pink-golf-ball

It’s been said that golf is a psychological affliction. That must explain why last weekend, during the first spring heat wave of the year, I chose to go to the practice tee, even though I rarely golf.

To minimize the embarrassment, and to not risk hurting myself, I purchased only a small bucket of balls. Then I proceeded to slice my way through them.

As I walked back to the car, I cringed and imagined what the other golfers on the tee must be saying about me behind my back:

Golfer 1: Guys, did you all see that woman who just left who was hitting all those slices? Too bad I didn’t get a chance to thank her because I sure feel better about my game now.

Golfer 2: I didn’t realize she was golfing, as whatever she was doing didn’t look at all like a golf swing. More like flailing. Or something even less graceful than that.

Golfer 3: She was wearing all black. It made me too hot to look at her, so I didn’t.

Golfer 4: Maybe that’s why her face was all red after hitting just a small bucket of balls. I was thinking she wasn’t in shape. I didn’t take my eyes off her for safety reasons, because I was afraid she’d shank a ball right into me.

Golfer 1: Was that a spider web on the back of her golf bag? If she rarely touches her clubs, she’s probably never had a lesson or even read Ben Hogan’s classic book.

Sensible Man: Hey dudes, knock it off. I saw her use her left hip to initiate her downswing. I noticed her left wrist in the supination position a few times. Didn’t you all see that Madison Magazine article last summer about how local courses need women golfers? Courses are barely breaking even anymore, because since the recession, there are too many courses and not enough golfers. The number of rounds of golf per year on local public courses has decreased from 100,000 to 80,000, and 86,000 is the break-even point. If she wants to spend some money here at our local course, that’s fine by me.

Golfer 1: Whoa dude. Chill. Save the data analysis for work. Let’s all get some beers. That should help me forget about her “golf” swing.

As I opened the trunk of my car I mused out loud: “It’s too bad the driving range was so crowded today. It made me self-conscious.”

“Um, Mom, there wasn’t anyone else on the driving range while you were practicing.”

Oh.

This Humor Me column originally appeared in the Herald-Independent on April 21, 2016.


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