Just the other day, I read an article about golf. Actually, I learned a little something about golf from it, but then with my limited knowledge of the subject, I could probably learn more than I now know about it by reading a story about bowling. However, it brought back some memories of the few times when I played the game myself. If you have an extra wide screen, I can post some of my scores.
Occasionally some of the guys who worked where I did would invite me to play a round or two with them. This usually happened about six months after the last guys I played with had either left the company or had been transferred out of state.
On the way to the first tee someone usually says something like: “Mind if I ask why you only have three clubs in your bag; a driver, a putter and one that looks like a 410 shotgun with a sock over the muzzle?” I don’t mind the question: I’m just happy if no one mentions the hockey stick.
“Well, heh, heh, that is a 410. They made a rule change right after the last time I played this course and they won’t let me use a 12 gauge any more.”
“Oh.” (The accompanying facial expression is something that really adds to my enjoyment of the game).
“And the putter is really just there for looks. I’ve found that I don’t get as much distance with it as I do with the other one.”
Actually, distance has never been a problem with my game. I can usually hit a ball upward from a quarter mile off the tee. Now, direction is a completely different matter. Often my ball lands on more freeways than fairways.
Once, after he watched my tee shot take off over the trees far to the left of the fairway, one of my friends commented: “Wow, that was interesting, I wonder where that one went!”
One of the other guys fumbled around in his bag and came up with a map. “Maybe we can locate it with this.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “I didn’t know they even made a map of this course.”
“This isn’t a map of the course. It’s a map of the state. Now, if you look at that dog-leg right down on Highway 93, in between the lake and the National Forest, it might be somewhere in there.” It was.
I’ve heard some people say that one doesn’t get all that much exercise just by playing a game of golf, but I certainly don’t agree with that. There have been times when I’ve taken strokes with my driver from the rough along all eighteen fairways before getting onto the green of the first hole. Don’t tell me it isn’t exercise! It would be much less taxing if they didn’t insist on playing the holes in a given order.
There are a couple of things that I don’t like about the game. One is the bragging that goes on later in the clubhouse. Awhile ago I heard one guy brag about shooting a birdie on 3, another birdie on 6, an eagle on 12 and a hole-in-one on 14.
I really didn’t think that was special at all. Why, that very day I had bagged a nice pair of Mallards in the water hazard behind 4, a pheasant two fairways off to the right of 7, and sent a shot well over the head of a Bald Eagle perched in the top of a tree with my tee shot on 13 (I didn’t know you were supposed to actually hit them) and never even thought of bragging about it. I actually got a ball in the hole on 14, too: my fourth drive bounced off a guy who had his back turned to me while he was putting on 12, banked off a couple of trees, and rolled right into the cup.
The other thing that is annoying is the betting that goes on during a round and it isn’t because I mind a little honest wager now and then. When the guys are placing bets on which fairway my tee shot will come closest to, they won’t let me place my own bet. I think that’s unfair: I probably have as much of an idea about where it’s going as they do.
Overall though, it’s a great game and I’ll continue reading an occasional article. Maybe in the next year or two when I get invited to play again I’ll even brag about shooting a birdie of my own.