Where's Nate?

living large in the four-oh-eight. wicked large.


golf in the city.

Had a chance to swing the sticks at the newly-revamped Harding Park Golf Course in San Francisco. Built in 1925, apparently this course fell into severe disrepair in the 1980s and 1990s. But somebody at the club convinced the PGA that they need to play a major tournament on this once-hallowed ground. And the city of San Francisco spent the last few years restoring this gem.

I managed to avoid the countless bunkers and sweeping cypress trees. And we hit it on a day without fog and/or wind. When the dust settled (and an alarming number of long putts dropped), I carded an 81 (+9). Not too shabby.

Get out there and play it before Tiger does.

(A side note. We were paired up with a guy named Tom who owns Fuse, a bar on Broadway. Great guy. Pedestrian golfer. Hopeless Yankees fan. A word of advice: Don't wear your Red Sox gear to Fuse. You may find that your mixed drink is five ounces of water and a quarter ounce of booze.)


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