Tuesday, May 10, 2005


It started innocently enough. As a newly married couple with no children, we filled some of our leisure time by enrolling in a class for beginning golf at a local university. It was interesting and fun to do together. For a beginner, I had some success and enjoyed being outside learning something new. I'd played golf only once before, and this class, I thought, would keep me from looking the fool when we went to play once or twice a year. Little did I know that the "fool" part would come from another direction.

We played casually, sometimes with another couple. I enjoyed being outside and golf courses are generally well-maintained beautiful land. I found, however, that if I tried to show my budding ability at hitting a small ball to a hole in the ground, that my playing deteriorated rapidly. In other words, if I tried to care about beating my female partner or show off, I'd start playing very badly. Putting was never once of my strong points, and I'd storm off in frustration after 20 little putts trying to get the dang ball to roll just right. "Stupid game," I'd mutter and walk off.

Dh's game, on the other hand, improved exponentially. Tall, well-balanced and graceful in movement, his ball sailed into the clouds with a satisfying whack. He began playing more often and reading about golf. Did you know that there are whole magazines and books devoted to nothing more than hitting a small white ball around with sticks until it drops in a hole?? That grown men can devote hours to TV watching of other people hit a little ball into a hole?

My frustration grew, as I wasn't willing to study golf for my MBG (Masters of Business and Golf). Finally, and I remember it was near my birthday, I was driving home when I reached a decision. I was going to tell dh that though I was going to support his game, I was disgusted enough with the game myself that I was never going to play again as long as I live, so help me God. I walked in the door and before I could speak, I saw it laying there. For my birthday, dh had given me a custom-made (read - can't return it to the store) set of women's golf clubs, cut down for my short stature. So much for quitting.

So how does it end years later? Dh's game continues to improve, and my clubs gather dust in the garage. Children filled my leisure time, and as they grew, their interest in horses took up some of that time. I still don't mind going for a day out in the sun, though I can't help the thought that golf courses are a good waste of a cross country (horse) course and trails.

1 comment:

gr8daneluvr said...

Amen to the waste of good land!


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