” I said with a flip of my ponytail. I turned away from the fence and took a few practice swings. How satisfying would it be to hit a home run. That feeling of the ball hitting my bat in just the right spot. Hearing the loud crack and watching the ball soar over the field. I wanted so desperately to have that dream come true.

The aroma of freshly mowed grass was overpowering and almost overwhelming as I curved yet another ball just high above the rusted goal post of the Desert Spirit school yard. I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. I’d spent so much time and put in so much effort just to simply be able to curve a ball into a net and after everything, my skill level seemed to amount next to nothing. My fists clenched with anger as I cursed under my breath and jogged towards the ball. Setting it down almost identically to where I’d shot the previous ball from, the ball flew wildly from my foot in desperation. It had gone farther than the first time. I threw my head back in frustration and started for the ball again, prepared to kick it harder as I got angrier. “Stay

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d been wandering around the campus. The last shot of tequila was burning a hole in his stomach lining, and he was highly aware of the sloshing liquid with every step he took. The urge to spill his stomach contents on to the floor was overwhelming, but the nagging voice warning of a vomit penalty, helped to still the indigestion. The Speedsters took their alcohol intake seriously. They were like a dilapidated diesel engine drinking the juice. Real gas guzzlers. If tonight had been their initiation ceremony, he didn’t fancy sticking around to find out what a punishment looked like.

My body tingles, still feeling the need to be on the dance floor, moving with the music. Everything is soft and a little bit muted around me, and it all seems brighter. Everything is funny, so funny, I can’t stop laughing. I didn’t drink did I? It doesn’t matter, because everything feels so good now. So good, until a

For my book/movie report I picked the book Holes by Louis Sachar. The book is about a teenage boy named Stanley Yelnats. Stanley is overweight and gets bullied on in school. One day Stanley was walking home from school, and a pair of shoes got thrown off a bridge that Stanley was walking below and they hit him in the back of the head. Stanley liked the shoes so he picks them up and started running, but however, the shoes were reported stolen so the cops end up finding Stanley and they bring him home and he then ends up going to court.

In this article, we looked at the power of fear. Understanding the automatic tendency to replay past mistakes, keeps many golfers trapped in the avoidance syndrome. When you learn how to lock in the feelings of your best shots, then you begin to develop the habit of

Anticipation is waiting eagerly for something you know is going to happen. For me, it’s the long, rolling hills of green that craft a unique, strategic game. A game I have grown to love. It is everything from the excitement of preparation till the moment I tee off. As I gather the equipment-clubs, tees, and golf balls-anticipation floods my senses. Preparing myself for the long journey of 18 holes, excitement and anticipation continues to pulse like an electric current inside me. Not until I strap on my glove and mentally prepare myself, do I realize I have been through this routine countless times. The only difference is this could be one of my last times. One of the last times I step onto the fresh grass of a course, with the goal of achieving

For this month’s reading log I have chosen to read a book called Holes, by Louis Sachar and Adventure Fiction for the Genre. This story takes place in Present day Texas. Stanley Yelants the fourth is the main character and is supposedly cursed by a gypsy because of his great Grandfather. Stanly was sent to Camp Green Lake because of a crime he did not do. Stanly is an Overweight kid and is usually bullied by his classmates. Stanley’s father is an Inventor and was trying to cure foot odor. When Stanly was at the camp he made a good friend who was “zero” or Hector. Hector and Stanly decided to run away from the camp towards a Mountain. When they arrived they decided to drink the water from the mountain and the curse was lifted. Next Stanly and

I listen to the music, as it vibrates my whole body. Collapsing into a fitful slumber, never thinking it’d rain and thunder. Waking up to singing birds and the sweet sound of wind breezing through trees, my mother, Lori, kindly gave me pancakes in bed. I can taste the pancake, butter, and syrup as they mix and mingle like they are having a party on my tongue. After eating I took a shower and it felt magnificent!