I accomplished something last weekend I never thought possible: Shooting a round below par. The last time a chance like this came my way I choked like Heimlich. One supernatural day some 15 years ago I managed to birdie the benign 17th, and lurched unsteadily to the final tee box at a heart-hammering one under. I let out a roar of triumph after yet another drive found the center stripe, avoiding pitfalls both right and left. I had a perfect lie, a 7-iron approach to the elevated green, and a song in my heart, but my elation quickly gave way to abomination. Five minutes and five shots later, I tapped in numbly for a double bogey 6, and a then-personal best 73. The beer was strangely flat in the 19th hole, matching my mood perfectly. I knew deep down I had let a golden opportunity slip away, and my intuition proved correct.

Finally, an unlikely redemption. Details are superfluous, other than a holed bunker shot for birdie at the first, then two more birdies in the next four holes to creep to uncharted territory at three under par. I inevitably frittered away a few shots as the round progressed, rolled in an off-the-fringe 50-footer that clanged off the stick and went subterranean for another birdie on 16, and made seamless pars on the last two holes. Total strokes: 71.

I'm sure there are many more rounds in my future above 90 than below par, but what the hell - at least I've finished in red figures once, which is more than most golfers can ever say.

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