Earlier today I waited for my friend to come to the house so that we could go out and play golf. This is a masochistic experience we engage in a couple of days a week. Occasionally, I also join a group of “seniors” on Saturday. Golf is a game that was developed by some sadistic individuals, originally in a land across the pond. It is referred to as the game of kings, and the somewhat modern version of the game dates to the 15th century. It was at around age 50 plus that I decided to give the “ole game” a try and I must confess that it has been the most difficult endeavor I have ever tried to undertake. Not only are the rules a bit strange, archaic and at times, arbitrary, but the game itself is one hell of a challenge. To make the effort to develop some measure of self-respect, I took a few golf lessons. In these lessons I learned that to be worth a damn, it starts with how you hold the club. A contortionist would no doubt be the most able person to follow the “club-holding” instructions. My attempts proved to be a bit futile, so I took the approach made famous by Frank Sinatra and “did it my way”! Another lesson focused on the way you stand and “aim” where you are going to hit the ball. This lesson was a complete failure on me and to this day, I confuse anyone who has the gall to join me for a round with how I stand; yet often the ball does go where I think I wanted it to go.
Stroking the little dimpled ball is also an art that few can master. Contacting the ball can be influenced by that damn grip and how you hold your arms, twist your body, consider the velocity of the wind, elevation and the singing of the birds. The point being that the number of variables that come into play in the stroke and follow-through are legion. You damn well better not talk, cough, sneeze, clear your throat, or move more than a fraction of an inch and do so in complete and utter silence. There are multiple aspects to the game of golf and I am just touching the surface of all that the game entails. Equipment is so, so critical. Manufacturers of the equipment are regularly coming out with a better driver, putter and every other club to make you begin to approach the ability of Jack Nicholas and Tiger Woods. I’ll never forget an Assistant Pro at a country club telling a friend, “Mr. Moyer, you can’t buy a game”, but that did not stop Mr. Moyer from buying every new version of a club that was made and most piled up in his garage. Well, I fell victim to the manufacturer’s harangue and dropped around $2000 for some “good equipment”, but the Assistant Pro was right, “Mr. Crow, you can’t buy a game”! The ball, another critical component. That little dimpled sphere is also subject to multiple variations. The number of dimples, the configuration of the dimples, the softness or hardness of the core and on and on. A frigging ball we are talking about, not a surgical instrument.
Oh, what you wear also comes into play. You had better emerge onto the course with a shirt that has a collar-yes, a collar. Obviously, a collared shirt is an important factor in how you play this inane game. I have been with someone who did not have the required shirt and was forbidden to play on the course. Anyone who has watched a game of golf on TV will recall that the temperature can be 200 degrees, but every player must wear long pants. Apparently, self-torture is a contributing factor to playing the game of golf. Now, the peons playing on local courses can wear shorts, but you better have a collared shirt.
Prior to his passing, I use to play often with my good buddy, Chuckie, and more than on one occasion he would turn to me and say, “Richie, why the hell do we keep trying to play this game?” I guess we were trying to build character! It should be noted that we never practiced and then would get frustrated and berate ourselves for duffing a shot or missing a put.
A question to be raised in any discussion about the game of golf, is why do they build houses around golf courses? It has been said that the word golf was the only 4 letter word left, hence the name of the game. The spewing forth of multiple variations of whatever obscenity or profane expression one can think of are regular utterances on any course where the “game of kings” is played. Incidentally, a rather common explanation for the derivation of the word golf is that it means, “Gentleman only, ladies forbidden”. This might give some degree of superiority to the “real men” who spend an inordinate amount of time hitting a little ball with a stick that has a big end to it, but it isn’t true. Anyone for a round of golf?