The excuse I give anyone who will listen is that I just
learned how to play golf. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it – even though
in reality I took lessons at least four years ago.
I haven’t
played since September, New England in October and November not being very
conducive to the game, what with trying to swing while wearing a parka and
unearthing a white ball from a snow bank and all. But I’m now in the land where
entire housing developments are built around golf courses.
As luck would
have it, the friend I learned to play with is down here, too. She’s well
established, a seasoned snowbird, unlike the greenhorn I am. She also has a
vast network of women she plays with and they are a daunting group. Don’t get
me wrong – they’re kind and friendly, but sprouting from those flamingo-covered
golf shirts are arms of steel.
My game is
just short of Keystone cops material. I can make it from one hole to the next,
occasionally with a pretty acceptable drive and I don’t always work my
way down the fairway as though playing croquet.
Yesterday I
filled in with a group of five experienced players. Fortunately, I was teamed
with my friend and a third woman who I was happy to learn was a retired nurse.
I figured nurses are kind, compassionate people and she would be more patient
than most with my failings.
The other three went ahead of us,
and we waited our turn as they teed off. We sat in our cart and my friend would
say, “Okay, that’s Carol. She’s a really good golfer.” And indeed she was. Her
ball at every darn tee shot into the sky, probably meeting up with the weather satellite stationed over Sarasota.
“Guess how old she is? 85!” This wasn’t encouraging. Not only did she have the
taut body of a long-distance runner, her black eyeliner was in place and her
frosted hair poking out of her purple bedazzled visor was perfect. The other
two were no slouches, either.
The only
saving grace was that they played ahead of us, reducing the number of people
watching my game to two. My friend played well, the nurse was WPGA material,
and I missed balls, dug up the turf, and swung mightily to send my ball a
piddly 5 feet in front of me. I did have some good moments, but those have
faded away in my memory.
Now I
understand the tradition of drinks afterward and I’m deeply, deeply grateful
for the restorative powers of a generously constructed gin and tonic.
All right. Read my words. If you like golf you better continue to enjoy this opportunity. If you are not all that sure about the sport, you better find something else.
ReplyDeletePractice makes perfect goes the old saying. Keep thinking about those gin and tonic drinks.
ReplyDeleteMy sister plays with a group of women in their eighties, and although she's a young 71, she's the least able of them all, and she comes back with tales that sound like this one. But she's still enjoying herself, so I hope you do, too Ask them for tips. That's what my sister did/does and it really helps! :-)
ReplyDeleteYes, and as my friend pointed out, everyone there was playing their own game and was unconcerned with everyone else's.
DeleteAnd yes, I actually did have a good time.
Ha ha, one thing I will never, ever do, is learn to play golf. Or any other sport. I can't see balls when they're coming towards me, I'd be in real trouble trying to watch one flying away.
ReplyDeletenever ever have I ever been tempted to play golf unless it's the mini version.
ReplyDeleteHa ha, that reminds me of my dabble into the game. Fortunately all my group were rank armatures so 18 holes took the better part of the day. We use to pack a lunch for the 9th hole. It is good you are playing with better players. They can help you up your game. Hang in there.
ReplyDeleteThis week was the first time I've played on the big girl course, although we only did 9 holes. I don't think I could manage 18.
DeleteI could picture all this perfectly! You are so funny. Isn't it funny how it's the bad or embarrassing moments that stick in our minds. I picture you playing a perfect game.
ReplyDeleteYou might get better with practice:)
ReplyDelete