Showing all 4 results
I am, quite possibly, the worst golfer I know.
I like the game, I’m just no good at it.
I overthink it, I overcomplicate it, I get too wound up.
And I know better than to practice.
Why? because I know what I’m like. I understand the hold that this game has on people, and there but for the grace of God go I.
If I go and spend the occasional afternoon on a driving range, I might get the asinine notion that I might like to go and play a quick nine. One 9 leads to another, and before you know it, I’m up with the roosters to get a quick round in before I start my day. Soon all travel and holidays will be booked solely by the quality and number of available golf courses. The only human interaction I’ll have will be on the links.
And the poison will spread. I’ll be rationalizing no end of money spent on drivers and wedges and doodads and gewgaws. My home will be crammed to bursting with gadgetry purporting to lower my game. Whatever the golfing equivalent of snake oil salesmen are will be lined up around the block to get a crack at me, and I’ll be helpless to resist them. I’ll gladly hand over my kingdom for the chance to shave a single stroke!
In the end, I’ll be a broken husk of a man, festooned in checkered pants and white shoes, mumbling obscenities under my breath while I wander the earth on my quest to be a better golfer.
So I’m not saying “no” to golf, but for the sake of my loved ones I’d better say “not yet”…
Seinfeld footage courtesy Castle Rock Entertainment, Inc. © Castle Rock Entertainment, Inc. All Rights Reserved.