A duffer am I

Golf is a game that I just haven't ever been able to get into. I've tried, I really have. In my high school years I would occasionally go out with Larry Glass, Steve Waggoner, and various other golfers in the Frankfort church, but I would invariably end up losing most of the golf balls that I came to the course with. The fact that I was using golf clubs made up of recycled kitchen appliances didn't help matters at all. Some of my drivers resembled small foreign import cars attached to curtain rods. When I hit the ball, the resulting sound was similar to a traffic accident as opposed to the "ping" so commonly heard at the driving range. Consequently, my interest waned after my initial humiliating encounter with the sport.

However, upon moving to Nampa I realized that next to a Godly life and fishing, the only other expectation that residents of the Gem State have of their pastor is that of playing golf. I was able to beg off the first few times with legitimate excuses. But the more the guys talked about the fun and relaxation they were having on the links, the more I began to think that, hey, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

I picked up some clubs, a golf bag, and a cart at a yard sale for a song ("Deep and Wide"). The more I thought about it, the more I could see myself out with the guys, relaxing while hitting 250-yard shots with my driver and sinking 45-foot putts. "Maybe I can pick this up" is the thought that confidently ran through my head.

HA! My body convulsed with amusement as I attempted to keep up with the guys my first time out on July 4th. I teed off by topping the dimpled white sphere, sending it bouncing haphazardly across the rough traveling an approximate distance of 47 yards. My next swing, (and this is no joke), I pulled a muscle in my lower back that sent my to my knees. I spent the rest of the day (and my $25) traveling around in a golf cart, making a futile attempt to squelch the spasms in my back. It took over 3 weeks for me to recover from that one.

You would think I would have learned my lesson, but no, here I am yesterday morning on the golf course, getting ready for a lovely day of repose and relaxation. HA!

In grim fascination I observed my golf swing degenerate (which I thought was utterly impossible) as the morning progressed. Marc and Terry, who were playing in my group, tried in vain to give me tips on aiding my golf swing. I would remember their advice for approximately 1/8 of a millisecond, grip the clubs tightly, swing mightily, and send the ball bouncing merrily into the rough. I sent whole acres of sod into the heavens as I heaved at the little ball in front of me. I nearly took off the heads of four golfers who were playing another whole about 30 yards to my right. FORE!

I did get one good drive, though, and that's what keeps you coming back. I hit the ball squarely, heard the "ping", and watched the ball take off straight as an arrow, traveling about 130 yards. Yes, 130 yards is a good hit for me. I also sank a couple of long putts. It made the other failures seem so distant. I'll probably go back.