Fifth Hole

The 5th Hole

I  discovered, and subsequently named the "Fifth Hole Syndrome" back when I was an avid golfer.  I discovered that if I started drinking schnapps  (the cloyingly sweet fruit booze that was meant only for dates at the drive-in)  about a half hour before teeing-off, I would play like Bobby Jones.   For about 4-5 holes.  Then a relatively quick blood chemistry change took place, and ... you know.  Things would get so bad that I once missed the ball entirely, knocking myself out with the backswing.   I was putting. I don't play much golf anymore, but I fall prey to the Schnapps siren now and then.  Like yesterday.  After watching the insufferable smarmy John Stewart mock anyone who hasn't gone belly-up on the birth deal, I was going for a knock-out-video  punch - in Dolby Cinerama. A bottle of Peach schnapps, and a veritable PhD thesis worth of documents and facts at my side, this was to be my legacy video.  Then came the par 5 fifth.  I fell asleep watching something on the Hitler Channel.  So, unless I rebound in a hurry, you'll never see the end of this.  Or, the beginning for that matter.