Golf is not for prideful persons
By Joe Rector
In my 40s, I began playing golf. Prior to that time, I visited courses about three times. Those times were miserable for me. I could barely hit the ball and whiffed on more occasions than I care to admit. As I’ve admitted on many occasions, I’m not athletically inclined, so any sport in which I attempt to participate becomes a struggle.
Another problem for me is that I’m a left-handed player. We are few in number, and “righties” have difficulty helping us to improve. I’ve dug deep furrows in fairways when my head flew up to watch the flight of the ball; I’ve dribbled tee-shots a couple of yards when my swing was off path or overly aggressive. I hit putts like I hit billiard balls: so hard that they miss the hole or fly off the green and stop in the rough. Someone once asked what my handicap was, and I answered, “Lack of talent.”
For some reason, I have improved this year. I have found the right swing for me, and can usually hit the fairway with my tee-shot. However, after that, it’s a crap shoot as to whether the next shot will be on line, long enough or in the short grass.
Putting is my nemesis. I line up a putt, try to align my body and club to the hole, and hit the stroke that is needed. Most of the time, the putt is off-line. I can be lying on the green in regulation but turn a birdie or par into a double bogey with ease. My score reflects those problems that I have.
After listing all of the ills of my game, folks wonder why in the world I would subject myself to such torture and humiliation. Several reasons exist. First, I work at Knoxville Municipal Golf Course in the summer. My job is to mow tee-boxes, and I try to start work no later than 5:30 a.m. on the three days that I work. Most days, completing the job can be accomplished in 3-4 hours. Another benefit is that I can play free rounds of golf at the course.
Another reason for continuing to play is the exercise. Some people doubt that much exercise comes when an individual rides in a golf cart, but I can assure you that when I play poorly, I must search for my ball in places no cart has ever gone. After finishing eighteen holes of golf, I need some aspirin and a nap.
I have more opportunities to spend time with my brother Jim through golf. He’s worked at the course for 20+ years; his job is mowing greens. We try to play at least once a week, usually after work. It’s a blessing to have time to spend with Jim, and he’s my favorite golf buddy.
I also enjoy playing with friends like Joe Dooley, David Ingram and Randy Creswell. When we four hit the course, the next few hours are filled with a mixture of good and bad shots and plenty of harassment. No player is spared from kidding and teasing during the round. I usually am the low man on the totem pole and tell the guys that I will go last on every hole, regardless of how well I play. Last place is my comfort zone and frees me from any pressure. If I stink on a hole or for an entire round, I know I’m at least consistent as to where I fall on the tee shots.
On some occasions, I play a round with “the big boys.” These are Jim’s friends, and they are serious players. Most of them have single-digit handicaps and can launch a golf ball into an orbit that ends much closer than any shot I have ever made. At the end of rounds, someone leaves a bit richer than they were earlier in the day. These men are younger than I am, and they are athletic enough to play well. At the same time, the men are friendly, even though they are notorious for teasing another person for a lousy shot he makes.
I’ll continue to play golf, even if I struggle. The fellowship is the best part, even when my score is high. The day when my body refuses to let me swing a club is the day I should be ready to go on home. I don’t play well, but I play fast and often. It’s a game with few rewards and many disappointments. Still, it calls a player back when it yields just one good shot.
