Louis Oosthuizen wins the Open by 7!
Here’s a related link to his victory–
http://www.opengolf.com/en/News.aspx?selectedItem=18D430E9-FDF4-4DB4-97CA-9A85DDE63852
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A general rule in golf is “Play the ball as it lies.” Not that golf balls have the means to utter falsehoods, wherever and whatever condition your ball ends up in, you simply hit the ball as it is, wherever it is. Of course there are exceptions to that rule which will be discussed at some other time. I genuinely suspect that the old Scottish saying “A golf ball never lies” was derived from this general rule of playing the ball as it lies.
The Open
Ever wonder how courses are selected for the British Open? Do take a look at this link–
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Open_Championship
Embedded within the above URL is another interesting link that will be able to provide you with a list of the different Open venues and the lowest scores done by whom. Look for the Open Championship venues.
Up To Date News
For up to date news on the Open, just click on the highlighted links!
This Year’s Field
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Oosthuizen takes the lead at ten under
Young South African, Louis Oosthuizen is now leading the Open. This young man is a product of the Ernie Els Golf Foundation and has a fantastic golf swing and an equally great demeanor to match it! Will keep you posted! Fore!
For some uncertain reason, I sensed a strong, soothingly clear, luminescent presence. Where is it? There! There, above you on your right! I said to myself, holding down the excitement building up within.
Above me on my right was a figure. At thought-speed, I zoomed up to him to get closer: Garbed in a long, flowing white robe with glowing silver hair and a beard resting on his chest, with keys, so many keys dangling by his left hip, kept together by a huge silver ring, stood this tall, stoic presence, hovering above a cloud it seemed.
St. Peter? Is that you? Am I at the gates of heaven? It can’t be, my mind spoke in utter disbelief.
The presence gestured to my left, slighlty below me. I shuddered: on my left below me was another presence, a figure with his back to me, dressed in a long dark robe holding a scythe. The presence turned towards me and underneath the robe was a skeleton, grinning as skeleton’s grin, if they could.
Death? Am I dead? I trembled.
Before I even realized it, my mind screamed Tang ina mo Diyos! Kung wala ka nang pagagawa ka pa sa akin, kunin Mo na ako! (You whore-mothering-God! If there is nothing more You will have me do, take me!) Fearfully I agonized.
The entire story unraveled before me, a kaleidescope of colors, patterns of light and emotion, taking me back to the church, the altar and the pew, and even further back to the tunnel and the light. Or was it a firefly?
I felt a gentle hand’s touch. I opened my eyes to see Nena, my mother, holding my hand as she said, “Happy Birthday! You’ve been asleep for a long time!”
Eventually, the illness I had was diagnosed as tubercular meningitis, TB in the meninges which left a scar in that part of my brain about the size of a peso. That was April, 1968, 43 odd years ago! Bedridden for another year, under heavy medication, I was told that I would live the rest of my life under the same atrocious meds and that I could no longer play any contact sports, particularly football.
Since then, I’ve never played another game of football, but I did indulge in some scrimmage with my old coach, Baltazar “Dima” Dimasuay and his high school team. I stopped taking the meds, against and without my doctor’s knowledge.
When I told Mart, Dr. Martecio Perez, about stopping medication, he had me undergo a thorough check-up, giving me the thumbs up after thus foregoing further use of any medication. Having fully recovered, I can honestly say that I owe my life to Mart.
Pepe, my father, suggested I go back to golf, a game I took up when I was 6. To this day and when invited, I still play and I love the game!
“A golf ball never lies” is an old Scottish saying that implies playing the ball as it is, where it lies. Mastery of the game is next to impossible but on good days, a golfer can play a great round!
Tempted to disregard what this nagging voice was saying, This kind of cold is rather soothing, I said to myself.
“Look for the light,” again the voice repeated.
Where? This isn’t a room, it’s just a dark empty space! a conscious part of me fought back, not realizing it’s a death-hold.
“Look for the light,” I gasped, listening to my resignation, I can’t believe I said that. Okay, okay! I said as I gave in.
It’s so dark. What light? Wait… Is that a firefly? A firefly in this death-space? In amazement, I chased after it, moving rapidly in random quasi-circles.
No it isn’t a firefly, I said, It’s a spark–leading me on to the light! How quickly I latched on to this “look for the light” idea, clutching at straws, hanging on to life dearly.
Hell, is this hell? No, not at all! It’s a dark empty tunnel. I must continue, I mind-uttered in amazement.
Wait! I’m not walking. I’m moving so fast! Flight? Is this soul-flight? I AM AFRAID. Trembling in light-speed, greys flashing by, past the tunnel, whizzing after this nimble golden spark, I gained ground, Is it slowing down?
It’s gone! Where’d it go? A ray of light! A window! An altar? I must be in a chapel, bathed in gold, a gleaming environment. Finding a pew, I knelt in this serene space, basking in its beauty.
“LOOK FOR THE LIGHT!” This time the voice spoke emphatically. Looking around I noticed the window being the only source of light for this nirvana. In a tenth of a moment, I flew out, soared up and looked down at such amazing colors, blues, gold everywhere, purple and pink flowers, silver clouds, an amazing lightness of blue in the skies.
But I’m still afraid, I said, Upwards, I must go upwards. Heaven must be there. A bee-line for heaven, my only thought, as death was quickly calling, one last attempt before the referee blew his whistle and game over. Past the clouds, into space, much further than the stars, I begin to feel cold— familiar, comforting.
I mustn’t stop. I won’t give up. Heaven’s around here. I know it, I uttered perhaps in my last throes.
Suddenly, everything was still. Not knowing where I was, I looked all around me, suspended by nothing, again effortlessly floating. I saw nothing.
I had been months in hospital. We just won the national youth championship beating De La Salle College in the finals. DLSC Taft was still to become a university, whether planned or otherwise at that time. This was December, 1967. Having played football for La Salle Green Hills, it was a great thrill winning over our “kuyas” or “the last of the mighty” as they called themselves, having been the last graduating class to finish high school at Taft. I was sixteen years old.
As national champions, we qualified for the Asian Youth Regionals to be held in Bangkok in March, 1968. Everything was looking up. We were highly motivated, skilled, a strong team. The thought of playing for one’s country does that to you.
A month later, in January, while getting out of bed for our first week of classes, I collapsed, fell on the floor and got taken to the old 4-story Manila Doctors Hospital.
“It’s just a bad headache,” I told the doctor.
Not much later I was taken home and told to rest a few days, which wasn’t easy as we were in the final phases of training, prior to leaving for Thailand.
In mid-January, disaster struck: I realized that I was back in hospital a second time, waking up to throw up and pass out again, to slowly drift into unconsciousness. This was an unbelievable cycle, endless. I never awoke except to sheer darkness, cold that was too comfortable, death hovering nearby.
A voice inside me kept repeating, “Look for the light. Look for the light.”
I guess I was never awake. It certainly wasn’t a dream.
I looked up from bed and I saw both my parents, Nena and Pepe, praying the rosary and smoking one cigarette after another until it looked like they were both praying and smoking three cigarettes all at the same time!
“This can’t be happening!” I told myself.
In an instance, I was suspended from the ceiling of my hospital room, floating effortlessly. “Hey, that’s me in bed down there! What am I doing up here?” questioning myself in a soundless scream, panicked.
Only a part of me was conscious.
And then total darkness, cold that was not nearly as comfortable, death certainly taking hold of me, life shattering.
“Look for the light,” again the voice said, “Look for the light.”
Nothing can be quite as dark as death.
This is a test post.
The Golf Ball Never Lies 