In a slight drizzle but protected by the upper deck of the driving range, I hit 22 balls today: a couple with one of the new Mizuno wedges, 10 with the new Nike VR Hybrid #3 and 10 with the Taylor-Made R9, which I adjusted with the wrench for the first time. The wedge shots felt good, eight of the 10 hybrid shots were good to excellent (and the two misses were still okay), but the shots with the driver made me want to abandon the club and stick with my Cleveland. Next time perhaps I'll try a complete bucket with the R9, so that my decision won't be rash, but ...
Then, on the way home, I had a much thicker grip put onto my new Nike Method putter, then I practiced rolling some on the indoor putting green in Roger Dunn's. We'll see if I made the right decision, but in that fake environment, my long putts were consistently very good.
I had really, really hoped to come home from the range to spend a few hours completing my story about the Robert Trent Jones Golf Tail in Alabama. I took the trip many months ago, and I should have banged out the story soon after my return home. But now I think I'm procrastinating because, as I write this, the RTJ Golf Trail story may actually be the very last feature I write. I simply do not have a single assignment in the works, other than columns. I have a couple queries out, but the editors to whom I sent those are not even likely to respond, based on their track records, let alone likely to assign me the stories. So, after producing many hundreds of articles over the last 22 years, I may be procrastinating over this story because it represents the end of my career. Or, of course, I could just be procrastinating.
And with the way I hit the ball today, I'm not likely to make the Champions Tour when I turn 50.
I need a big break, or four. Playboy saying yes to one of my short stories would be a good start.
A quote I received via email this morning: All glory comes from daring to begin.
And, in the case of Exit Wound, to continue. And so now I will wade back in.