Handicapped!

No, I haven't been paid a visit by Jeff Gillooly. Rather, I've been handicapped by the NZPGA. I've played mostly awful golf since I got here, and in case you want to see for yourself, here's a listing with my handicap. Maxed out at 24.8. Sad. The good news is that not all my scores are there. The bad news is that that wouldn't have made much difference. One bright spot: the other day I hit a 330-yard drive (downhill, but with a slight fade). That felt good.

While I wasn't visited by the former Mr. Tonya Harding, I do have a word of caution: don't walk on busy downtown streets while reading new books on moral theory. I decided to do that last week, and I consequently slipped into a crevice between the sidewalk's edge and the adjacent but disconnected driveway's slope, tearing off a huge chunk of skin right on the outside of my ankle. The tissue was all gone, all the way down to the bone.

Just the kind of story you were looking for, I'm sure. But that's my excuse if I continue to play poor golf. And, after hobbling home, I ended up with a dead ringer for Curt Schilling's World Series sock. E-Bay, perhaps?