Abstract Americana. A hot summer night, cars ripping around a 3/8 mile circle, kicking up the dust, making a racket almost as loud as a metal concert. I love auto racing. The environmentalist half of my psyche is offended by the redneck half. But then, the runner half of my psyche is offended by the half that lives for chocolate muffins, too.
More in a set at facebook.com/bhneely.
My father-in-law works part time at South Hills. This gives me a lot of opportunity to ride around the course, taking pictures. I've always liked the symmetry of this set of bunkers as they move up the slope of the 3rd? hole on the West? course. The hot, hot summer has scorched sections of the fairway and many of the greens on the course.
It's also one of my favorite holes to play, because there are few trees for me to tag and no water hazard between the tee and the hole. The sand trap in front of the green doesn't bother me, because, as Pops says, "You have no idea how difficult it is to get out of a bunker." Yeah, the one club I can hit consistently, and moderately well, is the wedge.
There's a willow on an island in a pond on the course that I'm thinking about doing a small photo essay about.
Imagine you're 6'1" and weigh around 190. You're a pretty big guy. Except that you're tucking your head and diving into a wall of guys who are 6'4" and weigh around 260. Just wait until you're a pro.
I love watching the hike of the ball, the mad rush to establish position, the big guys down front working their asses off so a skinny guy who runs fast can get some glory (except when it's the big guy who picks up the ball and fixes the skinny guy's mistake).
Luckily for #25, who deliberately let the ball go on the two (but most of his team didn't notice and are giving him much love), one of his linemen noticed and picked the ball up to take it in for a score.
So you're two yards from the end zone, and you're letting the ball go? That doesn't seem very bright. I think the kids are watching too much of the professional game and forgetting the basics.
It must be autumn in the US. The corn fields have gone dun, squirrels chase each other around the fields and gather the falling nuts, the moon is fat and orange in the early evening sky, and high school stadiums across the country are filled with parents and neighbors cheering on their boys in helmets. This week's theme: High School Football.
