As the two of you who follow this blog know, I love golf. Not long ago I wrote about the new golf clubs I was given by my sons for a landmark birthday. Translation: I’m getting really old and need as much help as possible. Another thing I love is watching golf on TV. Yes, I am one of the ten to fifteen guys who sit down and watch golf tournaments. When I mentioned that, a friend of mine commented, golf is unwatchable, but I disagreed. That same friend just loves watching singing competition shows. A bunch of people who can sing are being watched by millions of people who can’t. I am just watching exceptional players who play golf at an amazingly high level, living vicariously through their efforts…and sometimes I wake up from my afternoon snooze in my lounge chair in time to see them receive the championship trophy and giant check.
This past weekend, I enjoyed one of the most entertaining golf tournaments I can remember watching. Sort-of-old guy Phil Mickelson (50 years old is no longer old. Just a “juvenile” old guy) won the PGA Championship. By winning this tournament, Phil became the oldest person ever to win a major golf tournament. In sports, 50 years old is over-the-hill and this is a record setting accomplishment. He is also young enough to be my son and I feel really ancient today.
I have begrudgingly accepted the fact that I can no longer hit the ball as far as I used to. I have transitioned into what is better known as “OGG” (old guy golf). The contrast of my present day game and what I used to golf like was on full display this past weekend. I was able to play a round with my youngest son. He is a teacher and also the coach of his high school’s golf team. This just confirms the proverb, those who can’t play, coach. The difference between our two games was on full display for our group. While he was bombing drives that fly 3 times longer than the first flight at Kitty Hawk, I was just trying to get my drives in the middle of the fairway, damn the distance. OGG’s goal is, hit it straight down the middle, a short iron getting closer to the green, chip it on, then one putt and move to the next hole. That is why guys my age can shoot close to their age, and if I live long enough I might attain that goal. Why not, some people in Japan live until they’re 117.
My son’s game is to crush a drive as far as he can, then drop another ball and crush another drive since his first one went out of bounds. He tends to rain terror down on small children and animals who live near golf courses. He then tries to reach the green with his next shot no matter how far he is away. Sometimes it works and other times, not. What he has a difficult time doing is regulating his swing. He swings as hard as he can on every shot. He uses the same swing for a 200 yard shot as he does for a 40 yard chip. As you can imagine, he tends to fly a lot of greens, passing over houses, bouncing down streets and a few times, setting off car alarms. You know how hard it is to hit your shot with a car alarm screaming away?
Since I have never broken par in all the years I have golfed, I felt qualified to coach him at the game. This is usually met with a steely glare which translates into, “Leave me alone.” His game always starts as a disaster but he will settle down on the back nine and his last three holes can be awe inspiring and he finishes with a score of 103. I will usually start slow, find my game at the fourth hole, then start tiring out around the 15th. Remember when I said I was ancient? (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) I’m a mid-eighties to mid-nineties golfer…and I’m not talking about my age.
I feel I can bond with Phil Mickelson now. Every once in a while, in my advanced years, I can have a “win for the ages,” (Sorry Jim Nance.). Just a couple of weeks ago, I shot a 78 for eighteen holes. For me, that’s like winning a major at 50. And to make it clear for those with the snide comments: No, it wasn’t for the front nine; no, it wasn’t because I finally got the ball through the clown’s mouth at the local Putt Putt; and no, it wasn’t because my pencil had an eraser. It was a legit score. Hit it down the middle, got near the green, chipped on and putted well. Old guy golf. I also won all the wagering games we were playing. As a result, I made enough money to take my wife to dinner later that day. Of course it wasn’t the amount you might get on one of those giant checks they give out after a big win on the PGA tour, but that’s fine. I couldn’t fit one of those in the deposit slot at the local ATM anyway. Wonder if the grocery story would cash one of those?
It is always fun to play with my friends and especially with one of my sons. Their goal is always to beat old dad, but all but once, I prevail. There was that one time in Indiana where my oldest bested me and I haven’t heard the end of it. It has been years since that one loss and it has become legend among my three boys. It hasn’t happened since. Why, because I have experience on my side…and that pencil with the eraser.
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