Nothing to do with golf, but those of us of a certain age will recognize—and enjoy this remake of the Jonny Quest opening sequence. It remains to this day my favorite childhood cartoon:

Jonny Quest Opening Titles from Roger D. Evans on Vimeo.

Its my favorite day of the year. I turn another year older at midnight tonight.

My summer has officially come to an end. Classes start today, and I’ve got a full load—37 students per class. That’s a far cry from what we had when I first started and classes averaged 27 (we were getting raises in those days, too. Haven’t had one in years now). But even as politicians and the public decry declining educational test scores, they make education more difficult by cutting budgets, forcing layoffs and more students per classroom. I am frankly not optimistic about our nation’s future.

Unlike politics, a new low is a good thing in golf. I went out this morning and shot an 80 (yes, it was 18 holes) for my lowest score of the summer. The course, Hartland Glen, isn’t the most difficult thing in the world (117 slope), but it still counts.

I’m still suffering from a major loss of distance, but my short game has really picked up. I had a good shot at par on most holes, even after having to chip or pitch on.

This Memorial Day, lets take time out from the cookouts and golf to remember those who gave their lives so that we can have cookouts and golf in relative freedom and security.

Having come in recently with rounds of 79 and 84, I was ready yesterday for more evidence that finally had solved the issues that plagued my swing all this year. Instead, I got a lesson in “almosts.” As in “almost cleared that bunker”; “almost got past that tree” and; “almost got it in the hole.” On the first hole, I “almost” hit it on the screws. The ball took off like a rocket and straight as an arrow, but at a fifteen degree angle from where I was aiming. That put me off the fairway, where I “almost” had a line of sight to the hole. A tree on my line forced me to chip out. On the second, with a three wood from 210 —trying to reach the green in two on a par 5—I “almost” cleared the top of a fairway bunker. On the third, I “almost” plopped in for a hole-in-one. On the fourth, I “almost” got it in for a par putt; instead the putt circled the hole and traveled another two feet.

And so it went. In the end, I limped in with a 44 on the nine. Considering the number of “almosts,” I actually was playing pretty well. But it brings home the lesson—and the cliche—that golf is a game of inches. And on that day, I was just an inch short.

I’m not sure it really mattered though. It was November 15, and I was playing in a sweatshirt.

Nothing to do with golf, but I thought it cool.