Somebody mentioned to me recently that we are in the Golf Capital of the World, and I have never mentioned golf even once in what I have written. The main reason that I haven’t is because I normally write about something that I know about. Until I moved here in 2000 I had played golf about 20 times in my life. Those occasions were usually at a city manager’s conference which wasn’t too bad as most of them hadn’t played much either. (City Managers as trusted local government officials are not supposed to spend time playing golf. We aren’t a president or something for Pete’s sake.)
Even when I started playing here it was softball – about which I have written. I did squeeze in a weekly round on an executive course, but it wasn’t until I retired from softball two years or so ago that I took up the big clubs and the big boys on the championship course. It has not been a pretty sight. I have progressed in that I no longer use my bull’s eye putter, which enabled me to putt either right or left handed. (I did try to get my cohorts to let me putt the ball each way and count it if one of them went in. However, I never saw so many sticklers for rules in my life.)
As a result I had to make a putting decision. After considerable in-head debate and eye observation, I determined that I would putt left handed even though I swing the other clubs right handed. This has not necessarily improved my game, but at least I am now consistent. I have even put my bull’s eye away and now have a legitimate left handed putter. It is a very good putter and serves me in many ways. For example, I cannot chip from close up, so with the short grass they have on fairways around here, if the ball is within 20 yards or so, I just putt! It works pretty well so I am not certain why I see so many heads shaking and eyes rolling.
I saw a cartoon the other day where the husband is telling his wife that he is going to teach their son how to play golf. She replies, “You know that you’re sentencing him to a life of anger, depression, and anxiety?” See, being a city manager who wasn’t able to play golf had its advantages. I never taught golf to my two sons – which is very lucky for them. On the other hand after they left our shelter, they went out and learned how to play themselves. On top of that, my oldest son has taught his sons, and the youngest is doing that now with his. We undoubtedly will have one big traumatized family before long.
When I was playing just executive courses. I just went out and hit the stupid ball until eventually I was able to get it in the cup. The Blonde in the house kept telling me that I should take lessons, and that I could be the next Sam Snead. (Not that she knew who he was, but we had gone to his restaurant a couple of times so she knew he was a golfer.) I did and instantly became even worse than my worst enemy would have thought possible. I kept thinking about what the instructor told me with the result that I was lucky to be able to get past the ladies tees on my drive. (I could before.)
However, I have decided to persevere. It is either that or take up polo. A horse can’t be much worse than a three iron!
Barry Evans writes about Life in The Villages for Villages-News.com
