Paul J Penton – Songwriter

It should be green but with the drought and all it’s mostly thirsty brown strips of ground anxious for whatever drip of moisture they can lick up. The ball may be resting on a small crevasse on the fairway where bulbous headed crickets scurry and whistle their backlegs to each other.  As you don’t have a buggy you hump along your scaled down bag like a backpack and decide that a seven iron will do the job. The clubs cackle to each other as you fish for the iron, their heads chatter away taking bets on whether you’ll make the shot properly or not. The rubbery grip is like a cushioned sponge in hand and  you want more certainty so lock your little fingers together….Set. Thumbs down the shaft, body forms a ‘C’ shape, head straight and still. Now, breathe in the clean clear fresh country air and take away that club head.  Keep the head still and cock that shooter and DRIVE…..

There’s something reassuring when you’ve put it all together right. A graceful, floaty moment almost like instantly being in love. It lasts for just a few seconds. A perfect spiritual connection between man and implement and ball. The thwack of the club head has a reassuring sound like the voice of  your lover and you watch that tiny white dot follow a looping trajectory and pull up on the edge of the rolled piece of green within feet of the flag. Perfect.  But it isn’t always that way, just like a bad date or an argument with your lover or partner those shots can sometimes go way off course; an inside hook goes flying out of bounds, just the way some of your stubborn positions on certain issues sometimes send her out of bounds. Your thick slice heading left…….