Even typing that sounds like it’s the joke of the day. But I was. I played for my high school golf team my sophomore and junior years. I wish I could tell you it was the best time ever. But then I’d be lying. And no one likes a liar.
I dreaded every match. I never liked how long it took to play nine holes. I hated how the teammate I’d be partnered with didn’t want to be partnered with me. I doubly hated the smalltalk that was expected with the other teams. I really didn’t care for it. But that could be because I didn’t play golf.
You read right: I didn’t play golf. Abby talked me into it. They needed girls, the coach was willing to teach me and I figured it would be a fun thing to do with Abby. Only I never got to play with Abby. She’s good, really good – she was born with a Big Bertha driver in her hands – therefore she always played with better people. Me? Last on the roster – I was chopped liver.
I wish I’d realized earlier in life that I have zero athletic ability. It would have made things much easier. Like college intramurals. Bad.
I remember a scrimmage match we had a Long Run. I hated that course. They don’t call it Long Run for nothing. I wasn’t doing well at all – I kept racking up the swings like my life depended on it. (Par? Never heard of it.) And it was August, hot as all get out and I was seeing spots. No, for real, seeing spots. My coach wouldn’t let me take a break; he passed me in the cart, telling me to tough it out. Asshole.
The other team’s coach saw things differently – after she saw me fall the second time, she took me back to the club house in her cart. Apparently dehydration ain’t a good thing. Who knew. And as much as I appreciated this coach’s concern and kindness, she scared the crap out of me. You have no idea how I felt when she became my art teacher the next year. It was weird and I felt that she was constantly judging me for my poor golfing abilities. And then there was the rumors of her dating the volleyball coach…blegch… pardon me for the gag reflex.
There were only two things I really liked about the golf team. One was the practices. We actually had fun and I did get Abby-time when we practiced. Second would be my socks. I always wore these painfully ugly red/white/yellow striped socks with shorts. It was the only way I could express myself in a game that requires you wear a collared shirt to even tee off. Painfully ugly or not, I wore those socks all the time. Even took the team picture with it.
I stuck it out for two years. I received two varsity letters which I find incredibly funny considering the fact that if the coach could have made a JV team, he would have put me on it. Alone, probably. When it came time for senior year, I passed at the chance to sweat my face off and look like a crazy person swatting at spiders. I actually wanted to enjoy my last year of high school and if that meant staying off the golf roster so be it.
I did walk away with knowledge of the game. I can keep up with the lingo when people talk about the PGA or whatever is on TV or going on at Valhalla. But I haven’t golfed in forever. Those clubs up there were actually given to me. The woods are actually made of wood. I keep them in case I get invited out for a good laugh. Because even though I’m no good at it, it can be loads of fun when played with the right crowd. Just realize I am no Fuzzy Zoeller – I’m more like that four-year-old with the plastic Playskool set. Actually, I might have a chance in winning a round if I played the four-year-old… I need to call his mom.