They Say the Devil is in the Details

They say the devil is in the details and that the proof of the pudding (and here the part that makes sense usually gets left off, that being) is in the tasting. What gets proven just by being a bowl of pudding sitting on a counter somewhere?

Doesn’t logic dictate that someone needs to spoon out a bit and place the pudding in the open space that will be used to ingest the pudding (chocolate or vanilla or tapioca) and come to some kind of conclusion as the pudding slides over the various taste

buds on the tongue, a tongue, which will then be used to help form the vibrations emanating from the vocal chords reflecting the decision made by the brain concerning the pudding?

It’s a complicated process that doesn’t get reflected in the truncated, “The proof of the pudding “for owners and players is” or “for the CEOs of the baled out banks is” or whatever “is.”

My own opinion is that the devil is in the game itself details and all, meaning, of course, the cursed game of golf often played by owners and players and CEOs and other not real smart people.

Sometimes as I approach the putt my arms feel like tapioca pudding and all I taste is the acid from the reflux. The truism that makes sense to me is that “the toughest part of the game is played within one hundred yards of the pin.”

I stand behind the ball and envision where I want the drive to go and then stand on the right side of the ball (because I am left handed), take a practice swing, waggle a bit, remember that the video advised “butt out and chin up,”

advice for life and golf (how clever she was) and keep my eye on the ball through the swing, rotating my shoulders as if my arms are a pendulum of a grandfather clock (thanks to my dad for that one) and as my arms move up

and over my right shoulder, watch the ball in flight. How sweet it is to see it fly high and straight and land in the middle of the fairway.  Alone, I wonder where the grounds keeper was to be my gallery when I hit it so sweetly.

I grab my fairway metal (that which used to be persimmon wood) go through the routine and remember again not to lift my head. The ball flies straight and lands just shy of the green. That’s two.  Now within one hundred yards,

I grab the new sand wedge, do exactly the same thing I just did for two strokes and swing, top and flub it and the ball rolls three feet. Repeating the exact same routine (how come it’s not working?)

I flub it again except this time the ball flies on a straight trajectory to the far edge of the green.  At least I’m on.  That’s four and I’ve already lost par.  Putter in hand I take a swipe and the ball travels true to the target landing two feet short.

I approach the ball, my hands get sweaty, my head gets dizzy and my legs are rubber. I pull the putter back and then skim the grass instead of hitting the ball solidly and it moves one and a three quarters feet forward. I look at six inches and it is worth just as much

as the two hundred yards off the tee. Picking up the ball I say that’s a triple bogey for me and I hear the Devil laughing as I walk back to the cart and hear his sage truism “Life is always toughest when you are within a hundred yards of the pin.”