We're gonna hit the links today - yes, it's the Raven's dirty little secret: We play golf. Not sure how it all started, but landing a gig with a golfing magazine had something to do with it. I had to learn the game, and fast. My few prior trips out to courses were pure disaster and I wasn't sure this was a skill I could master.

Turns out the game is almost totally mental. You don't need muscle, but you do require nerve and confidence. There you are, standing in the tee box with that tiny little white ball balanced on a toothpick about 6 feet away from you and you're going to swing something that looks like a doorstop stuck on the end of a car antenna at it. You look at this logically, there's almost no way you're going to connect the doorstop with the ball. You're gonna fan the air, and the six people standing around watching you are likely to wet their pants laughing at you.

So you stand there, waggling your hips and adjusting your grip, all the while psyching yourself into believing that you actually have a chance of hitting the ball. Little voices pop into your head: the Advice of Master Trainers. "Don't raise your head... keep hands supple... form a perfect triangle..." You trust these bits of wisdom because they're the only thing you have to clutch onto now and you've never been so alone. In the distance a swan calls out, and everybody's watching, and you can hear your heart beating, and you're winding up, trying to clear your head of everything but the pure feel of it and visualizing that ball heading downrange and it all comes down to a moment of Zen-like clarity where any intention of action defeats the act, and a perfect shot is there - it exists but only if you don't get in the way of it and you let "it" happen when it wants to.

I know, I know. But people sell books filled with that sort of thing. And the geese are laughing.

1:19:10 PM