WHITEHALL, WIS. -- I'm stuck in a time warp. The radio is playing the Monkees' "Last Train to Clarksville'', the TV is blasting "Jeopardy'' and Mom is home preparing a hotdish for lunch. Where did the last 40 years go?
It's a spring soaker outside, the kind of rainy day that is welcomed this time of year. The robins are hopping about snagging worms while aerial marauders strike the feeders outside my sister's home. (When was the last time you saw a rose-breasted grosbeak? Amazing.) No chance of getting in nine holes today, and that's probably a good thing.
I got blistered by my playing companions yesterday: Zach, my old buddy Doc and his wife, Patti, all took me to the cleaners. It took a triple mulligan on the final hole -- a 172-yard downhill tester with more menacing oak trees than you can count -- to secure my second par of the round. The scores really don't count, do they?
Anyway, 19th hole at Whitehall C.C. was much kinder. It may have hindered my ability to nail this morning's final Jeopardy question, but it did help me forget that dreadful round of golf.
The buzz around town (well, aside from Jon and Kate's well-publicized marital crisis) is all about Norse sprinter Chelsey Simon's chances of defending her state titles in the 100 and 200. Apparently she has a nemesis from Indepedence/Gilmanton who'll test her in today's regional meet. I wonder when girls track became the cat's meow...