When it comes to giving a blow-by-blow account of a round of golf, I put myself in about the 30 to 40 percentile – and not once have I done that in this space.

Your luck is about to run out.

On Thursday, my column for this week written but about to be put on ice, I drove to God’s Country, Chapel Hill, to play with three fraternity brothers at the newly renovated Finley Golf Course, which was immaculate. Knowing that if I arrived late, there was a chance someone would already pay my cart and greens fee, which would total about $100, I drove the speed limit and turned a two-hour drive into two hours, 20 minutes.

It worked.

I did bring the beer, which was not an insignificant cost, and some water as it was 95 degrees with a triple-digit heat index. The beer ran out before the water.

My playing partners were:

Phil Ragazzo, the host, a former UNC football player whose father, Vic, was an assistant coach for UNC football. Rag is a fairly new to the game, having been bitten by the golf bug and loves it. His most notable achievement was playing with me last time I teed it up at Finley, my first round from the senior tees as a 65-year-old, when I turned a 65 into a 69. Had to work that in quickly.

Jim Wilcox, we call Goat, but not because of golf. Jim began his working career in Lumberton as a banker and was instrumental in starting the annual Kiwanis All-American Golf Tournament, which tees up next week and has raised big money to help youths in this county during an almost half-century run.

Rxxxxxd Hxxe was our third, and I have made his name ambiguous because he often says he does not want to see his name in my column, and he would be most likely to sue. My guess is outstanding warrants. He was a good high school golfer in Whiteville and retired not too long ago and sold his restaurant on Kiawah Island named for him.

All are decent players, mid-80s, great guys and older than me. Rag and Hxxe have seen me play pretty good golf, but as Goat kept reminding me, he has only heard I was capable of decent golf and needs convincing. That job is not done.

We began on No. 10, a long par 4, and I drove it straight but not long, from the regular men’s tees, not the senior’s, leaving me 185 to the par 4. Cold shanked the 3-iron, then the next, setting the stage for six shanks on the front side. For those who do not play, a shank is easily the ugliest shot in golf and often comes in bunches.

I will spare you play-by-play but tell you that on the front I did not finish four holes, should have lost four balls but because I had plenty of time to look only lost one, and I know where it is, 30 yards into the lake to the right of No. 18. And on my best shot, which came out of bunker, it turned out I hit the wrong ball. Another DNF.

The culprit was a bad back that has me on at the beginning of a seven-day run of steroids and kept me from administering Ibuprofen. I almost quit on No. 16, which would have been the first time I quit a round of golf since I walked off the course in protest as a freshman trying to qualify for a high school golf match.

After we made the turn, Rag announced I had shot 50, and I would add –ish to its end. I saw a 7 on No. 10, so he credited me with holing out the bunker shot that I pocketed instead. I think the last time I shot 50 on nine holes was just before the last time I walked off a golf course.

I had always believed the benefit of not finishing holes was you did not get your score recorded.

I had begun stepping up my beer consumption on No. 16 ss a medical strategy, and now was challenged with breaking 100 as we went to No. 1. Goat said he thought i was going to the car.

This story has a happy ending. I shot a back-nine 36 with three birdies for an 86ish. Rag had an 84ish, Goat an 88ish and Hxxe 90ish.

Hxxe and I won two bets on the back, one for the day, but no way was I asking for the $3 since I had played for free.

I was surprisingly happy after the round, the beer helping some, but my perseverance providing a measure of satisfaction. It was not long before I decided to memorialize this day in this column because it encapsulates the conundrum of the game of golf.

My first nine holes are why some people quit the game, and my second nine is why some people who want to quit the game, cannot.