I fumbled with my golf bag as I propped it up against my car. It was my first time with my own set of clubs, and I was determined to blend in at the driving range. However I may have given more thought to that prior to leaving my house, as I looked down and realized I was dressed in a tank top and yoga pants with mesh panels. I looked more like I was trying to pick up a date at the gym and less like I was working on getting the ball past the acceptable distance for someone to assume I knew what I was doing.
I eyed the open mats on the range and chose a spot far away from everyone else. I knew myself well enough that after one beer, I typically have less control of the words that come out of my mouth if I miss the ball entirely. This is fine when surrounded by friends, but less okay when you’re getting questionable looks from strangers.
Speaking of beer, I made my way to the club house. If there is one thing I learned early on about this sport, it’s that alcohol goes quite well with it. Why on earth do you think I chose it. As someone who finds mimosas a perfectly acceptable breakfast beverage on a weekday, I am more than pleased to be able to drink a beer while I get some exercise.
I set up my little station, making sure the beer was the most accessible item, and started whacking some balls. It was all going very smoothly, until I felt my back begin to tense up. “Hmmmm”, I pondered to myself, “I must need more booze.”
After Corona number two, my club started to make contact with the ball less and less often. I was starting to get frustrated with myself, as the last time I could remember doing this poorly was the first time I had ever swung a club.
“%#*! @$(*^ # $*$%^!!!!!! (Honestly I can’t remember exactly what unpleasant words I was muttering, but use your imagination.)
I was just about to give up, when I heard a loud sigh come from behind me.
“Jesus Christ, you’re moving you’re f*%#’in legs! Just F%#*’in stay still and you’ll hit the %*^-damn ball!”
I whipped my head around, and found a short older gentleman staring at me. I nodded, resumed my position, and kept my legs still as I swung the ball. I heard that sweet sound when the club makes contact, and the ball flew in a perfect, long line.
I turned around and smiled at him.
“F#&%’in finally”, he said with a wink, “now do that 1000 more times.”
I’m going to need more beer for that.