That picture pretty much sums up what golf has done to me, off and on, for the past eight or nine years. I didn't start playing until I was in my mid-20s. Went with a couple of friends from school--just for laughs. Played 18 at Walnut Run that day, and I think I shot in the low 130s. It was awful. Somehow, out there, I got hooked. Now, I'll usually finish between 95-100 for 18. Quite a bit more efficient.
But the game of golf has forced me to address parts of my persona that I usually hide--namely, my competitive temper. I can get viciously angry. Not at people, usually. Just at myself. And hitting that damned white ball into that damned little cup can push that aspect to the limit.
The club you see above is on my fireplace mantle right now. My father-in-law thought it would be funny to display it for the family when they were here on Easter. It's been either three or four years since I snapped that club in two on an uphill par five (on purpose, by the way. I held it in my hand and kicked into two pieces like Ralph Macchio). But, I keep it around--as a reminder. All in all, I've broken two drivers, one 3-wood, two putters, and I threw a gap wedge 45 yards into a lake. Once again, this is several years ago. But it happened.
Just when I think I'm getting this game in check (for example, with my lovely at Mahoning yesterday, shooting a very respectable 43), the game puts ME back in check (for example, the run of 7,7,8,7,6 I took today at Old Avalon). The proverbial anger monkey sometimes, when agitated, will climb into my skull through my spinal column, and I want to explode. I'm blaming this on Fred Sr., indirectly. He told me when I first started playing that, "You should stop before you start. I played for three years, then one day, I got too angry, bent half my clubs around a tree, and threw the others, with the bag, into the pond. Never went back. You'll do it, too."
But I haven't. The other day, after going only 2 over through 5 holes, I took a 13 on a hole. A 13. Four into various ponds and lakes, and a four putt. Boom. You've got a 13.
I am lucky enough to have several friends who also golf. In fact, I have a foursome that goes out every Thursday during the summer. Every week. We play solo, sometimes best ball, 2 v 2 match play--whatever. But, I'm lucky to have Frank, Mark and Phil. They've seen me act like a five year old, on several occasions. But they keep asking me back, in spite of all my douchery. Some guys would KILL to have ONE dude to golf. I've got three. Plus my wife. And our friends. And other friends.
In other words, I'm glad I started playing. Pure and simple. I don't love very many hobbies more than golf. But, the other day, on my 13 hole, as the ball bounced off of the boulder in the bunker I was in, 40 yards backwards, and back INTO the lake I'd already been in three times that trip--I chuckled. And kept playing. I've got a BUNCH of character flaws, but this temper is the worst of them. And, I'm getting it under control.
Now, if I could just get this putter under control...
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