Courtesy: BBC

First, mea culpas for some tardy postings of late; a new job is taking up a lot of my time at the moment. I apologize.

As regular tour stops go, the Wachovia Championship has proven to be very interesting. We are witnessing the emergence of a very talented young player in Anthony Kim who continues to impress and continues to get better.

He has the same lack of fear that Tiger did in his early 20s and I wonder if Kim might just be the golfer who challenges Tiger and wins. Someone will sooner or later.

But the Wachovia also proved to be educational for those who love the esoteric in golf rulings. Stewart Cink found himself in an awkward situation at the edge of the 17th green on Saturday. And it was an awkward rules situation, too.

It involved Rule 13-4 concerning balls in hazards and prohibited actions.

You can read the whole story here. How on earth the pros can remember or even be aware of the finer rules in the rule book is beyond me.

Got out to play on Thursday for the first time this Spring. I'd played a couple of rounds in Orlando in February and was mighty pleased with my ball striking, especially as I was playing courses I had never seen before.

Thursday's course was one I had never seen before, either. But I had heard good things about it. It's a championship 9-hole layout that is long and tough.

And I broke the cardinal rule in golf, at least in golf's mental game; I had expectations.

After striking the ball beautifully in Orlando three months ago and at the range two weeks ago, I was anticipating much of the same on Thursday.

The first tee on this deceptive 9-holer was an elevated dogleg right, 271 yards from the whites, 330 from the golds. My playing partner and I were tipping it up at the whites since it was his first round in over a year. Just as well.

Number one turned out to be an optical illusion for me; of course, if I had studied the scorecard beforehand, I would have realized its shortness. Problem was it didn't look short.

So I blasted away with my Alpha V5 and launched a beauty - right through the dogleg and into water lying hidden behind a strategically placed mound.

The course marshal was watching and recommended something shorter. I selected a 7-iron. Same result. Finally, hitting 4, I found the fairway. With a 9-iron.

One big number later, I decided to gamble to make up strokes. I had expectations, you see.

And, frankly, that's where it all began to unravel. Oh sure, I hit more good shots than bad ones but the bad ones usually found the abundant water on this tenacious little buggar of a course.

The usual on-course swing analysis took over and that served no useful purpose at all. So, in the end, I "came a cropper" as the English might say, all because I stood on the first tee with expectations.

Lesson learned: play the game what ya brung wit ya.

I could blame it all on the lightning fast greens, I suppose. But you wouldn't believe me, would you?