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Miracles and Statistics

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I had read that McCain’s aides, the ones trashing Sarah Palin this week, called Barack Obama, “the one.” This, I believe, is the reference from The Matrix series. It comes from the moment where Morpheus, the leader of the human resistance, reveals to Neo, “You are the one.” The Christ references came in spades as well as all kinds of Buddhist and Exodus references. The movie poses a serious question about miracles and statistics.

Science is never about absolute truths, but a series of questions and answers based on logic and statistics. If explanation A describes phenomena X 99% of the time compared to explanation B which works only 95%, theory A is the better explanation. Even so, there is no establishment of absolute truth, but support of a stronger theory. It is this process which refines the understanding of phenomena X -but this confounds people of faith.

People of faith believe in incontrovertible truths. They see the world in black and white and are highly suspicious of the shades of gray offered by theories. Science is a process that offers increasing degrees of certainty measured by statistics -some theories become established and become principles, but are always open to exceptions. These exceptions require new theories or amendments of theories, but on their face, they can seem miraculous because they occur in a vacuum of explanation. This happened when whole ecosystems were found around volcanic vents at the bottom of sea trenches. This will happen when we find extraterrestrial life. This will happen when a computer demands civil rights.

In the Matrix, the presence of Neo, and his antagonist, Agent Smith, are said to be the result of a statistical anomaly that occurs every few millennia. I have often thought that if something has a 1 in a billion chance to occur, it is likely to have occurred if there are billions of people. There is that great Youtube video of a baseball bat flung to the ground after a hit, ending up standing perfectly. Of the millions, perhaps billions of times, a bat has been flung to the ground, it usually should come to rest in a state of lowest potential energy. Because the bat has a flat surface on its end, there is a potential energy state that is metastable standing up. This seemingly miraculous event occurred and may likely occur again before the Cubs win the Series again.

So what are miracles? Are they statistical anomalies? Phenomena that occur in the vacuum of theory? People mystified by a standing bat? I believe in miracles as I have been the beneficiary of one requested on the tails of falling Perseid metorites in 2001. I cannot explain how it occurred or why. Miracles are the impossible made real. In a world where you can wish on a falling star and get your life’s wish a few months later, I cannot argue against the miraculous.

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Practice

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Big Bucket of Balls

Big Bucket of Balls

One of the nice things about Wakonda shutting down the course is that the excellent practice facilities have remained open and will do so through the winter (in the golf hut as G calls it). It takes a lot of practice to groove a swing. Practice at its best is repetitive and contemplative. There is exertion but clear goals. Can I make the ball land on target the majority of the time? Can I hit a draw punch and scrape a nice clean toupe divot? Can I reliably land that fade at about 1:30-2 o’clock -is it reliable enough to make it my bailout swing? These conscious thoughts get lost in the repetition and become reflex.

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The Municipal

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Sugar Creek, Waukee, IA

Sugar Creek, Waukee, IA

I reintroduced golf into my life on the municipal courses of Rochester, Minnesota. During the two months of summer bracketing each side the research year of my fellowship, I took every occasion to go out an hit a bucket of balls well into the night -the sun sets very late if hardly at all during the summers, just like in Iceland and Alaska. The courses were affordable, and well kept. The triplet of Rochester’s muni’s – Northern Hills, Soldier’s Field, and Eastwood  -reawakened my golfly passions. 

Range, Sugar Creek

Range, Sugar Creek

 

When we moved back to New York, it was much harder to golf, but I soon found the jewel of muni’s -Van Cortlandt Golf Course. Situated in the Bronx, it is the oldest municipal golf course in the nation. I also found out that during the summers, when the sun rose before the first tee times of 6am, I could call ahead and ask if I could shoot out even a bit before daybreak. I would tee it up in the dark, during the twilight before dawn when everything was murky shades of purple and black. I discovered that the flinty sand of the Bronx, the residua of glaciers from the past Ice Age, would spark when struck with a titanium driver.

When I moved to Des Moines, I sought out the muni’s, and I found some gems. Sugar Creek in Waukee is only minutes from my home, and I still head out there at the crack of dawn in the summers to hit a bucket of balls before clinic. Despite being only 9 holes, I believe it is critical that layouts like Sugar Creek see many more years of play because it is accessible and affordable. On most days, you see retirees, teens, and families going around a track that offers plenty of challenge without being overwhelming. The grounds crew keeps the place in great shape. The other muni I enjoy going to is Waveland. I consider it Wakonda’s sister course in that it shares many features common to courses designed in American golf’s dawn era. Despite being created with hickory shafts in mind, it offers a challenge to golfers with modern equipment. The greens, when mowed, offer up a stern test -I once hit every green on the front nine in regulation there, but managed to three putt all for a 45-DH can attest to this. Today, as my parents drove back to Florida after recovering from their respective operations from earlier this year, I took the opportunity to hit a large bucket of range balls at Sugar Creek. The weather was unseasonably warm and into the low 70’s -just like July in Minnesota, and the arcing trace of the range balls gave me solace. The wind blew hard into my face, but the setting sun warmed it, and I was at peace.

Tree and Farm across 6th Street

Tree and Farm across 6th Street

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Valediction for Hype

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Went to Hype for probably the last time in 2008. Am probably going to shut down for the season. Am planning on regular visits to the golf hut out at Wakonda. The course was relatively empty, and had a very pleasurable round on a windy but sunny day with my dad, DH, and Mr. RJ. Hype was truly a gem today, and I finally understood the thinking behind her design. Firstly, she was never meant to be played with a titanium driver. From the middle-aged-guy-who-is-sensitive-about-shrinking-length tees (Green), I was zapping the ball today to pitching and sand wedge length. The course would be a wicked test with hickory shafts. The members here understand that and actually have a classic equipment tournament where you have to play with niblicks and mashies. The greens which I originally thought were a bit one dimensional (all featuring that built on a slope, look at the horizon! fakeout illusion featured on Wakonda #4) displayed their teeth. The greens matched up very well today. The fall colors framed a very pleasant day.

 

Mr. RJ teeing off on Hype #11

Mr. RJ teeing off on Hype #11

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Wakonda shows me her incisions, healing nicely.

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Fall at Wakonda is usually a brutal time. The fabric of space-time rips and golf balls disappear into these multi-dimensional portals. I’ve lost golf balls on the greens due to the leaves. I imagine these balls falling through some worm-hole and ending up as the cherished plaything of some child in the Pleistocene. I digress.

The renovations have been something I’ve mostly watched from the parking lot and driving range. I decided to take a golf cart for a spin around the course with my iPhone.

No dogs or vascular surgeons allowed...

No dogs or vascular surgeons allowed...

The new grass has taken, and the course looks ready to play. The grass on the greens has been mowed and does look great. The image to the right is the new practice green which greatly expands the area. New topography, including moguls and half-pipes, have been added. What I look forward to is having the practice green reflect the quality and nature of the actual greens on the course. I thought that the practice green had become a bit of a Potemkin green that looked a lot better than the actual greens on the course -now they are one and the same.

The drive was pleasant -and obviously popular as I saw another pair on a golf cart driving about. I drove up to number ten, which wasn’t changed at all. In fact, I could have hit approaches onto number 10 with impunity as the green had already seen action having been put in in 2007. I turned about and peaked at number 8, which didn’t strike me as much different. And then I saw number 11. Shown here on the left, I had featured it on an earlier blog entry as the “Carnival Hole.” The big Misery Tree was gone. So had the Crown of Thorns -the oaky headdress at the top of number 11 which shaded the green. It was a different look, and it took a moment to get used to -in fact, it will take a long time. The basic premise of the hole is now different. The drive no longer has to be left center and long. You can be fade right and have a reasonable approach. The pit of despair to the right hasn’t changed. Balls will still roll down and away if they come in too hot.

Here was the surgery revealed to me. It was like a face transplant. The skin was different and new, but the underlying bone structure was the same refined, beautiful Wakonda. As if to add emphasis to the change, the stylist cut back the hair, daring the observer to comment about the surgery. And where are the scars? They will be on your soul, my friend.

I cut back and down number 17 which hadn’t changed too much, and up 18. The trees lining the fairway were are still there -these are signature features and won’t be touched unless they become unstable or are blown down.

Oak privacy fence, to hide your shame

Oak privacy fence, to hide your shame

As we end the long march to the new presidency, I realize that in many ways, the renovations were not that painful for this member. Compared to the presidential campaign, the renovations were a breeze. Growing tomatoes takes longer. During that time, I sampled the golf fare at other courses and made new golfing friends. The fellowship of other golfists leavens the soul, and a new golf friend is a welcome ally against the oncoming Troubles.

The flag shows your way home

The ride up number 18 shows it hasn’t been changed. Seeing Ol’ Glory flapping above the green invigorated me. Presidents will change, and times will get tough before they get better, but golf will always be there. Remember, golf clubs can always be repurposed into dinner catching rabbit dispatchers.

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Hype gives up a perfect day

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DH walks the walk

DH walks the walk

Today was one of those perfect days that are given to us to ponder why we should get so few. The weather was crisp and the light was clear. My mind was empty of all things except for golf, and I was playing purely with my brainstem and spinal cord, with minimal interference from the existential monkey that is driving the car. I played with my dad and DH. We all played in the same range -in the mid nineties -which for me was fine as putting seemed to work today -lags to inches were frequent. Couldn’t drive onto the fairway for anything. My dad has taken possession of my R7 driver -will be taking it to Florida. DH played well in fits and spurts, but couldn’t have been satisfied to be in the mid-nines, being usually ten strokes better. My father had one of his best driving days. Most of all -Hype was playing fast -we finished out in 4 hours which is practically speed golf at Hype. Couldn’t figure it out -it seemed packed. The course was in fine condition, and I can’t figure out why they want to redo it. 

And Hype has grown on me. Its parts all fit. The holes tell a flowing story. Sure, some of the parts on the lady are a bit bland, but she brings attention to standout features like number 8, and the green so green that your eyes were left unable to focus for a while. 

A great day.

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What happened to optic yellow golf balls?

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The optic yellow golf ball was my personal favorite during my childhood. Not too many people liked it. I liked the yellow Aviators and Prostaff’s as I could really smash my persimmon driver on them and usually find them. All the major golf ball manufacturers made yellow and orange balls for a time. Now, colored golf balls are relegated to the ladies. I think this is a sad state of affairs as I think that part of the appeal of the yellow golf ball is that it is not like everybody else’s golf ball. Looking around, I see for 2008, only Top Flight offers a “Distance Yellow” ball. I’m going to pick up a bunch.

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The lost golfball is usually not the same as a lost child

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Hyperion #13

Hyperion #13

Imagine if you are of a certain age, and you now have time to take up golf. You can play in the middle of the week, and you take a few lessons, read some golf magazines, and you find a group of guys at your general skill level. All four of you take to the course as often as you can, and you poke the balls out there, never in the middle of the fairway, but into the thick stuff, only the thick stuff at Hype is only 2-3 inches deep, very forgiving. None of your clustered eight eyes see beyond general trajectories. One of you who may have been in the artillery during ‘Nam (not Korea, as you clearly are still walking), adds in wind into the general calculus. So after you hit your tee shots, and until you get on the green, the rate limiting step of your round is finding the golfball.

The artillery guy waves his hands towards the bushes ahead, or to the cart path to the right or to the unconscious old guy to the left, and starts his partners on their mission, which now no longer is golf, but rather a gruesome easter egg hunt. I can hear their joints cracking across the fairway as they rustle about the rough. There is no glee in the dour faces of these gentleman, but rather the serious, searching squint of hunter-gatherers looking for their next meal. I do get it, as for these guys, the finding of balls, and not necessarily of their own balls, but of more balls, is basically the only reward they get as I have rarely seen any of these guys putt out -it’s a potlatch of plenty on the greens as they bestow five to ten footers to each other after spending five minutes each squinting and plotting their lag putts. Of course, there will always be one who insists of putting out, but he will spend five minutes on the one footer as well as the thirty footer. 

Imagine this multiplied by five or ten, and all of these fine men are hunting and gathering for balls, calculating and fussing over putts that they might make once a year, and never holing out which is the point of stroke play. 

Imagine this whole bunch unmarshalled and unregulated. They can’t see the group waiting behind them, and because they keep running into the group ahead, they assume that golf is always slow. 

And that is fine. They are experiencing golf in their own way. They are experience the joy of the wandering search. The fine air, the cool breeze, how many of these days do we have left to us? We don’t know but we know they are finite. 

I am happy they have their place to play at golf and at golf ball hunting. And I am glad to know where these people are.

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DMGCC greens revealed to be anatomic

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I had always wondered why the greens at DMGCC never matched up with the course. The course itself is fair, and I rarely lose balls. The greens were driving me to distraction, and now I know why. They are all contoured on various parts of the female torso. I noticed it when I was stuck on the right butt cheek putting across ass cleavage to the left butt cheek. No kidding. Tee to fringe, very nice course. Greens -topography straight from Venus de Milo.

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Favorite hole at DMGCC – No. 18, South Course

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I love this hole. Above is the view you get if you launch a power fade over the tree. It is the funnest hole on the south 18 at DMGCC.

It also means you are done and you get to go home soon and not have to deal anymore with the windmill, the half pipe, and funhouse and all the other greens. The purple ball goes down the chute and you turn in your putter to the crabby old guy behind the cash register. 

For whatever reason, I have always started out strong at DMGCC, but something about the greens here get my goat. It bends me out of shape. On number 1, I drew a nice 8 iron into a stiff left to right wind about 10 feet from the cup, but the break never showed up on the putt, but did on the next which tried every which way not to roll in. 

I did play with my neighbors, and that made up for my miseries. KP and JN were wonderful compatriots, true golfists. JS, who joined us on the back, is scratch, and I got a glimpse of the promised land. I can’t see how I’ll ever get there, but I have faith that it is there. 

I should stop whining.