That’s why I’m out here every day, rain or shine. I play eighteen holes in the morning, another eighteen after lunch, and maybe a quick nine after dinner. Nothing but golf, golf, golf, day in and day out. Gotta bring that handicap down. Gotta work on that swing. Gotta keep my arms straight.

Man, I gotta see a concert.

That’s the trouble with golf. It leaves you with almost no time to see a good show, like Ryan Adams playing in Dallas on June 17. Yes, golf is my life. And concerts? Maybe someday.

I’ve been working on my game for years, coming out to this course to practice my driving, my chip shots, and my putting. Putting is important if you want to be a pro golfer, and I can’t let anything disturb my concentration while I’m lining up a shot. Don’t want to think about Journey, Bob Dylan or Backstreet Boys. Just want to sink that baby into the cup.

Someday I’ll be a pro. I’ll win the Masters, the US Open, even the British Open. And when that day comes, I’ll take my winnings, march right down to Ticketmaster and buy tickets for Avril Lavigne, Brooks & Dunn and Santana.

In the meantime I come out here every day. I drive, I putt, I cuss, I whack. And while I’m walking from hole to hole, from tee to green to tee, I think about why I’m doing this. I think about all those tickets I’ll buy when I hit the big time. Yeah, Me and Tiger. We’ll be best buds, and we’ll see all the shows, like U2 or Paul McCartney. Because that’s what all the big golf pros do. Golf and concerts. Now, that’s the way to live.

But it’s not going to happen unless I keep practicing. Gotta work on keeping my head down and my eye on the ball. Gotta remember to take a deep breath when I address the ball, let it out slowly when I go into my swing, and above all, concentrate, concentrate, concentrate. Like this hole I’m on right now. It sure can be tricky, and I don’t want to be thinking about The Rolling Stones or The White Stripes. Oh, no. Gotta keep my mind on the game. Gotta focus. Gotta keep my arms straight. Gotta follow through. Gotta sink this putt.

But first I gotta hit my ball safely past the windmill and into the clown’s mouth.