Why We Love Golf
A GOLFER’S LOVE/HATE RELATIONSHIP WITH THE SPORT
“Golf is a good walk, spoiled.” – Mark Twain
When I was younger, I considered golf to be an elitist activity that wasted great amounts of space and harbored a small army of stodgy rich folks who looked down their patrician noses at us commoners. That’s what I was led to believe. That’s why I didn’t take up the sport until I was in my late forties. I was over the hill before I even began the climb. At least I had no bad swing habits yet. At least I found another activity that can be performed with a cold drink in hand.
golf clubs photo from: canstockphoto.com
Golf is a game of numbers where you yell “Fore!” shoot six and write down five. It is not a game of strength but a game of patience. I thought I would take up the sport after my doctor told me I should walk more to help my high blood pressure. My golfing partners assured me I had taken up the wrong sport for that.
It doesn’t take very long for the game to get into your blood – it makes it boil. After years of slicing, shanking and missing putts, I began to see some improvement and started hitting the occasional pro-grade shot. If I could only figure out what I had done right and keep it up, I could join the Champions’ Tour soon. It’s a nice fantasy. I’ve never shot my age but I have shot my cholesterol count.
Golf is something you can do during the days when you are on vacation out of town. Everywhere I have been sports golf courses – even in the desert where there’s no water. They build golf courses in Las Vegas and Phoenix and pipe in the water from Colorado. It has become ubiquitous in our society and I am a victim of its allure. I am hooked and will play until I can no longer swing a club or hoist a cold beer afterward.
You don’t have to walk; just rent a cart and you can drive right up to your ball, set your drink down and step out of the cart to swat it. Golf is truly a gentleman’s sport as well as a lazy man’s sport. Anyone who says they don’t cheat once in a while also lies. Counting on your opponents to fess up when they break a rule is like expecting them to make fun of their own haircuts. My cousin, Carl, might love the game but, being chronically late for everything, he could never make his tee times. I would never expose the stately game of golf to Carl. Some things just do not mix.
As a beginner, every golfer wants to give you pointers. Keep your head down. Bend your knees. Keep your left arm straight. Turn your shoulders. You’re standing too close to the ball – after you hit it. When hitting over a water hazard you can either use one more club or two more balls.
There is no such thing as a lost golf ball. The missing ball is on or near the course somewhere and eventually will be found and used by some other player. It then becomes a stolen ball, and the golfer should not exacerbate the crime by punishing himself with a penalty stroke.
Everyone wants to hit long drives. It’s the home run of the game and it gives the most satisfaction when hit well. I bought a driver with an oversized head. If it weren’t for my ugly nose, you couldn’t tell our shadows apart. It came shipped in a coffin. It added about 25 yards to my slice. The first time I used it, I nearly hit some guy hanging around in the rough. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to holler ‘fore!’” I told him.
“You had plenty of time to holler an obscenity,” he replied.
Once, at the end of a particularly shoddy round I commented to my playing partner: “I played so rotten I want to drown myself in that pond.”
He replied, “I don’t think you could keep your head down long enough.”
Now, in blissful retirement, I know there is more to life than just golf, but I don’t care to find out what it is. For now I’ll continue my futile pursuit of excellence in the game that specializes in frustration. Frustration makes me decide to quit the game forever, twice every week.
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