I haven’t written about my golf game recently. Well, at least not for a couple of weeks. The reason? Because I no longer have a golf game.

I’ve often heard people who can play the game say that you never own golf, it’s a rental game. Well, my lease has obviously run out.

Let me tell you how bad my game has gotten. It’s so bad that my granddaughter won’t even play with me anymore. Says it’s too painful.

I mean, what kind of gratitude is that? I taught that girl all she knows about the game. Hmmm. No wonder she’s so angry with me.

I’ve spent the past several years playing in a group called the Gates Four Gangsome. There are some ugly swings and bad games in that group and I now head the list in both departments. I’ve gone from being an ‘A’ player to the last guy chosen for a team. It hurts.

I honestly don’t know where to go from here. I feel like a lost soul. I mean, what does a guy my age with no other hobbies do when his golf game decides to leave him?

I’ve tried staying home and reading a good book, but Tom Clancy and John Grisham have both obviously run out of anything to write about. I went to the library and checked out “Atlas Shrugged” by Ayn Rand and, while it took me a week to just get through one of John Galt’s radio speeches in Chapter 199, even it eventually ended.

Besides, reading can become a chore when you have to keep lifting your feet for the BW to vacuum. I don’t understand why she can’t wait until I have to go to the fridge for another diet Dr. Pepper. Which she could have brought to me, by the way. I mean she had to come into the den anyway to vacuum.

I’ve often come home from golf to find the BW all tired out from working in the yard and I thought, OK, I’ll stay home and find out exactly what she’s doing that she seems to enjoy so much.

Well, after watching her for three days from the poolside hammock, it seemed to me that what she was doing wasn’t a lot of fun. I mean, what’s so great about hoeing weeds from a flower bed or pulling up stray grass?

And come on; if you’re going to mow grass, at least get one of those things you can ride on. Heck, they even have carts on the golf course. For some reason she seemed to take umbrage from that helpful suggestion.

So after a week of trying to figure out what the heck she found so rewarding in watching grass grow and tomato plants die, I figured maybe golf isn’t so bad.

Wrong. It’s worse. One of my buddies used to say he was going lay off golf for couple of weeks and then quit. I’m the only guy I know whose game did the quitting.

I had breakfast with an old pal just the other day and he said he hadn’t played a round of golf since 1996. Now there’s a guy with some self discipline.

The thing that really bothered me about him, though, was his appearance. I mean, the guy was actually talking about golf and smiling at the same time.

I try to say the word golf and the bile starts boiling up. I think of golf and in my mind’s eye I see a shank.

The terrible thing is I really do love the game. But it’s an unrequited love. I’m so frustrated I’m thinking about joining our esteemed editor Steve Bouser in a round of disc golf, or whatever that is he keeps talking about where you throw a disc at a target.

It figures that my throws would have to be more accurate than my golf shots. Can you shank a throw? Is there an out of bounds on the course? Are there water hazards? How about sand bunkers?

On second thought, I’m just going to try quitting again and hanging around the house. There’s some painting to be done and I’m sure the BW could use some helpful suggestions.