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What I learned after 150+ holes of golf in Michigan over 5 days: Healing waters definitely exist
- That was plenty of golf.
- But, I woke up Sunday morning not regretting a thing, physically, for playing 150+ holes of golf. My shoulder hurts worse for long-tossing across the yard last night with Screencaps Junior, but I learned his arm and accuracy are WAY up.
- Mentally, 150 holes of golf had me gassed by the time we finished a two-man scramble, and I was collecting $20 from our opponents, Saturday afternoon on Otsego Club's Tribute course, which is one of Michigan's finest. Don't be thrown off when you pull into Otsego Club and think you're being transported back to the 1950s. After a 10-minute ride back into the forest, the skies open up, you reach the top of the treeline and the Tribute course will blow your mind. I've probably played it 20 times over the last seven years, and it never gets old.
- I can still remember the first hole of the trip: I miraculously keep my drive in play, I pitch to a spot where I put my third on the green and then I go first and drain a 35-foot downhiller for par to the amazement of my playing partners.
- Trust me, I'm not good enough to drain 35-footers like I know what I'm doing.
- I blacked out on so many shots throughout the week. It was like the golf gods were taking control of the wheel. Canoe Kirk and I got matched up in a 3 v 3 9-hole scramble late on Thursday night. We're D players with Matty J as our C/D anchor, against a low-B, mid-C and a D. On paper, we're toast. We get to No. 4 and it's looking very bad. I skull one to the right of the green (that we're forced to use) with a bunker and a B-cup hump presenting a huge issue if we're to get one close for par. My partners are no help with their third shots. I'm left no choice but to open the face of my 56, aim to the side of the B-cup and hope the golf gods take the wheel. I don't have this shot in my bag. This is the shot D-players hit 65 yards into the heather behind the green and yell "f---" like they had that shot in their bags in the first place.
- Then it happens, the golf gods take the wheel. I pull back at about 50% and slice right under my Kirkland golf ball. It's one of those moments I'll be telling my boys about the rest of my life. The ball flops perfectly in the air, comes down on the left side of B-cup, takes a hop off the second cut, catches a ridge and roles to 12-inches for one of the best shots of my life.
- We get to No. 11, a Par 3 where the grounds crew has tucked the flag in the front right, leaving golfers like me no choice but to slice one and hope the golf gods take the wheel. Then it happens. I tee up a 6-iron while the B players are hitting wedge. I blackout as the ball leaves the tee. It's a perfect slice, or fade, hell I don't know, but it falls to the right and we're putting for birdie and the lead. Two holes later, with the help of Canoe Kirk and Matty J, we win the 6-man scramble. It was right up there as one of my favorite golf moments. I'm definitely not taking credit for the win. It was a team effort. Canoe Kirk and I love those late Thursday night scrambles when it looks like we have no chance. It's our time to shine. To us, it's our chance to slay the biggest names on the trip.
- I learned the Lovells Riverside Tavern, on the north branch of the Au Sable River in tiny outpost Lovells, MI serves one of the biggest slices of homemade lasagna I've ever seen. Canoe Kirk, once again, delivered with this dive bar where you're greeted at the door with a stuffed coyote chasing a stuffed pheasant. The locals couldn't have been any nicer to a group of dummy golfers. God bless the Michigan locals/dive bars.
- If you're in tiny Six Lakes, MI and headed to St. Ives/Tullymore, stop into the Flat River Saloon, grab a seat at the bar and ask if Flo is working. What a gem. I know she wasn't expecting us 9 dummies to walk through that door on a Tuesday for lunch. She set the mood for the entire trip. Once again, that's a Canoe Kirk dive bar find. He specializes in these places. He's our Guy Fieri.
- I learned what an actual bad beer out of a tap smells like at a place in Gaylord, MI that I won't name. That was the first time I'd ever been in that situation. It smelled like sulfur and, no, I didn't order some exotic beer that was supposed to have exotic sulfur notes.
- I re-learned that six-packs at the top-level resorts are still going for $50 and then they won't even send out a beer girl to serve the course. New rule: If you're not going to send out beer girls, you deserve golfers carrying Trader Joe cold pack cooler bags onto your courses. Lesson learned, top-level golf resorts.
- I re-learned that I hang with a great group of guys who don't pull out their phones and hit record on videos while we're a hundred holes deep into a trip. Those are the guys you want on your team.
- My brain needed that trip so bad. Yes, the golf was taxing, but you'll never hear me complain after hitting 200-plus shots in a day. I looked at social media for about 10 minutes the entire trip. It was heaven.
- I can't believe how big the Thursday Night Mowing League is for so many guys on the trip. Based on their reaction alone, I'm onto something with that league. Even Tuna Can Dan, the long-haired Cheers' Norm Peterson of the trip, stopped me to ask about the league. It was a huge honor to know TCD is fascinated by it all.
- I had one birdie out of 150-plus holes.
- The Ryder Cup team I was on, The Crips, was smoked by Team Gold, but I won my head-to-head match against Matty J, who is on the C/D line which means I might be seeing more C competition in future years.
- I had a million fun moments I'll be reliving in my head over the next decade. I know the trip puts incredible pressure on Mrs. Screencaps, who has to get the kids to baseball games, work her day job and handle life back home, but those five days are cheaper (I hope!) than going to see a psychologist over 12 months. As I told my cartner Stevie as we rolled over a mountain stream on the Tribute course Saturday afternoon, "Those are healing waters."
He stopped for a second – while sucking down another White Claw – laughed, and said, "You're probably right." In that moment, the wildest of loose cannons on the trip felt the magic of the Up North.
Stevie, a father of two young ones who is back to running an excavating business this morning, needed it as did the other 35 of us. Those healing waters are what keep us coming back.
Mission accomplished.
No wonder so many Screencaps readers are from Johnson City, TN
- Bryan H in Blountville TN (a suburb of Johnson City), sent in this one:
Father-son first game moments
- Matt from PA shares:
Been reading since you joined Outkick. Thanks for the great content for us Dads out there.
I can't recall my first game, because from what I was told, I was 2 or 3 months old. But, I was lucky enough to see the Fightins win it all in 2008.
But we've got some memorable first games for my two boys.
My oldest was born on Father's day of 2014. Nice present. Two Father's days later, on a whim, my Dad and I decided to take him to his first Phillies game. Low 90s sunny and humid, so we intentionally scalped tickets in the upper level to keep the little guy in the shade.
As soon as we walked through the gates, he pooped his diaper. We found the family bathroom and cleaned things up. The stench was so overwhelming, there should've been a biohazard sign on the door. Once at our seats, the youngun sat and watched for all of an inning or two. The Phillies weren't too good then, so he had plenty of room to run around. Up and down the row. Up and down the stairs until he found a lady breastfeeding her baby in the back row. He was well past that phase, but was mesmerized. Needless to say, it was awkward pulling him away from the memories.
For my younger son's first game, my wife and I took our two sons to the Phanatic's birthday game in 2018. He was a little older than a year at the time.
It started as a beautiful late April day. Mid 60s light breeze and sunny. We were sitting directly behind home plate, but pretty high up.
Well, the beautiful spring day turned to overcast, low 50s and 20-30 mph winds. We were woefully underdressed (that's on me). I gave my light jacket to my wife and older son (4 at the time) to use as a blanket.
He was walking fairly well at the time, but to keep him in check, he was strapped to my chest in a Bjorn. He got antsy after a couple innings in the seats, so the two of us went for a stroll. It was even breezier and colder on the concourse, but we happened to come across the the High and Inside Pub (https://www.mlb.com/phillies/tickets/hospitality/high-and-inside-pub). Not sponsored, but this wonderful establishment offered heat, libations and the attention from plenty of warmth-seeking coeds. Baby chick magnets sure are ironic.
Now, here we are a half dozen years later: I'm head coach (and pitcher) for for the now 7-year-old's team, and bench coach for the now almost-10-years-old. Today, he was in left field and had his first flyball catch of the season in the bottom of the 6th inning of our playoff game. One more win to the final!
This email has gone on way longer than expected, but the cliches are true. It goes too fast.
While I had planned to coach at some point, the readers and letters on screencaps encouraged me to start coaching ahead of schedule. Thanks guys, and keep up the good work!
- Tom in Hot Springs Village, Arkansas emails:
I have enjoyed reading narratives of major league introduction experiences. I remember mine like it was yesterday and it was almost exactly 70 years ago. We lived on a farm in Michigan's Keweenaw Peninsula, right off Lake Superior. My older brother Pete and I, ages 10 and 8, were sent to spend a month in Detroit with relatives in the summer of 1954.
My uncle Hank, who did not drive, took us by streetcar to Briggs Stadium for a Tigers/Cleveland Indians contest. The closest thing to a stadium we had seen were makeshift bleachers at our local high school. We walked into the night game atmosphere and it seemed like another world. Bright, huge, green, magnificent.
Ned Garver shut out the Indians, who would go on to set a major league record for victories that season. We sat in right field very near a young rookie outfielder, 19 year old Al Kaline.
My mother, a huge baseball fan, had taught us to keep score and I have that detailed document this very day. Pete died a few years ago but confided to me late in his life that he always treasured that night. I doubt it will ever dim in my memory bank.
‘It’s true'
- Mark in Franklin, TN says this him after a mow:
I'm told this was a big moment for Texas A&M
- Travel Ball Hardo Chris B. in Houston made sure this one was in my inbox this morning. He sent it twice!
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That's it for this first day back. The email inbox is open again. Apologies if you sent an email over the past nine days. There's a good chance I didn't read it.
It's back to regularly scheduled programming for this column that SeanJo held down while I was gone. Let's get back to rolling with great topics, great life memories and a column where you guys can talk about real-life and not something made up on social media.
Now go find your own healing waters and tell me about them.
Email: joekinsey@gmail.com