It was our first Saturday morning trip, and we visited one of the outermost courses on the schedule, up in Cortland. Being Memorial Day weekend, it was packed.
With the crowd being as it was, we were grouped with two guys named Tony and Scott. Tony is a round, loud gentleman, while Scott was unusually skinny. When they pulled out a joint on the third fairway, we knew we'd be in for a long day.
I left a 10-foot birdie putt on the lip on the par-3 2nd -- a theme that would become pervasive for me as the first 12 or so holes went by. The super-dry greens didn't help my cause, as what seemed like perfect putts would take a last-second turn and scoot 6 feet by. Must've happened to me four times in 12 holes ...
The course is nicely designed, with plenty of beautiful landscapes. The long, uphill sixth hole, over a ditch, left Alex making a Tiger-esque driver toss after he hit a second ball out of bounds. But I would give back several strokes on No. 12, when the course brought us back across the same deep ditch.
In retrospect, the hole that really killed me on Saturday was No. 3, where I carded a season-worst 12. I had a terrible time trying to hack out of a bush against a tree with my third shot, then took a round-ruining four chips from the deep grass to the right of the green to get on.
Having to make it back to work at 4 p.m., I got a bit flustered on the last couple holes, finishing 10-8 to give Alex an 11-stroke margin for the day. No excuses, though: I played poorly, lost too many drives, and left myself way too many knee-knocking six- and seven-footers to two-putt.
I'm not overly discouraged: Saturday was about the worst I think I can play (knocks on wood), and Alex had -- not surprisingly -- quite a bit of good fortune, like on No. 5, a par-3 where his tee shot went way long, hit a tree and found a perfect lie to the right of the green. No way that sort of luck will keep up.
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