A Golf Handicap Prompted an Emmy Performance
An episode from Look Age in the Face and Laugh
I stood on the tee box staring down the fairway. The tall weeds just beyond the yards of sand and gravel caused intimidation, but then there isn’t much about this game that doesn’t provide challenges. I realized long ago, golf’s not about the score but the sunshine, exercise and fellowship with friends. In fact, I usually don’t keep score. Why bother? That would be depressing.
Before even raising my driver in the air, I heard a loud pop and immediately found my body on the ground, my head eye-level with the ball. Lori, my sister-in-law, ran to my side, inquiring about the pop noise that echoed to where she had stood on the cart path. More accurately, she hobbled over, supported by a leg brace. I knew not what had happened only that the functionality of my right foot was gone. Like a dead fish, it lay on the grass unable hold weight.
Ice. Randy, my husband, remembered ice would deter swelling, so he offered a can of cold Modelo from the ice chest. With him on one side and my brother Nick on the other, I limp-crawled to the golf cart, rested my foot on the dash and applied the beer can compress. Now a spectator, I began researching. Having been diagnosed with plantar fasciitis, I started with the known and asked Google, “What causes a popping…
