This, friends, is what we’ve
been waiting for, the best day since spring, blogging away on the patio
under perfect blue skies, a refreshing breeze, the Sunday New York Times
in hand, warmed by fresh coffee and the glow
of Saturday’s victories by Mississippi State and Ole Miss, anxious for
the noon kickoff of the Saints’ season.
Can’t get much better than this.
Not to be intellectually
provincial, but it’s the kind of day when I feel a bit sorry for those
who face their days with no stake in the sporting world, that
anticipation you and I get to share, that flurry of butterflies
gently flapping their wings in our innards, when the sweet air we
breathe connects us to our childhoods, to our sporting heroes, to the
games and the people that have meant so much to us.
Novak and Ferrer finish their semi today, but it could be Sampras-Agassi or McEnroe-Borg, Pancho-Kramer, Laver-Newcombe.
Brees will blow fiercely
against the Redskins in the Superdome today, but it could be Archie
versus the Rams at Tulane Stadium, or Jake against Billy Cannon or …
It’s a feast, today is. Eat it with a spoon. Rory and Tiger. Braves and Mets. Light the grill. Pop a cool one.
For people like you and me, it’s Christmas morning in September.
We get to be kids again.
Every time I play No. 15 at Deerfield, especially this time of year, I remember one of the best shots I ever hit. You and I were playing a match in the Melvin Moon Match Play Championship some time back in the 80's. It was a georgous day for Labor Day Weekend, and I was kicking your a-- pretty good. But mostly, I remember we were just plain having fun.
ReplyDeleteThe pin was cut down in the left front. I had it about 110, and hit a low, trap draw pitching wedge that you could hear spinning when it left the face. (Eye Two irons and balata balls were a lethal combination.) It carried about thirty feet past the pin; and, even though I was close to putting you out, all you could say when the ball hit the green was "come on back." I remember snarking, "don't worry, it will." Sure enough, the ball spun back, broke about four feet, and ended up about ten inches right in the jaws. Some things you just don't forget.