Wednesday, November 01, 2006

2. The Reason I Took Up Golf

I took up golf out of necessity rather than desire. See, I had this aunt – you know the aunt, the one that gives gifts that has no bearing on the person it’s for. The wrapping was always exquisite so you feel bad for saying anything when you got yet another dozen tube socks.
One year I’m handed this small red and gold box—obviously not tube socks. It was golf tees. They looked like good tees—shiny, colorful—but who the hell plays golf.
My grandma chimes in with, “Oh, you play golf dear.” This is where it all when down hill. Well this Aunt was right there, you see, and you have to understand I was kind of weak then. I waffled. Flat out waffled. I could have just said yes and left it at that, but my weakness collapsed into lunacy so fast I swear I got light-headed. I started talking about golf like hitting that silly white ball was like a spiritual awakening. It was fucking disgusting.
Then my birthday came. I started getting nothing but golf gifts. I got clubs, bags, shirts, coffee mugs, statues posters, fake plaques and trophy proclaiming me as ‘Worlds Greatest Golfer.’ I got this stuff for two years straight before I swung my first club.
So, who the hell plays golf . . . Apparently I do. And you know what? I play pretty damn well.

Then I found myself playing for money. It started with some rich guys at the local clubs. I’d shark them by talking so much smack they’d assume I was full of shit. $10, $50, $1000, and one bet for $63,000. I don’t know why sixty-three but that’s what he bet.
I had the act down. I’d shank it just enough to make my swing look amateur. Then hit it into the sand trap. Let me tell you how much I practiced hitting from the sand. I got to where it could land it in the hole half the time. It became the best trick. I’d cost myself a stroke just to whack it out of the bunker. It made me look lucky rather than good and these guys would keep betting assuming the luck wouldn’t last. It was my Drunken Master style.
One time I showed up without a driver claiming I had to pawn it. I deserved a fucking Oscar my embarrassment act. The more I looked like I wasn’t one of them the more they’d fall for my act. Eventually it became more about the acting. I even gave myself lines one time. That way it was more like acting than plain old lying. Of course that is just ridiculous.

So, last night I had my four hundred dollar driver out on the back lawn of my house up there on the hill. I squared up and whacked that little ball three hundred yards into my neighborhood. The first crash came from a shed or aluminum awning—my favorite hit. I did this four more times that night. That’s usually all I can do before I loose my nerve. No windows broken this time.
I was a hooligan, alright. After twenty-eight years that’s my only accomplishment. Oh, and I was golf shark.

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