Hitting the Links

Let me tell you about today’s golf outing. First off, don’t mistake me for someone who is good at golf. I admit it; I’m terrible.

I met my dad at the course a little early so we could hit a few shots at the range and at the practice green -- a great idea for me. I’ve played once in the last 8 months. My dad and his golfing cronies at “the club,” by contrast, have been playing 6 days a week since the place reopened 3 weeks ago.

My dad is about to turn 66 this month, but he has the physical conditioning of a 50 year-old (a statement which, I’m sure, will offend him, but may I remind him that I’m only 12 years away from 50 myself, so it’s a compliment, really). You should have seen the other two members of our foursome, though. My dad and I walked the course. The other two guys rode in a cart – which, at their age, I have no problem with. But the first thing I noticed when they came driving up to meet us was that they displayed a handicapped flag on their golf cart. Was it a joke? I’m not sure; I just hoped nobody keeled over during our round. (Note: I know that when it turns out that there's a health reason for the flag, everyone'll think I'm a big jerk; hey, I'm just telling the story as I saw it.)

Apparently, however, there was nothing to fear. Although the two partners did seem to struggle a bit climbing in and out of their cart. One guy didn’t use golf tees because it hurt his back too much to bend over and pick them up after his tee shots. Their swings were more cutting motions than golf swings, and they shuffled as much as walked.

Again, make no mistake. They kicked my ass up and down that golf course. All three of them consistently out-drove, outplayed, and out-putted me all day long. One of them even started giving me advice after I’d lost a few balls. “You’re rushing your backswing,” he told me. And “swing down on the ball – you’re not swinging down on the ball!” What does that mean, I wonder? As a non-avid golfer, by the way, I’m not really receptive to golfing advice (it’s part of the reason I stink, but I don’t care) -- especially this early in the season and especially before my first beer (note: my erratic play did settle down a bit after a beverage). Besides, in my frequent forays into the tall grass and the woods, I found way more balls than I lost. Nice ones too – members at this place use the best.

I can run a marathon, and I can outskate kids half my age in a hockey game. I can climb 5.10, and I can make hop turns in tele-gear on a 50-degree slope. But I couldn’t even come close to beating three little 60 and 70-plus year-olds in golf. As they limped and shuffled to and from their cart and hacked their ways around the course (and, although their shots may not have gone far, they went straight every time), I can tell you, I felt pretty pathetic. On the other hand, the weather was beautiful and, after awhile, even I hit a good shot here and there. My golfing partners were very patient and very nice (and, every once in a great while, they flubbed shots too, which made me feel better). They’re probably glad they don’t have to wait around for me every day though.

All in all, it was a pretty good day on the golf course.