There's nothing minimal about mini-putt

I got to play mini-putt on the weekend, which I love: I'm good at it in ways I am very much not good at actual golf.

I do get the allure of a proper golf game, and I even feel it when I put on my cute saddle-shoe style soft spike footwear and step out on to a pristine green. I enjoy teeing off each new hole, really letting loose on the ball to see how far I can make it skid across the grass - you know, will it actually make it as far as my height this time? - and changing my club with every stroke in step with my score. I play my best when nobody's rushing me, which is why I usually choose an unpopular course and show up at the clubhouse to pay my fees in the midst of a good steady rain. I appreciate all the green things growing around me, especially if they don't set off my hayfever.

Mini-putt, on the other hand, brings out my competitive side. I beat people at mini-putt. Real golfers, even. In mini-putt, being an aggressive putter can be an advantage, and even when you play badly you have comforting distractions, like shooting through the feet sticking out the door of the outhouse, or driving the ball up a slope, or aiming into one of three cups each leading to tubes that will drop your ball into a more or less advantageous position near the hole.

I suppose I'm good at mini-putt because I'm good at details. I don't know why I'm not good at real golf though, because I'm also good at the big picture, and commitment, and stamina. Maybe it's because I'm too good at those things to want to spend four hours outside sneezing and accomplishing next to nothing? or maybe it's because I don't have a sufficiently strong swing. In which case I should try again, because that must have changed since I hauled all a literal ton of flagstone last year.