Twenty-Five Days to shoot your age
It only took Butch Carlstadt 25 days to do it. To shoot his age. Butch became ninety years old on January 1st and shot a ninety on January 25th. Playing with a different group that day I crossed paths with Butch on the back nine and he said, “I may shoot my age today.” He did it. Congratulations Butch you might be the first to do so in 2023. That same day Butch shared with me some Golf columns his wife had saved from the Beacon written by Harry Fortune. Written in his column Harry shared that Butch first shot his age when Butch was 69. In another column, Harry wrote that Butch sank six birdies, a three-putt bogie on hole sixteen, and the rest pars to shoot his best round ever at the Little River course, a 66. On February 20th, 2003, Harry wrote that Butch shot his age again a front nine 35 and back nine 35 for a one under par 70. Nice Butch. You deserve the Harry Fortune Sacajawea for shooting your age more than anyone on the Little River Course. The Sacajawea was an award Harry presented to local golfers Harry felt were deserving.
I recently watched a documentary on infinity. Infinity defines the concept of boundless, endless, and foreverness. An example would be that you can divide any number in half forever. For infinity. Taking that concept to the golf course. Putting for example. When putting the ball into the hole is it always only halfway there, halfway there, halfway there for infinity? And yet it falls into the hole. I asked local golfer Jim Corsar, an engineer, his opinion of the concept. “Why, Jim, does the golf ball fall in the hole if it is always only halfway there?” “Because.”, Jim answered immediately, “The hole is four and a quarter inches in diameter.” Ahh yes, I see. Makes sense. The golf ball is 1.68 in diameter so it would fall in a 4.25inch hole. “Doesn't work for me.” Chimed in Scott Deitz, “Mine don't fall in.”
If you didn't make it out to Albion Ridge Road to play a round of pothole street golf you are too late. The course has been closed the potholes are filled. Last Wednesday on my way to the golf course the road crew was busy filling the holes. A couple of days before I had counted from I Road to my driveway a total of sixty potholes. These were the crater-type holes, not just a bumpety-bump ripple. As I was driving slowly by I rolled down my window and shared my count with a crew member. “Aww that's nothing.”, The crewman friendlily answered. That would have been 3.3 eighteen-hole pothole courses. Many thanks to the crew for their work.