Help before it goes to press!

This is heading to press in a few hours. It's a wrapup column after a big tournament at a local course that I wrote columns from all four rounds. Any critiques, suggestions, etc. are much appreciated.

I hate golf.

With every neutron, every nucleus, every cell, every fiber of my being, I hate golf.

The club never does what you want it to. The ball? Forget about it. Every other swing that stupid thing flies off on some tangent and leaves you wondering why you even mess with this game.

I go to the golf course nervous but excited. I’m ready to have fun, get some good shots in and feel proud of my performance.

I leave angry, confused and intent on never stepping on that insanely short grass they call a putting green again.

But at the same time, I love it.

I cherish that feeling, though rare, of sinking a 20-foot birdie putt, finally hitting a long, straight drive or breaking 90 on a semi-tough course.

Even when I leave the course angry, confused and in a mood to boycott golf, I know that in the back of my mind, I’ll be back.

The Texas State Open reminded me of that.

Sure, watching such a tournament at The Cascades showed me that I will probably never be able to play as well as winner Matt Loving, or even 15-year-old Derek Hendryx, who shot 26-over in two rounds.

It reminded me that I’ll likely never be able to buy a membership at a course like The Cascades. Golf is a gentleman’s game, but in many cases, a wealthy gentleman’s.

But it doesn’t matter.

Instead, my mind took me back to what golf offered to me and everyone else at the Texas State Open.

It offered the chance to watch great players on a great course, hide under a tent during another rare Texas summer downpour and play hide-and-seek with giant mosquitoes.

Yes, it did all those things. But they don’t matter.

What matters are those moments of pure passion for a game that keeps us, young and old, on edge in a battle of high risk-high reward, whether we’re watching or playing.

What matters are living in the moment of classic battles. They don’t have to be Tiger vs. Lefty, Bobby Jones vs. Walter Hagen or The Shark vs. The Bear.

It can be Matt Loving vs. Adam Crawford, two no-names in golf, on yet another excursion up the No. 18 fairway at The Cascades.

The Texas State Open offered a rare chance to see an instant classic in every meaning of the phrase. From the first playoff to the second and to the third, the anticipation reached its peak before the finish.

And what a finish it was. Golf, the most frustrating sport in the world, did that.

The same type of ball that ruined Jean Van de Velde’s shot at the 1999 British and crashed Phil Mickelson’s U.S. Open party hit the bottom of the 18th pin at The Cascades and brought new life in a golfer who said he nearly quit the game a year ago.

Loving found that feeling that we beginner, intermediate or experienced golfers ache for — winning the big one for the first time.

He landed an impossible shot from the rough on the green after a trip through two trees. Then the 20-foot birdie putt followed by raised arms and massive celebration.

Loving was reminded why he loved the game and why he made the right decision by sticking with it.

After it was all said and done, I left the Texas State Open hating the condition I was in. I was hot, sweating, my face was still sunburned and my legs ached from walking yet another 18 holes.

I was miserable, and I hated it.

But at the same time, I loved it.

I knew where I would be heading soon:

The golf course.

 

I hate golf. (Good.)

With every neutron, every nucleus, every cell, every fiber of my being, I hate golf.

The club never does what you want it to. The ball? Forget about it. Every other swing that stupid thing flies off on some tangent and leaves you (me?) wondering why you (I) even mess with this game.

I go to the golf course nervous but excited. I’m ready to have fun, get some good shots in and feel proud of my performance.
(too many paragraph breaks - bring these two together)
I leave angry, confused and intent on never stepping on that insanely short grass they call a putting green again.

But at the same time, I love it.

I cherish that feeling, though rare, of sinking a 20-foot birdie putt, finally hitting a long, straight drive or breaking 90 on a semi-tough course. (I cherish that rare feeling... ditch semi-)

Even when I leave the course angry, confused and in a mood to boycott golf, I know that in the back of my mind, I’ll be back.
(might be good to tie Loving's feelings about quitting in here - he knew he'd be back too...)

The Texas State Open reminded me of that.
(reminded both of you?)

Sure, watching such a tournament at The Cascades showed me that I will probably never be able to play as well as winner Matt Loving, or even 15-year-old Derek Hendryx, who shot 26-over in two rounds. (ditch Sure, switch "reminded" for "showed")
(no paragraph break here)
It reminded me that I’ll likely never be able to buy a membership at a course like The Cascades. Golf is a gentleman’s game, but in many cases, a wealthy gentleman’s.

But it doesn’t matter.

Instead, my mind took me back to what golf offered to me and everyone else at the Texas State Open. (the tournament took my mind back?)

It offered the chance to watch great players on a great course, hide under a tent during another rare Texas summer downpour and play hide-and-seek with giant mosquitoes.
(no break)
Yes, it did all those things. But they don’t matter. (It did all those things. But they don't matter.)

What matters are those moments of pure passion for a game that keeps us, young and old, on edge in a battle of high risk-high reward, whether we’re watching or playing. (slowing down... maybe ditch whole paragraph)

What matters are living in the moment of classic battles. They don’t have to be Tiger vs. Lefty, Bobby Jones vs. Walter Hagen or The Shark vs. The Bear.

It can be Matt Loving vs. Adam Crawford, two no-names in golf, on yet another excursion up the No. 18 fairway at The Cascades.

The Texas State Open offered a rare chance to see an instant classic in every meaning of the phrase. From the first playoff to the second and to the third, the anticipation reached its peak before the finish.

And what a finish it was. Golf, the most frustrating sport in the world, did that.

The same type of ball that ruined Jean Van de Velde’s shot at the 1999 British and crashed Phil Mickelson’s U.S. Open party hit the bottom of the 18th pin at The Cascades and brought new life in a golfer who said he nearly quit the game a year ago.
(I assume this is running alongside a detailed event story, but I think you should still assume that people don't know what happened. It's unclear to me what shot of Loving's you're referring to.)
Loving found that feeling that we beginner, intermediate or experienced golfers ache for — winning the big one for the first time.

He landed an impossible shot from the rough on the green after a trip through two trees. Then the 20-foot birdie putt followed by raised arms and massive celebration.
(why was the shot "impossible"? More details - distance, club, was it his second or third shot? Did it hit the green and stick, or did it get a good bounce?)
Loving was reminded why he loved the game and why he made the right decision by sticking with it.

After it was all said and done, I left the Texas State Open hating the condition I was in. I was hot, sweating, my face was still sunburned and my legs ached from walking yet another 18 holes. (ditch "After it was all said and done")

I was miserable, and I hated it. (I was miserable. I hated it.)

But at the same time, I loved it. (maybe ditch "But at the same time,")

I knew where I would be heading soon: (either end this with a period, or bring the last line up)

The golf course.

- Hope this helps, and that you have enough time to make changes. I'll check back in a bit to see if you have any questions.

 

Thanks for the help. It reads so much better now.