Bobby, Arnold, Jack, Tiger and Jimmie?
OK, I’m half Scottish in heritage, so why in the world can I not play golf to save my life? It’s something that I’ve always wanted to do, but I can never get the hang of it. I guess I’m too slouchy to stay that straight while swinging the club. There are too many mechanics involved. I don’t want to think that hard while playing a sport.
So I’ve come to the realization that I’ll never be a golfer in the traditional sense.
My dad loved to play, and he often kept his clubs at my grandmother’s house. The first time I tried to hit a ball was when I was around eight years old. I snuck a club and a couple of golf balls out of his case and took them out into my grandmother’s back yard. I tossed the balls on the ground and got ready to swing away, not caring about the other houses that were around me.
I firmly gripped the club and prepared to line the ball up. I can’t remember what club I had, it was just a club as far as I was concerned. And nevermind the fact that my dad was a lefty and I was a righty. I just knew I had a heavy club in my hands and I was going to see what this stuff could do.
I placed the club head by the first ball and planted my feet firmly into the ground. I brought the club back as far as I could and put everything I had into my swing.
I was certain that I would soon hear the sound of glass breaking or a neighbor screaming as they ducked out of the way.
But as I followed through with my stroke, I came to the sudden realization that the neighbors had nothing to worry about.
As I looked into the distance to see where the ball would travel, I heard the faint sound of scuffling along the ground. I looked directly in front of me and saw my ball come to rest a mere 10 feet away from me.
I hung my head in shame and disbelief as I picked up the balls and returned everything where I found it. It was then that I realized I would never be a golfer.
But I did find some satisfaction in hitting the miniature golf course from time to time. In fact, I found this particular activity to be more fun and challenging.
The amusement park I worked at when I was a teenager had a nice miniature golf course, and back then it was only one dollar to play.
I got to be pretty good at it over a summer or two. I didn’t have to worry about club selection or keeping my arms extended while swinging. It was just a fun way to compensate for my lack of real skills.
But I’d like to see just how good Tiger Woods would be if he went up against the dreaded ramp over the castle moat on hole five or be able to time his putt with the circling bridge on the par-4 eighth hole.
Could he win the free game by knocking the ball into the hole on the next to last spiral on the 18th hole?
Talk about performance under pressure!
I need to pick up the putter again soon. A round of 18 sounds good right now.
That way I can try to hobnob with the guys in the clubhouse and sound like I know what I’m doing.
And maybe I can even bring up the time I scored a hole-in-one once. It was on a par-three with a windmill. I rock!