Book Writing...Day 3

Day 3

of my sentence. Or sentences. Several consecutive life terms.

I’m not sure what is harder. Raising children or learning how to play golf. No, I do know. Learning golf. I can throw a football, kick a ball, water-ski, play spike-ball, play volleyball, soccer etc. And I’m probably a little better than average at all. Not elite. Remember, I didn’t get the elite sports gene. But golf is a whole other ball game all together. And yes I play hockey but that would be slightly below average because I never skated as a youngster. I also have stone hands. I make it by on my effort. I got the effort gene.

But golf is truly challenging. Time and money. For years I’ve played 1 -3 times a year. Had the odd lesson. I haven’t broken any clubs over my knee like my buddy Ben but I’ve shared a few choice words with the golf gods or god or goddess. But last year I committed to consistent lessons, found a cheap coach ($50/hr) and then covid said no. So this year same thing and although delayed due to covid we finally got started. His basic teaching method is something called L to L. Last year it was something different the one time I did meet him. You get what you pay for I guess.

But then, while practicing (I was putting the time and money in!) a vision approached me from a distance. His name was Paul!

Honestly I didn’t know if he was trying to pick me up (I didn’t say I had the rational gene! But living in the big city all my life, being thin and neat, you get some looks), or whether he was trying to recruit me to give lessons or just an angel in disguise as a golf genius. 2 hours later he has talked to me about irons, the lofts, putting practice and my short game. He even wrote down the degrees of all the irons in the bunker sand! Then just like he arrived, he’s gone in a second. Quick fist bump (covid protocol) and goodbye, I only got his name and then watched him disappear…

So yes of course I went back, every day, hunted, scanned, and waited. Like a leach, a parasite, an alligator in the weeds I waited. I knew my time would come...then one day while hitting a bucket of balls I took a break, turned my head and saw this man executing the perfect series of chips onto a practice green. I’m like wow, that guy is...pause, what? That guy is Paul! Jackpot! After an initial moment of excitement I regained my cool (I didn’t get the cool gene actually) and casually walked over and said hello. He had of course forgotten me but I quickly reminded him and the next sweet words to come out of his mouth were…”have you got a bucket? Let me show you a few things”...nirvana. I still don’t know why he does it but it doesn’t matter.

My game continues to progress.

Time.

Money.

Paul.

As I reflect on my relationship with Paul, I mean with golf I realize that no one really cares how I do. So why do I do it? (competition gene installed early on). Dad and mom were both competitive. Dad played squash into his 80’s, mom loved her volleyball. Although I'm not sure who I got my Djokovic intensity from. Likely my dad. He would get angry when he lost to certain people, mainly Vic. My mother always joked about getting kicked and punched in the middle of the night as my dad replayed his squash games in his dreams.

My brother has it too. He is more cerebral however or perhaps just in better control i.e. not prone to loud yells of ‘woo hoo!’ ‘Let’s go!‘or Djokovic like fist pumps in the air that tend to scare some people. And my eldest son has it too, the intensity and the Djokovician outbursts, takes after me. My younger guy is competitive but just like my brother on the brains and cerebral front. I guess he takes after his mom.

Alignment set. Weight balanced. Slap shot drill. Left elbow in. Arms down. Easy swing. F*ck!