Columns
June 13, 2007 08:09 PM
By: Debora Kelly
My hand is aching.
It was only yesterday I was told I am supposed to be cradling my club as if it is a fragile bird.
Instead, my hand has been locked in a death grip at every tee as I put the force of a tsunami into my drive in the hope of sending my ball down the fairway like a torpedo on target.
I’m writing about golf because that’s what I was doing yesterday, at the York Region Women’s Centre’s 5th annual fundraising tournament, rather than sitting in front of my computer like I should have been writing about the serious subjects that have grave impact on our lives.
I only took to golfing this spring, after many years of mocking the ardent, over-the-top passion for the game that obsesses so many of the people in my life.
It always amazed me (OK, bored me) that they could endlessly discuss the nuances of the game — their score, swing, clubs, balls, the course and its holes, their heroes, triumphs and, of course, their failures.
I would rather have watched paint dry than sit through a Masters tournament on TV.
My only appreciation for golf was that it provided an easy solution for what to get the father who has practically everything on Father’s Day. Who couldn’t use more golf balls?
But I finally caved to the cajoling of friends to join a local ladies league. And, I have to admit, I’m kind of liking it.
In fact, I’m spending a lot of my spare time playing and practising.
I’m enjoying the time with my friends and the chance to commune with nature (fears of skin cancer and West Nile virus aside).
And, yes, I’m appreciating the challenge of the game itself.
I’m also making the most of this new and previously unexplored shopping category. Hey, who’s your caddy?
(What’s with the funny-looking shoes, though?)
My game sucks but I’m new and untutored enough not to get frustrated by that.
My whacking swing quickly marks me as a rookie, but I am making contact with the ball — most of the time. My supportive friends coo and congratulate at every opportunity.
I’ve had no shortage of advice and tips about technique — keep your head down, eye on the ball, hips back, knees bent, chest squeezed, follow through, swing higher, swing lower, use this iron, use that iron, be the ball, you are a pendulum — for which I truly am appreciative.
My vocabulary is expanding weekly as I learn the language of the game; slice, lie, birdie, bogey, bunker, tee box, wedge, chip, dog-leg, handicap, hazard, hook, taking a drop ...
I’m also being strictly schooled on the etiquette — who would have thought there were so many rules? Though I’m finding out as I take my game outside the ladies league that some rules aren’t always followed.
Especially when nobody is looking. Especially after a few cocktails on the front nine.
That’s just having fun, I’ve been told convincingly.
Though, there is another school of thought on this, I’ve learned.
For some, golf isn’t simply a game; it’s a mirror of life and a measuring stick of your moral code. The way one plays , in fact, is a window of the inner man/woman.
For instance, author Don Van Natta Jr. in First Off The Tee: Presidential Hackers, Duffers and Cheaters From Taft to Bush (damn, there are an awful lot of books about golf out there, aren’t there?) contends, “Almost everything is revealed on a golf course — a player’s shortcomings and strengths, most of all, but other subtleties of personality and foibles of character that you may never see across a desk.
Because so few presidents could play with any consistency, the game presents itself as a clear prism to view how these powerful men tried to cope with all that can go wrong.”
Yeah, OK.
The reality is our character is revealed in everything we do, everyday.
It really is just a game.
If, somehow, I start falling for the whole “golf is life” thing, promise me, please, that you’ll stop me.