Down heah in Nawth Cahlina...the sun is bright, and when it's warm, it's hot.  It's been a great spring season.  Why, I played 27 just today, and loved every minute.  Under these Carolina Blue skies, I'm turning brown as a nut, something my wife (and other gals) have outspokenly admired, especially my "red neck."  My tan gives the impression of overall vitality, health, and even moderate wealth.

Except for my left hand.  My glove hand.  It's not just Caucasian pink.  It's not just "winter white."  It's the color of frog belly.  And it looks wierd stuck on the end of my dark brown forearm and wrist.

Of course, this identifies me as a golfer, to other golfers.  We're "in the know" about one another, from across the room, without a word, all because of our bleached left hands.  It's like a Masonic ring or secret handshake.  You just know!

But other people have started to notice, and I think my pale hand of death sort of unnerves them.  They can't keep from glancing at it while we're talking together.  One asked in a concerned whisper, "What's...what's wrong with your hand, man?  Is...is it...leprosy or something?"

I wonder, should I sit outside on the back deck for awhile, all covered up except for the glove hand, so it can catch up with the rest of me?  What about Coppertone, with the famous logo of the famous little dog pulling down the famous little pants of the famous little girl (from a time when our country was much more innocent)...but I've rejected that idea, because that would leave me with "Orange Hand," which would be even more freaky, and I'd lose my instant golf-hand indentification with the other players around.  I don't want to play without the glove, as that would result in a white and blistered hand, like a claw.  I'd have to adopt a hunchback posture and foot drag and say "Yeees, Meester!" to make it all blend.

So I found this "Golfer's Sunlamp" at the sporting goods store, designed just to help this problem.  It promises that no golfer need ever again be embarrassed by his scary hand.  The label says this will provide such peace of mind that it will take 10 strokes off my score. 

Among the assortment of modern technical wizardry in golf clubs, like "perimeter weighting" and such, we find the purely philosophical-sounding feature, "forgiveness."  Now, I know what it technically means, but I'm intrigued by the word choice itself.  It's great -- I wonder who came up with it? 

All I know is, if some clubs are forgiving, mine actually hold a grudge! 

I've overheard them talking about it, there in the bag at night.  The 3-wood says, "I remember how often he's cursed me to my face, as though his misses are my fault!  Well, just watch what I do.  When he closes my face, I'll open it.   When he swings on plane, I'll twist outside-in.  When he tries to trap the ball on the downswing, I'll flatten out so he tops -- or even whiffs!  Ha ha ha!"

And the irons answer,"Well, I'm so sick of him chunking me, getting my grooves all filled with mud!  I'm gonna make his hands sting on every shot, and turn his fade into a banana."

Even the glove has gotten into the act.  "I'm working on a hole in the palm..."

So, how much do these forgiving clubs cost?   

An interesting thing happened today. Trying to make a long approach with my 3-wood, I topped the ball -- twice -- so badly and so stupidly that I lost my temper in a bad way.  Hadn't done that for awhile.  My tops had moved the ball maybe 30 yards and down into a muddy ditch.  Oh great, just great!  With flames coming out my nose and smoke coming out my ears, I pulled my 6-i, stomped over to the ball muttering about this stupid game and why do I continue to do this when I suck worse than a vacuum cleaner and ... BAM.  I smacked the ball with a vengeance, as though I was trying to cut it in half.  I hadn't set up over the shot, hadn't checked my grip, hadn't looked at the green, or anything.   It wasn't really a golf swing at all -- more like beating the club on the ground in frustration.  I didn't look to see where the ball went, and I didn't care.

It landed on the green, pin high.