It’s not me. The only round of golf I’ve played that didn’t involve ramps and mini-windmills happened about a decade ago with a coworker, and my generous score of 59 strokes over nine holes wasn’t inspirational.
“I bet I could buy top-of-the-line equipment, spend a few hundred on greens fees and get lessons, and I’d merely be terrible instead of embarrassingly terrible,” will never be seen on a motivational poster.
Sadly, it’s not a younger member of the family. My nephews’ interests are more in line with baseball, soccer and eating ice cream … and two of them are getting at the age where women are much more likely than golf to replace one of those three. So much for the rich PGA pro supporting the family in our later years.
Nope, the golfer is my dad. His retirement is coming up. We’ve had two conversations over this, and the first thing he says is, “I’m definitely taking up golf. Probably playing a round every day to get my exercise in.”
It was a shock for me to hear both times. Calling my dad a casual golfer is a comical stretch of both words. Sure, there’s a bag of clubs in the garage, but it’s been in the same corner for 20 years. I’d advise my dad first dip bag, clubs and all in a bathtub of bug spray, then give it a delousing reminiscent of Andy Dufresne’s arrival in “The Shawshank Redemption.”
The only time I remember a golf ball even being in the house was because of me. A cereal I always ate that rhymes with Feeties offered a free three-pack of golf balls with two UPC codes and a few bucks to cover shipping. I brought them to school, because I didn’t know what else I’d do with a bunch of golf balls, and carried one around in my pocket.
That led to one of the more irresponsible things I’ve done. Our physical education class played a game of softball, which was poorly supervised due to the teacher using the hour to line the football field. When our teacher was 50 yards away, and our best baseball player was up to bat, we swapped the softball for the golf ball.
I don’t know how far, or into what residential neighborhood the ball went because we lost sight of it quickly. But I can assure you the PGA Tour would be entertaining in its own right with aluminum bats and batting practice pitchers.
I might get my dad some of those Titleist balls, based on how well that one flew. I’m not sure what else I’ll grab as Christmas and retirement gifts to supplement his golf game, but I’m discovering the nicest gifts would probably require me to sell plasma to afford.
I’m thinking a golf bag, stocked with golf balls. And a frisbee golf disc if that doesn’t work out. And maybe a few bucks for ice cream if that doesn’t work out either, and a note that says, “It’s far better to yell, ‘Fore,’ than to quietly assure yourself, ‘There’s no way that ball’s going to hit him.’”
Kevin Wilson is a columnist for Clovis Media Inc. He can be contacted at 763-3431, ext. 313, or by email: