Walking out of work on Friday my carpool buddies were talking about what they were doing for Mother’s Day: a card, flowers, a phone call, an SMS, etc. My mom wanted to play golf. She’s a good player, same with my dad, and I suck. My dad was in Golfing Army, or that’s how I see it. Every day, he went golfing. He also played a lot of pool. The Golfing & Pool Army: a cadre of skilled hand-eye coordination leisure sport troops. My mom took lessons. My sister took lessons too. We would go play the twilight at the local 9-hole, many a summer day. It was definitely the cheapest thing to do in town at 5$ a tee-off. I am bad at it, but enjoy being bad. I wail at the ball, concentrate on form, then forget everything. It’s like zen-golf. I suck? Who cares?
This hole cracked me up, so I took a photo. It summed up my game so well: sucky. Note, these fairways max out at 104 yards. A third/fifth of real fairways. We’re at the pitch & putt in front of Pebble Beach– it satisfies our attention span & budget, at 1 hour game for $20. Anyways the story of my game is: I have a powerful drive and a really bad short game. This was a great strategy- nestling the ball it right up against a tree, in direct line to the green. Great job! Earlier I bounced it onto the road.
I can’t get enough of golfing photos. The toxically green grass, the bright white ball, the trees, the sloping fairways- it’s all manufactured loveliness.
Conversation with my mom as we drove along 17 Mile Drive.
She: “I love how we can say, ‘I play Pebble Beach.’ I’ve always wanted to play Spyglass.” (We drive by the exact hole she’s talking about, it’s against the water, sheltered by cypresses. I don’t know which Robert Louis Stevenson character it is- I’m suspecting it’s Blind Pew.)
Me: “Why don’t you?”
She: “Because I have to get better. It’s so expensive.”
Me: “Why don’t you just pick up your ball after 3 strokes or whatever. Play badly, on an expensive course? I’m sure businessmen do it a million times a day.”
In thinking about this, though, I’m sure that many people play Pebble Beach because they want to avoid business men playing badly. But Jaded Me still thinks that the majority of golfers are showoff know-nothings.
We sat at the 10th Hole (Spanish Bay Inn) and toasted to “Being a WASP.” God I love it. I’m actually technically a WASC. (Catholic)