Yesterday, after the better part of a century living on this planet, I played my first round of golf. While it may be hard to believe that--as a card-carrying upper-middle-class corporate lawyer--I managed to avoid playing this most "establishment" of games. It is, however, true. Just to be completely candid, I have played miniature golf, and have hit (erratically) off driving ranges with my late brother-in-law, Dick, who was a avid golfer. We once were supposed to play four holes, but bad weather intervened. I suppose the closest I ever came was a round of "jungle golf" on a makeshift course a friend had as his country home. We only used one club, and it was virtually impossible to putt. When I would go on company golf outings , I'd mess around on the driving range. A long-ago girlfriend had asked me never to play golf, out of 60's fear that this would irretrievably put me over on "the dark side." And so, I stuck with tennis, played on both my high school and college teams, and long maintained that tennis was sufficiently frustrating for me so that golf was not necessary to increase my stress level.
On April 27, 2012, this all changed. One of our friend's wives was having a birthday luncheon to which my wife, among others, was invited. And so, one of the other men whose wife was also invited, asked me if I wanted to round out a foursome. I tried to beg off, saying I really should take a lesson, or at least practice on a driving range (both of which, in retrospect, would have been well-advised), but he would have none of it. He even had an extra set of golf clubs. I have played baseball and (as mentioned) tennis, and know about the importance of keeping my head down, my body still, and completing the stroke. I also am, modesty apart, a pretty good natural athlete, so I figured, "how bad can I be?" Pretty bad, as it turned out, but not egregious. I had some incredible luck on the first hole. After struggling a bit with my initial drive off the tee, I got great distance and height on my next two strokes, landing on the tee. The other players were astonished, and I accepted their plaudits with appropriate modesty. Secretly, I was thinking, hell, this isn't that hard. For the next eight holes or so, I hit more ground balls than flies, and was starting to feel the frustration that has vexed golfers through the ages. Here's a little white stationary ball, and all you have to do is make contact with said ball. After all, in tennis, I am able to hit a fast moving ball on the run, and (more or less) control where and how I hit my return. And yet, as all golfers know, the slightest variation in the swing can bring about unforeseen (and disappointing) consequences.
Fortunately, the other fellows with whom I was playing were friends, and understood what they were getting themselves into when they invited me along. Also, fortunately, we were not keeping score, and had to keep moving lest we further irritate the foursomes behind us.
On April 27, 2012, this all changed. One of our friend's wives was having a birthday luncheon to which my wife, among others, was invited. And so, one of the other men whose wife was also invited, asked me if I wanted to round out a foursome. I tried to beg off, saying I really should take a lesson, or at least practice on a driving range (both of which, in retrospect, would have been well-advised), but he would have none of it. He even had an extra set of golf clubs. I have played baseball and (as mentioned) tennis, and know about the importance of keeping my head down, my body still, and completing the stroke. I also am, modesty apart, a pretty good natural athlete, so I figured, "how bad can I be?" Pretty bad, as it turned out, but not egregious. I had some incredible luck on the first hole. After struggling a bit with my initial drive off the tee, I got great distance and height on my next two strokes, landing on the tee. The other players were astonished, and I accepted their plaudits with appropriate modesty. Secretly, I was thinking, hell, this isn't that hard. For the next eight holes or so, I hit more ground balls than flies, and was starting to feel the frustration that has vexed golfers through the ages. Here's a little white stationary ball, and all you have to do is make contact with said ball. After all, in tennis, I am able to hit a fast moving ball on the run, and (more or less) control where and how I hit my return. And yet, as all golfers know, the slightest variation in the swing can bring about unforeseen (and disappointing) consequences.
Fortunately, the other fellows with whom I was playing were friends, and understood what they were getting themselves into when they invited me along. Also, fortunately, we were not keeping score, and had to keep moving lest we further irritate the foursomes behind us.
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