Golf is a cruel game.
For example: How can anyone four-putt from 20 feet? It’s possible. I’ve done it several times. And then I think back to that greenside bunker shot that went all of 24 inches on the first swing, then 24 yards on the second blast, clear across the green into another trap.
Cruel? Consider the time you whiffed on a drive attempt with two other foursomes watching and waiting to tee off. Worse? Remember the errant slice that bounced off the cart of a kindly pair of senior ladies letting you play through? That was ugly. Or how about the round in which you putted the wrong ball on the green? And made the putt?
Perhaps the cruelest moment in golf is when you approach a green from 90 yards and promptly shank your new Titleist ball into a pond at a ninety-angle to the right. That’s bad, but worse is when you tee your ball too high at a local charity event, with a gallery on hand, and pop your drive straight in the air, not quite reaching the ladies’ tee box.
Why do we punish ourselves with this game of golf? It’s expensive, it takes huge chucks of time and it’s a sport where you seemingly correct one flaw, only to develop two more bad habits in the same round.
Just when you’re ready to put your clubs on Craig’s List and give it all up, a miracle happens. It’s raining, it’s a par four, and you hit your drive of the day, right down the middle. Still clinging to the memory of feeling the sweetness of the club contacting the ball perfectly, you approach your short iron to the green. You keep your head down for a change, make a smooth swing and watch the ball track right at the flag – and it goes in the cup.
An eagle! Holy crap, you just made an eagle! And there was a witness!
Sorry, Craig’s List. There will be no Wilson clubs for sale from this golfer this week.
Golf, after all, is a wonderful game!