My Day of Golf

I truly believe that the sport of golf is God's little joke on me. I watch the pros every once in a while on television and they make it look so easy. I know better. I tried it once and the results were… well, let's just say, no one will ever confuse me with Tiger Woods.

Honestly, I was a good athlete many years, and many, many (less) pounds ago. I could play tennis, baseball, football, basketball, volleyball -– you name it, I was pretty good at it. But, the sport of golf, that was my nemesis. The one sport I could not conquer.

I played golf one year though. Well, actually, that needs to be clarified a little. What I should say is that I tried, to play golf one spring. The results usually leave people laughing hysterically every time I tell this story.

It was my junior year of high school. My friend, Mike, was a good golfer and he tried to get me interested. It took a while, but finally I figured I'd give it a try.

He and I would come home from school each day and sneak onto the golf course that was behind my house. Now this was not any ordinary golf course. I lived behind Merion Golf Course -- THE Merion Golf Course. Of course, it was the west course, which is not to be confused with the more famous east course right next to it where the U.S. Open has been played.

Anyway, Mike and I would climb through a hole in the fence each afternoon on the west course and play the three holes closest to it -- 12, 13, and 14 if I recall correctly. It was a perfect loop of three holes, and we'd get to play around it two or three times until it got dark, or until the security guard came out and asked us to leave, whichever came first -– usually the guard.

I started with two clubs -- a borrowed putter from Mike and a three wood that my uncle made. (He makes golf clubs as a hobby. Pretty good ones too judging from how many people have purchased them.)

On one of those afternoons I hit this wonderful shot from the middle of one of those fairways. It soared through the late afternoon sunshine… up, up it went, curved gently at its apex, and then headed down. When it landed it was right on the green just like they do it on TV. It was a beautiful thing to behold and it hooked me on the game.

I decided that I should give the sport a real chance. So I went out and spent $104, my entire savings, and purchased a small set of left-handed clubs. Yes, I am one of golf's minority -- I play the sport left handed.

So with my new gear in hand, I was ready to go.

The following Saturday morning Mike and I set out for a local golf course that he knew about. An "easy course," he said. It was a gorgeous morning. The sun was shining, the air was cool, crisp, and clear. It was a perfect morning for golf.

The course itself was beautiful. Well maintained, tree lined walkways, manicured fairways, plush greens. One thing I can truthfully say about golf courses -- they are beautifully landscaped and wonderful to walk around.

We paid our greens fees and headed for the first tee. My fun started on that first tee, much to my dismay, and more importantly, much to the dismay of the folks that were unfortunate enough to be there watching.

I should mention that when I'm learning something, anything, I really do not like to have an audience. It makes me very, very nervous, and I usually screw up. In this case, I screwed up spectacularly.

Hanging around the first tee that day was a group of "the regulars" as someone mentioned. They were a typical group of nice folks that you find at all golf courses. They were sitting around whispering, talking, and laughing to each other, minding their own business. However, being your typical paranoid high school kid at the time, I figured they were whispering, talking, and laughing at me and my left-hand swing.

I swear to this day that what happened next was totally an accident -- honest.

I lined up my shot, took a big swing and made contact with the ball. Yes sir, I hit that puppy with all my might. Unfortunately, it did not exactly go where I wanted it to go. Instead of going straight down the fairway, it went off the tee, made a sharp left and caused total chaos when it bounced off a wall, and then straight toward the area everyone was sitting. People were diving for cover everywhere. I never saw people move so fast. That opening tee shot cleared out that entire section of people. Luckily, no one was hurt. Nor was anyone laughing at (paranoid) me anymore either.

From that point on, the day went –- downhill.

Mike was kind enough to let me have a do-over on that first tee. Well, I put the ball back on the tee, and once again, I swung with all my might, and I rolled that ball at least 100 yards. In fact, for the rest of the time I played golf that day, I only got the ball off the ground once, and that was on a green while using my putter, and I still don't know how I did that.

But, rolling the ball was the least of my problems that day. No siree, not by a long shot.

There were two dog legs on that course -- one went around a hill, the other one went around someone's back yard. (Why they built a house there, I don't know. Dumbest place to put a house if you ask me.)

Anyway, on the first one, the dog leg that went around a fairly tall hill, I ended up going over it. Not that I wanted to mind you. The ball just went that way after I hit it. I rolled that ball up and over the hill, through a sand trap, and finally onto the green. A lot of fun, but not as much fun as the second one.

On that second one, the one that went around the back yard, I ended up -- you guessed it -- going through that back yard. Yep, my shot rolled under the fence and landed smack dab in the center of the yard.

So I climbed the fence and went to get my ball and… well, I never did see the BEWARE OF DOG sign. And, oh man, was it a big dog. Fast too. But I was faster. I picked up the ball and ran for my life, finally jumping over the fence and back onto the golf course. When I looked back, the dog was just lying on the ground at the end of his rope looking at me and barking. Then I glanced over at Mike. He was on the ground looking at me too, but he was laughing his full head off.

I should mention that, on that same hole, Mike made this awesome chip shot out of a sand trap that went right up on the green and straight into the hole. It was a glorious shot. The showoff!

Anyway, a couple holes later, we reached the ninth tee and Mike explained that after that hole we would get to take a little break in the clubhouse. "Alleluia!," I thought, "I can use that for sure." Unfortunately, that was the good news. The bad news was that I still had to play the ninth hole.

Once again I hit my tee shot and rolled my ball a good 100 yards or so -- down the wrong fairway. Somehow it landed on the one next to the one we were on. "Uuuggghhhh," I said to myself as I stomped off to get it. As I’m walking, I hear someone off in the distance yelling -- "fore! – Fore! – FORE!" Then the next thing I know, Mike is screaming "RICK, LOOK OUT!!!"

"RICK, LOOK OUT!!!" was what finally caught my attention, and I dove for the ground just as a ball landed a few yards away from me. As Mike and some others came running my way to make sure I was ok, I’m laying there thinking – "What in the name of all that’s holy does fore mean? What brilliant bonehead thought that people would equate the word 'fore' for 'watch out, you are about to get nailed by a flying golf ball? Really smart!'"

Well, I picked myself up, and after assuring everyone I was ok and not a total idiot, I finished out the hole -- 10 or 12 shots later –- by then, who cared.

When all was said and done that day, Mike said I scored a 126. Some folks say that is good for a first time out. Then I tell them that I scored that on the front nine. They normally look at me funny at this point, try very hard not to laugh, and then say something like,-- "Well, hey, it was still your first time out. You'll get better in time." Yeah right. And tomorrow I’ll wake up a millionaire.

When I was finished the front nine that day, I knew exactly what I was going to do though. I walked off the course, put my clubs in the trunk of my car, went to the clubhouse, ordered a tall, cold soft drink, then sat down to watch some TV while Mike finished out the rest of the course, which I insisted he do.

When I got home later that day, I called the local newspaper and put an ad in the paper for my golf clubs. The next day, someone came and purchased them for $40. I have not been near a golf course since.

Mike still laughs about it today. He also still plays the game and has become very good at it.

As for me, I'll stick with tennis, thank you very much!