Mark H. Granoff

Just call me Fuzzy.

I took up the game of golf in the Summer of 1995. Considering that my parents paid for 4 lessons (birthday gift :-) I figured I had nothing to lose. And if I liked it, all the better.

So 'round about the end of June or so I had my first lesson. Now mind you, I had never swung a club before, so I had no bad habits to be broken. Oh sure, there was that one time I thought "How hard could this be?" and went to a driving range. (What a disaster that was!). But other than that, No, never swung a club. Suffice it to say, I loved it! I was really surprised at how, well, easy it was. I mean, once you get the mechanics down, its just a matter of remembering a half dozen things to do right. All the time! Simple, right? No. Not at all. Don't be fooled.

Towards the end of that Summer I finally kept score over 18 holes: I shot 120. Maybe changing my name is a bit premature...

Years ago I joined a golf league at work. We played every week in New Hampshire. I was pretty consistent -- mid-60s on nearly every outing. Sometimes into the low 70s. But there was one day I shot a 58 -- my best round of the summer. "Pretty respectable for 18 holes," you say? Well, thanks, but those scores are for 9 holes. :-) Oh well.