Honestly, I couldn't believe what I was witnessing tonight, out in lovely (aha) Nichols: the self-destruction of a young man who, I thought, had harnessed his emotions and his game to a respectable level.
Tonight, Alex Racketa imploded.
The damage was done on the course's toughest hole: the 521-yard par-5 4th hole, an uphill-then-downhill intimidator that surely has done in many a golfer over its years.
Two tee shots into the woods. A long iron down into the next fairway over. A looping short iron into a tree. A looping short iron into the sand trap. Two poor chips. Of course, three putts. And, somewhere, a couple other strokes I must not even have seen; by the end, adding to an unspeakable, unimaginable, season-ruining 15.
That's not a triple bogey -- that's triple par. And in one hole, 8/9ths of a lead carefully built over 180 holes around the Southern Tier had disappeared.
Sure, there were two golfers on the course tonight. And don't get me wrong: I thought I played pretty well, considering the exhausting heat and continued dry conditions. I carded a 49 on the front 9, and if not for a usually-the-worst-hole-of-the-day-by-either-of-us 11 on no. 16 (another par 5, at least), I would've broken 100 on the day.
I can sympathize with the fact that it was not a perfect night for golf. I'm sure Alex will blog about how we had to play very quickly, jumping around to try and get in as many holes as possible; at one point, we decided we were only going to fit in 12 holes and would have to come back to finish the round another day. (We started at 1, played 2, then skipped to 9, finished through 18, then floored it back to 3, cutting off a group putting on 2; we finished with probably 8-10 minutes left before total darkness.)
But the truth is, I stepped up. Whereas a month ago, if one guy tanked, the other guy's game would've similarly suffered (see: Blue Stone), today, I refused to let that happen.
I was particularly proud of the putter today. I made a number of 8-to-10-footers that, on a regular day, I would've been overjoyed to drain one. A common refrain for Alex this summer has been, "You really missed an opportunity there," as I pick up my ball from 3 inches from the cup, having missed a four-footer just left.
Today, with an "I-can't-even-believe-I'm-typing-this" 22-shot swing (!!), I didn't miss the opportunity. And now, probably more surprising to me than anyone else, the Libous Invitiational is mine for the taking.
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Quick hits on Tioga: I thought the bartender was way more attractive than "golf course hot," but Alex disagreed; the clubhouse here is definitely hidden, and I'm sure I wasn't the first guy to be confused by its secluded location and indescript door; I've been very generous in rating these courses, but I can't say I'd want to go back to this one. The time factor and the location -- wayyy out of the way -- don't help, but the long grass and weeds weren't enjoyable, the par-3s weren't memorable, the goofy doglegs are just that, the water wasn't particularly nice ... I guess it's nicer than Dimmock, but I don't think I could rate it above any other courses we've played this summer.
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