Oh, how the long, dark, perpetually damp Seattle winter clings to us. It feels like an eternity since I last laced up my golf shoes and faced the unforgiving green. But finally, FINALLY, March rolled around, and with it, that undeniable itch. The kind of itch that only a day of frustratingly misplaced drives and surprisingly satisfying chips can scratch. The golf bug, people, it’s a relentless beast.
I spent the better part of the off-season convincing myself I was getting better. Hours upon hours were logged at the local range, watching those beautiful arcs on the Top Tracer screen, seeing my virtual ball land exactly where I wanted it to. It was glorious. It was exhilarating. It was, as I would soon discover, a complete and utter fabrication of my golf reality.
Choosing Our Battleground: The Classic Foster’s
When it came to the inaugural round of 2025, the choice was pretty obvious for us Seattle-area hackers: Foster’s in Tukwila. It’s got that comfortable, familiar vibe, close enough that the drive doesn’t eat into precious golf time, and it’s forgiving enough that you don’t feel like you’re playing a U.S. Open qualifier. Perfect for shaking off the winter rust…or in my case, cultivating a whole new layer of it.
The Great Thaw: Round One Commence!
We teed off under a sky that was classic Seattle March: chilly, with clouds that looked like they might cry, but thankfully held it in. No rain, which was a win in itself! But the ground? Oh, the ground. It was like playing on a giant, well-manicured sponge. Every step squished, every divot was a mini-water fountain, and every ball that dared to venture off the fairway was instantly plugged into the soft, soggy earth. This, I quickly realized, was going to add a delightful new layer of challenge to my already challenged game.
Reality Check: Hole One
Hole 1: The unbridled optimism. The hope. The Top Tracer confidence still whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I stepped up to the tee, took a mighty swing, and… well, it was either a worm-burner that barely cleared the ladies’ tee or a slice that started its journey to Puyallup. Either way, the Top Tracer glow evaporated faster than a well-struck drive (which, ironically, I was not going to have much of). Welcome back, reality!
Symphony of Woes
The rest of the round was a beautiful, frustrating symphony of my usual golf woes.
- The shanks – those inexplicable shots that launch horizontally, defying all known laws of physics.
- The duffs, where I meticulously sculpted a perfect chunk of turf but barely moved the ball.
- The ever-present lost balls, made even more challenging by the waterlogged rough that swallowed them whole like a hungry green monster.
My friends and I spent a surprising amount of time kicking through sodden patches, murmuring things like, “It’s gotta be right here!”
The Magic Shot
But then, out of nowhere, it would happen. That one, glorious, pure strike. The ball would leap off the clubface, fly true and straight, and land softly on the green. For a brief, fleeting moment, I was a golf god. “See?!” I’d exclaim to my buddies, “I told you Top Tracer wasn’t lying!”
And then, inevitably, the next shot would be a cold top that skipped across the green like a stone on water. The golf gods, it seems, have a cruel sense of humor.
Bunny Break
Amidst all the self-inflicted chaos, we had a delightful encounter: a pair of bunnies, just chilling on the fairway, seemingly unfazed by our terrible golf. They probably get a kick out of watching us flail around. Maybe they even have a betting pool on who’s going to slice into the bushes next.
Still a Good Day
Despite the chilly air, the squishy ground, and my consistently inconsistent game, the day was, without a doubt, a blast. That’s the magic of golf, isn’t it? It’s a challenge against yourself, a constant battle against the internal monologue of doubt, but it’s also about getting out there with your friends.
- The shared misery
- The encouraging “good effort!” after a particularly heinous shot
- The endless laughs at each other’s (and especially our own) expense
That’s what truly makes it a good day.
The Promise of a New Season
After 18 holes of wrestling with my swing and the soggy course, my body was a bit sore, and my mind was thoroughly exhausted. But the moment we were done, the overwhelming feeling wasn’t one of defeat (though my score might suggest otherwise). It was an immediate desire to do it all again. To fix that swing, to avoid that one specific tree, to finally conquer that elusive par.
The first round of the year is always a rude awakening, a stark reminder that golf is a humbling sport. But it’s also a promise. The season has just begun, and there are countless more rounds to be played, more lessons to be (re)learned, and plenty of opportunities to get marginally better.
So, here’s to a new golf season, to lost balls, to unexpected good shots, and to the unwavering camaraderie of friends who are just as bad (or worse) than you are. See you on the course! Hopefully, my next post isn’t just about finding my ball.
