I am at peace with my decision. Never again will I experience the thrill of taking out a driver on the first hole and watching as my ball sails high, higher, before settling gently onto the ladies’ tee box. Not once more shall I, in search of a wayward shot, be obliged to march into woods, or swamp, or marsh, or parking lot, or that fairway two holes over, or pro shop. Nevermore shall I shank it, pull it, hook it, slice it, flub it, duff it, lose it left, lose it right, sky it, top it, worm-burn it or — most humiliating of all — just plain miss it.
I have tried, at great cost to wallet and sanity, to become not lousy at golf. I have read books and watched Internet tutorials. I have invested in pricey irons and massive drivers and hilarious pants. I have taken a number of lessons from a number of golf pros. One of them went to the trouble of videotaping my swing so we could view and analyze it together. I remember catching his expression out of the corner of my eye as the tape played — he had the look of a young child watching someone beat a baby panda to death with a baby koala.
Scott Feschuk, “Let us now bid my game a sad farewell: Never again shall I shank it, pull it, hook it, slice it, flub it, duff it, sky it, or just plain miss it”, Maclean’s, 2010-07-08
July 8, 2010
QotD: Golf
Comments Off on QotD: Golf
No Comments
No comments yet.
RSS feed for comments on this post.
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.
