The Russians on our Blog!

I believe you when you say you burned the toast this morning, didn't get enough sleep, drank too much java—hell, I'd even give you some credit if you told me you got a draft notice! I trust you, I trust you enough to turn my back and even believe you've got me covered. To a one, I bet we still put our hands over our hearts while singing the national anthem. We are a team indeed, colored by a nationalism that for decades others have envied, fought, and still look to undermine. Yes, I'm waving a flag, but it's not some specific "ism" or for the sake of pure patriotism—I'm waving a flag of reality and warning!

Your blog, our blog, is constantly attacked by Russians. They're not "coming," my friends, they're here. Believe or not believe your choice of news and "facts" vomited on you from those "credible" sources; the "breaking news" entities; the red, white, and Goo networks. And argue all you want about facts. We have a president who is ignoring all evidence—my proof (listed below). I'm a retired cop and investigator, and frankly still in possession of most of my gray matter. To ignore the information listed below is a form of treason that will score this nation for decades to come. The man is not following Constitutional mandates to protect us! Why?? You don't have to be Sam Spade or Sherlock to figure this one out. And if you can, go ahead and justify, explain, or explain away your eyes below. Don't bother buying 23 and Me—your DNA will just show you are a large portion ostrich.

I see this every day and have for years. Today it just pushed me over to the keys—no one to hit, fight, or fight for me ... 

I don't often get political; it's a form of public masturbation I try to avoid. This morning it was louder than my coffee ... 

These are one weeks worth of hits on our blog and where they are from:

Russia 64 United States 57 Portugal 16 United Kingdom 1 Netherlands 1

The Merlin Controversy, Or How I Learned to Loathe the Enigma

With heavy guilt but heavier curiosity and expectation, I drew “the enigma” from my bag. Actually, let’s just name the damn thing Enigma, and leave it at that.  
The title became obvious as the first day of attempted use drew deeper into the round. 
First swing with Enigma (after a flailing toe drive) landed me a mile away on the par four 3rd. I anxiously removed Enigma from its sheath and smiled at its perfect form, reflection, and promise. 205 uphill from the rough was an excellent first challenge for this pristine Darth Vader-looking instrument. I could feel the other clubs wrestling in the bag for a vantage point to watch the initiation of the “fairway crusades.” Discomfort momentarily took me as I again acknowledged that Merlin had a much larger face and body; Enigma looked like a hockey puck on a stiff wire by comparison.
A couple of stiff and somewhat awkward practices swings: I told Enigma that was something Merlin handled in time, the “that” being Wade talking about his game fortissimo without pause, Lyle’s attempt to throw everyone off by donning a “normal” baseball cap designed in some Third World country where a golf ball never resided, and Dick’s fresh boring interest in the middle of the fairway, explaining that his stance, his lance, and a tip that came from the Dirty Donkey changed his life.
 I wondered if all that was going to nullify an agreement I had yet to consummate with Enigma. Alas, I digress. Back swing in motion I can feel the eyes, irons, and tees listening for a response:  
Dead Block left—OB.

Enigma was not having any of me.  

A failed search and subsequent re-hit showed me that Enigma can hook at will, and seemed to enjoy it. The impact on the face, even when it seemed middle-face and “sweet,” felt dull, that line drive to center where the fielder can see the near non-moving stitching on the knuckling orb coming at him mach 5; it was just … odd! 
It all became doubt, when on the twelfth my second shot with Enigma landed me in the red-staked area to the left of the middle fairway tree, 190 out, uphill, into a small breeze and daunting oak that would require vaulting. I chose not to use the black curse again but to use Merlin’s sister club, Hybrid 4: it was an unreasonable attempt and felt more like a Hail Mary or a who-gives-a-shit try. The grip and swing were like home, and the ball, once struck, made an immediate rise to the distance and trajectory required. It took forever before it landed, but it did land—and where it was intended. I was in a state of  complete guilt. Sister Merlin sauntered back into the bag and just shrugged a “no big deal really.”
The Enigma had lowered my shoulders and my wallet; I was wondering if I could talk Riva into a “fresh purchase.” I can see the ad now:
“Barely used Titleist 3 917 F3: Used only one round and hit five times with zero effectiveness.”
Yeah, that’ll bring a sale for sure.  
Did I buy a grown-up toy I had no chance to grow up to?
Did Karma shrink one of my slippers in spite?
Was Merlin’s gracious exit an act, a “You’ll see, you’ll be begging me to come back” ploy?
Tune in next week when the soap opera of “Raggio’s Bag” continues …

Thursday Scramble! Film and pics on Fred and Sam (The Winners) 2 under!

Players:  Coach, Joe, Dick,Wade, Dennis, Lyle, Sam, Fred and Raggio

They ham and egged it all round.  Never once did both have a bad drive or iron! 

The moral of the round is: If you can't have an Allan have a Fredsam!!

                Lyle begging me to not leave the team.

Fred's second shot on 10

Sam's second shot on 10

Swings

Hobbies...

Next time someone asks I'm going to say, "missing the green."

February 9th 2018. A day that will go down in infamy: Merlin is retired!

There was a slight scuffle as I attempted to remove him from the bag. The other clubs began banging into each other in protest, perhaps projecting to a day when they too would be evicted. Even the new AP1s rattled, although with head covers on, they only made pathetic muffled noises.

"Merlin," the RBZ 3 wood that resided in my bag for years, was stoic and proud. He attempted in vain to quell his sister clubs—4 hybrid and 3 hybrid—from clashing and striving to rally the bag into a full mutiny. It was only when Merlin began recounting shots and admitting he was looking forward to retirement that the situation quieted and an attempt at normalcy arrived and eventually prevailed. As Merlin recounted certain epic shots, cheers rattled throughout the bag, and even the balls and tees that were not present during those fabled shots offered celebration and respect.

When I finally accomplished full removal and Merlin was gently leaned onto past heroes in the garage, a silence came over the bag as the expected rookie replacement finally appeared and was carefully lodged in his place among the drivers. You could have heard a tee drop in grass!  

Titleist 917 F2, knowing how volatile things could get, wisely appeared timid and appreciative of the opportunity. He was warned immediately by the Odyssey putter that the initiation would be long and difficult, but that eventually he'd get a “grip” on things. The joke was roundly appreciated, except by Merlin's sisters, who smiled for the effort at levity at such a critical time.

Ladies and gentlemen (if there were  any "gentlemen" in the Wade group), I would like to introduce ... (name to follow, depending on performance).

Comments:         

 "Big mistake!"

     "He'll be begging for Merlin in a week!"

             "You need more meds, Raggio!"         

"Christ, he used to sleep with that 3 wood!"

"Bye bye skins on those par 5's, Raj"

"The grass is always, blah blah blah."

                                                                                                                       

Fred caught threatening another player's ball!

Thursday 2/08/18

Coach and Dennis...

Raggio daydreaming birdies

Coach on #2