Took my dad out to golf a month ago, and went for a repeat with my mom this weekend. I do like golf, it just taps into a compulsive side of me that also really likes the game of pool.
I bought an expensive Nike “light bag” that revolutionized my game- I ended up picking up and going for an hour or so when I otherwise wouldn’t because the sport involves so much weird heavy gear. My mom just bought a cheaper light bag, that also has a cup holder; why you would want a cup holder on a bag you basically throw to the ground every hole… I like that feeling of tossing the bag. It’s the same feeling I had when I’d drop my bike carelessly on a neighbor’s lawn and run in to get something to drink. No locking the bike, no worries that something on it will break. My mom kept offering me her pitching wedge, but I also had a “new game” when I finally bought my own clubs: cheap, from Play It Again. I don’t care about quality, I just wanted tall ones. I’d been using my mom’s for years and tired of stooping down to use her short ones! So I told her to keep her nasty pitching wedge, I’d use my 9.
Though I beat my dad– a far better golfer than me, a month ago, with a few pars and mostly 1-stroke over, on this 9 hole course– I failed bitterly with my mom, averaging about 3 strokes over for each hole! (odd golf terms here)
We’re playng here at “Peter Hay”– a tiny 9-hole alongside the prestigious fancypants Pebble Beach. I love this course. Later on, we found a Bambiesque carcass. Why I love this course: service workers, 1 club each, walking around hitting balls. Oh, and sometimes it’s free because nobody is manning the kiosk.
Can you name all the problems with my stroke? I can! Check the weird pivot, and the generally twisted nature of my body. Note the leg flung out at an angle. I’m not aiming down the fairway.