A beautiful 72-degree day at Lakeside Golf Course, three guys finding their drives, questionable putting, and a birdie that stopped inches from glory.
Sometimes the best rounds aren’t about the score.
A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO BE AVERAGE AT GOLF
There’s something special about a beautiful day on the golf course.
Seventy-two degrees, gorgeous weather, good company, and absolutely no guarantee that the golf ball is going anywhere near where you intended.
Today, I headed out to Lakeside Golf Course in Lexington, Kentucky, for 18 holes with my father-in-law, Po, and our family friend, Paulie.
No tournaments. No pressure. No expectations of greatness.
Just three guys enjoying a game that has an incredible ability to make you feel like a professional one minute and someone who’s never held a golf club the next.
And honestly? That’s exactly how I like it.
Three Guys, Three Drivers, and a Whole Lot of Confidence.
If you know me, you’ll know that my driver and I haven’t always had the healthiest relationship.
Some days, we’re best friends.
Other days, I’m convinced it’s actively trying to ruin my afternoon.
But today? Something clicked.
I started focusing more on my arms and less on trying to rotate my entire body through the swing. I’m not claiming to have discovered some revolutionary swing technique, but whatever I was doing seemed to work.
Over 18 holes, I only hit two slices.
TWO.
For someone who’s spent plenty of time watching golf balls take unexpected vacations into neighboring fairways, that’s a pretty big deal.
But I wasn’t the only one finding success off the tee.
Po and Paulie were absolutely roping their drives, too.
There were stretches where all three of us stepped up to the tee box looking like we actually knew what we were doing.
You know those moments when someone absolutely crushes a drive, and everybody just stands there watching it fly?
We had plenty of those.
Po would step up and send one down the fairway. Paulie would follow with another beauty. Then I’d get up there hoping my driver hadn’t suddenly remembered all the terrible things we’ve been through together.
For once, it usually cooperated.
There wasn’t much trash talk or competition between us. Just three guys enjoying good shots, encouraging each other, and appreciating the rare occasions when golf actually went according to plan.
And when everybody’s hitting the ball well off the tee, it’s hard not to have a good time.
Of course, golf has a funny way of making sure that confidence doesn’t last too long.
Because eventually, you have to hit something other than a driver.
MY IRONS HAD OTHER PLANS…
While my driver was busy making me feel like I knew what I was doing, my irons apparently decided they weren’t interested in participating.
Some shots were beautiful.
Others were… educational.
At one point, I stepped up with my 5-hybrid and proceeded to top the ball approximately three feet.
Three.
Feet.
I’ve seen longer putts.
But here’s where golf gets ridiculous.
Not long afterward, I grabbed that same club, stopped overthinking everything, took a swing, and absolutely flushed it.
Same golfer. Same club. Completely different result.
The only difference I could identify was that I wasn’t standing over the ball mentally preparing a dissertation on swing mechanics.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is get out of your own way.
THREE GUYS WALK ONTO A GREEN…
Somewhere on the back nine, we came to a par 3.
All three of us managed to hit the green.
Now, for a group of everyday golfers, that’s a pretty satisfying sight.
Three balls sitting on the putting surface.
Three legitimate opportunities to walk away with par or better.
You’d think at least one of us could finish the job.
You’d be wrong.
Not a single par between us.
Three guys. Three greens in regulation. Zero pars.
If that doesn’t perfectly summarize recreational golf, I don’t know what does.
Meanwhile, Paulie claims he made three birdie putts in a row during the round.
I can’t confirm or deny those allegations, but I do believe an independent investigation may be warranted.
THE UNINVITED GOLF BALL
At another point during the round, we were standing on a green, minding our own business and attempting to putt like civilized human beings.
That’s when a ball from the group behind us came flying onto the green.
While we were still on it.
Now, I’m all for playing ready golf and keeping things moving, but that’s one way to get everyone’s attention.
Paulie was about two seconds away from sending that ball on a return flight straight back toward the tee box.
Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed.
The golfer eventually apologized, and we carried on with our round.
No golf balls were harmed in retaliation.
Although I suspect Paulie considered it.
The Most Frustrating Part of Golf Isn’t Always the Bad Shots
You’d think topping a hybrid three feet would be the most frustrating part of the afternoon.
Nope.
It was the putting.
I actually putted reasonably well for stretches of the round. Plenty of two-putts, along with more three-putts than I’d care to admit.
But the real frustration came from the putts that almost dropped.
You know the ones.
The ball rolls toward the cup.
The line looks perfect.
You start thinking you’ve finally figured something out.
And then it catches the edge, circles the hole, or comes to rest so close that a stiff breeze might finish the job.
Except the breeze never shows up.
Those putts hurt more than the ones you miss by three feet.
Because for about two seconds, you were absolutely certain you had it.
Which brings me to the 18th hole.
ONE PUTT SHORT OF GLORY
There’s something satisfying about finishing a round on a high note.
And standing on the 18th tee, I had no idea I was about to give myself one of my best opportunities of the day.
I stepped up with my driver and absolutely smashed it.
Right where I wanted it.
Then came the approach shot.
I put it on the green.
Suddenly, I was standing over a 10-foot birdie putt with a chance to finish the round in style.
After 17 holes of questionable decisions, inconsistent irons, and putting frustrations, here was my opportunity.
One putt.
One birdie.
One beautiful way to finish the afternoon.
I lined it up, took my stroke, and watched the ball roll toward the hole.
It looked good.
Really good.
And then…
It stopped.
Right on the edge of the cup.
Not six inches away.
Not a foot short.
Right. On. The. Edge.
Close enough to make you question whether gravity had decided to take the afternoon off.
Golf, you stupid, infuriating game.
You couldn’t even give me that one?
NINETY STROKES, NO COMPLAINTS
When everything was said and done, I finished with a 90.
My personal best is an 87, so I wasn’t far off.
Was it a perfect round?
Not even close.
My driver was fantastic. My irons were unpredictable. My short game was downright ugly at times, and my putter apparently had a personal disagreement with the edges of several cups.
But here’s the thing.
I had a blast.
I spent a beautiful afternoon outside with Po and Paulie, laughed at some terrible shots, celebrated the good ones, and came away feeling like parts of my game are genuinely improving.
And when the round was over, one of the first things I wanted to do was call my buddy Dillion and tell him about it.
Not because I’d won anything.
Not because I’d played some unbelievable round of golf.
But because I was excited.
Excited about the drives I’d hit.
Excited about getting close to breaking 90.
And excited about the next opportunity to get back out there.
Then it was time to head over to daycare, pick up the kids, and get back to the part of life that matters most.
And that might be my favorite thing about golf these days.
It doesn’t have to consume your entire life to become something you genuinely love.
Sometimes it’s just a few hours outside, good company, and a little reminder that you’re getting better at something you enjoy.
WHAT BOGEY BOD IS ABOUT
I’m not a scratch golfer.
I’m not playing with a bag full of tour-level equipment, and I’m certainly not qualified to give anyone a masterclass on putting.
I’m just a regular guy who fell back in love with golf after spending years away from the game.
Some days, I hit shots that make me think I’ve finally figured it out.
Other days, I top a hybrid three feet and wonder why I bother carrying it.
But I keep coming back.
Because every round gives you something.
A great shot.
A terrible shot.
A good laugh.
A story worth telling.
And occasionally, a 10-foot birdie putt that stops just short of making your entire afternoon.
Today, I shot a 90.
And I’d happily go back tomorrow.
Well, assuming my wife doesn’t have other plans.
COURSE PLAYED: LAKESIDE GOLF COURSE
3725 Richmond Road, Lexington, KY 40509
18 Holes | Par 72 | Public Course
Embrace the Bogey Bod.
Golf for the Normal Guys.
