In need of a W

For some, sports are second nature. It comes naturally, and with practice, they only get better. For others, it's takes time, effort and all the mental power they can muster to be just okay at a sport. Take a wild guess which category I fall into. Unfortunately, it's the latter. I've always loved to play, but whether it be confidence, ability, drive or all of the above, I've always been just okay at just about every sport I've tried. My shining abilities as a kid was that I could run fast, and jump high. Yes, I know, I'm black, so stereotypically it makes sense. That aside, after a brief ride on the bench as a sophomore on the freshman basketball team, I figured my abilities should be used far away from the gym's hardwood floors. (I won't even mention middle school bball with my dad coaching no-less!) I found a new place on the dirt track of my small ass school. There I did well, being good at the two main skills required of a track athlete. I ran fast, and jumped high. My record for the 100m dash was 11.88, and my highest high jump was just about my height at the time. Somewhere around 5'6". Sound impressive? Maybe for a small school competing against other really small schools, but it was only enough for 2nd. There was always a guy from Mariposa who beat me in the 100m and I was too short, (even jumping my height) to win the high jump.
Toward the end of my junior year my dad was really getting into golf and sometime later I acquired his old clubs. The perfect sport for a guy in my situation, right? Yes and no. For a solid decade I played occasionally (it's an expensive habit I used to say) and improved in barely conceivable increments during that time. If my high school had a golf team I think I would have improved faster considering how often I would have been playing and competition (in golf anyway) I play better. My school naturally waited until I had graduated to start a team and I had to get rounds in when I could, paying out the ass all the way.
Long story short, I have always loved to play golf. In the last four years or so, I finally found a way to play more often. I always liked having consistent buddies to play with so I dragged my brother in law out onto the course one day. Being the former in my little intro, he got hooked and started playing a lot. When I say a lot, take what you think a lot of golf is a double it (at least). Needless to say he got better, fast. My father in law's bed business FloBeds sponsored our team and we compete in match play events Monday nights starting in April. Unfortunately, I'm back where I started, feeling like the bench warmer on a team of stars. Granted, my handicap has dropped from roughly a 28 to hovering near 16. Team Flobeds won season 2 (see early post for my heroics) and placed 2nd last year, losing in a playoff. Still, last year I won only 3 matches and one was because the other team only had 3 guys, so I won by default.
This year I felt great going in. I've changed a few things mentally and physically with my game and I figured I really couldn't lose if I came to play. Then I remembered, it's golf. I tied my match last week, and last night, the only reason I tied was because the guy I played choked on his last putt, on the last hole. Upon reflection, I can't help but feel like I used to. The rest of my team is undefeated and playing great, and once again I'm just okay. I'm ready for my first win of the year, so I can at least contribute to a team, and a game, that I love.