|
|
 |
|
|
 |
|
|
 Elias hits a long one that drops almost directly in front of him. |
Golf is like potato chips:
Try it once & you can't stop
By ELIAS CASTILLO
of TheColumnists.com
Golf. It’s
like potato chips or the forbidden fruit; once you’ve tasted
of it, you can’t stop.
Obviously, I’m not speaking of eating golf balls or swallowing
golf clubs. For one thing, the club heads would jam up somewhere
in your throat and, as for the balls, let’s just say I would
not want to pass one through my entire digestive system.
I launched myself into golf nearly two years ago. A reporter
friend of mine, Michael Cronk, had, for years, been extolling
on the wonders of playing golf--good, clean, outdoor fun; challenging,
a true gentlemen’s game, precise, etc., etc.
Eventually, I went out on the driving range, a place where golfers
line up and whale on golf balls to either practice hitting them
right or seeing how far they can hit the ball. With another very
patient friend, I stepped onto the range with a seven iron.
For those of you who can’t tell a three iron from a seven
iron, it’s very simple: Clubs start from a three iron and
continue up to a nine iron with the top part of the hitting surface
angling away from the ball. The three iron has a slight angle
and the four, five, six, seven, eight and nine irons each increase
the angle up to the nine iron. The bigger the angle of the club
face, the higher the ball flies--straight up, that is.
All right, getting back to the driving range--my friend, and
my seven iron. Archie Ingram, a retired police detective, showed
me how to hold the club (a complicated grip) how to stand, “plant
your feet, the front toes parallel to a line going out to where
you want to hit it. Stick your butt out. No, not that much. Look,
just relax. OK, swing at it.”
Hah, I thought, this is easy. I’ll just swing and boy, Tiger
Woods had better watch out.
I swung! I hit the ball but lost it. Excitedly, I asked Archie,
“Where’d it go?! Where’d it go?!” I obviously
had hit it so hard that it rocketed so fast my eyes could not
keep up with it. My eyes were squinting down range looking for
a ball that must be already out to 200 yards.
Archie sighed. “It’s about five feet in front of you
and going straight.”
The ball was slowly rolling away from me. As I looked at it dumbfounded,
it kept slowly rolling then stopped, much like when I take a
nap, the drool from my mouth runs down my lips and finally stops
and pools on my chin, “Damn, I thought I’d hit it strong.”
It was disheartening.
“That’s all right, just try it again. You’re just
learning.”
 |
whose game is really improving. Today he busted only six windows, killed two gophers and threw his seven iron a world record 200 yards!" |
I put another ball on the tee, stood up and took my stance. This time I would hit the ball to the 150 yard marker, like the 12-year-old kid two spaces away from me was doing.
I swung again. I hit it. This time it didn’t go straight, it slammed against the waist high barrier and ricocheted to my right.
“Damn!”
Archie was patient. “OK, try again.”
I teed up another ball. Took my stance, took a deep breath, remembered what Archie had told me, and swung for a third time. I felt the club smack the ball, then open-mouthed, watched it sail up, up, into a high, long, graceful arch, then curve to the right and drop in front of the 120 yard marker.
“There, hey, you’re a natural,” Archie grinned.
I was hooked.
After two more times on the practice range, I hired a golf instructor for lessons and bought my own seven iron.
Three weeks later I went to a golf shop and spilled out $1,200 to buy a set of clubs, a golf bag, golf cart, balls, glove, tees, putter, a sand wedge (to hit balls out of sand traps) and a fairway three wood. Nothing was going to stop me now, I’d be hitting balls like the Woods kid in no time.
OK, OK, that hasn’t happened. But boy, am I having fun. I have had some magnificent hits. Balls that I’ve hit, that are the equivalent to a brush stroke from Rembrandt, Van Gogh or Michaelangelo. So beauteous in their skyward path that it has brought tears to my eyes and wracked my body with deep sobs.
The others can be described as hideous, ugly outbursts, the ball going directly left, right, straight up, dribbling 10 feet in front, or nearly hitting my golf mates.
I am, however, improving. I am no longer hitting 144 or 160, instead I’m down past 100. The lowest score I’ve hit was 92. I am no longer getting many balls with a sorcerer’s curse (the reason, of course, that they do not go straight). The curse is being lifted, and more and more they are going straight and flying through the air gracefully.
Nothing can keep me from the golf course now. My friends have praised me on the fact that I do not fling my club into the air when I hit the ball wayward. That’s because if I did I would have to walk to where I’d flung it, bend down and pick it up, and then walk to the ball. I’d rather grip the club in frustration, grind my teeth in anger, mumbling, “Damn, how could that have happened. I did everything right,” as I walk to the ball, rather than waste all that anger retrieving a very expensive club.
I now understand why golf has been around since the 1400s. It takes just one good hit, and you’re hooked.
©2006 by Elias Castillo. The caricature of Elias Castillo is ©2000 by Jim Hummel. The cartoon is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted Jan. 2, 2006.
ELIAS CASTILLO has been a contributing columnist for TheColumnists.com since 2000. He's a prizewinning journalist and is former co-publisher and columnist for The Mexico Bulletin, a monthly newsletter that analyzed Mexico's economy and governmental affairs. He has lectured widely, including a talk on Mexico for the prestigious Commonwealth Club of San Francisco. He frequently writes opinion columns for the op-ed page of the San Francisco Chronicle and is now working on a new book.
You can comment
on this column online. Please address your message to either
"The Editors" or Elias Castillo. To send an email,
click here and don't forget to mention Elias' name: talkback@thecolumnists.com
|
|
|
Archives |
|
|