When we moved to our current location I decided to take up golf. It seemed the logical thing to do since we had moved to a suburb with 4 golf courses and a driving range. It was either that or take up horse riding, and I've been put off that since our Year 6 school camp to San Michele where I rode a horse called Patch who shit himself the whole time I was on him. Bloody disgusting. Anyway, golf it was.
As a kid I used to play tennis, and was pretty good at it if I do say so myself, so I figured how hard could golf be? It's the same concept....hitting a ball with a stick. And frankly it should be heaps easier cause the ball isn't even moving. So I bought myself a set of bats and decided to get some lessons. This was mistake number 1. For someone who can be mildly competitive, learning the correct golfing technique is fraught with danger. Because I learnt everything I needed to know, I stupidly expected I would play well. Well that doesn't just happen. Apparently having good hand/eye co-ordination doesn't cut it in the golfing world. You have to get your weight right, don't move your head, don't stand too straight, don't bend too much, don't twist too much, don't swing so far back, but make sure you swing further than that!
So I do all the crap the instructor tells me to and I eventually get reasonably good. He even videos me swinging and points out that he could see my earlobe in that shot, which clearly demonstrates why my ball ended up on the wrong fairway. What a load of bollocks.
So anyway, I practiced and practiced and then decided to join a ladies social competition at one of the local clubs. I was the youngest there by about 70 years and one of the few who didn't need a cart due to the onset of arthritis. I realised all my lessons were pretty much a waste of time when I got beaten by an 'A' grader who uses her putter for everything except teeing off. What about my beautiful drives, my stunning chip shots and my to-die-for mid-range shots? Well, no one could care less, cause all anyone wanted was that little plastic trophy, and if that meant hitting the ball like a hockey player, then so be it.
Due to my mild competitive streak I continued playing for a number of months until I had managed to win A Grade, not once but twice! I then realised I had achieved everything I was ever going to achieve, and have now retired to social golf every Monday with a friend who doesn't give a rats about the score, as long as we've got time for our latte afterwards. And that's probably the way golf should be.