Playing Golf In My Living Room
All
my friends play it and swear by it. Men love it. Women love it. Kids love it.
But I hate it. It’s boring.
Golf
would be more fun if paintball guns were involved. I mean, knowing you could be
hit in the back of the neck at any moment would add an element of concentration
to the game I could learn to respect. But that’s just me. Hell, I’m a guy who
thinks basketball would be more entertaining if players were equipped with
roller skates and cattle prods too. I’d pay to see that.
Most
of my experience with golf involves photographing tournaments and waiting as the
old men of the clubhouse scene, with their hands in the air and shushhhhing
everyone, exert the one moment of power they are allowed all year. Finally they’ll
drop their hands and I can move into position for the next shot… along with
hundreds of other people of course; a hard enough task without this interference.
Unless you’re shooting for the tournament TV venue from a fixed position, live golf
contests are no fun to cover. Even shooting with a large studio type camera
from one location has it’s drawbacks. In order to follow that tiny white ball,
as it tracks toward you in the air, you must set the contrast so only the white
spot shows against a field of black. In others words, you don’t see a damn
thing but that small white speck, and you pray you don’t lose sight of it while
your camera’s on air. Maybe the technology has improved by now but that’s how
we did it then. If you mess up, everyone on the headsets will know because the director
will say something, or even worse replace you on the camera. It happens. And
with that, let’s talk about something else…
As
for actually swinging the clubs themselves…well, there are several good reasons
I don’t enjoy that, but one example in particular sticks in my mind.
I
was working with Bob Brandon and Dan Diamond. We were part of a five-man crew taping
a show called “Golf Shots Video Magazine” on the island of Kauai at the Lagoons
golf course. The host was former PGA champion Dave Stockton. The shoot ran for
several days, and while I’m not an enthusiast of the game, I was amazed and
entertained by the exotic layout of the course and the golfing skill of the
host. It was a lot of fun.
On
the final day of the shoot, the last scene took place on the Lagoons driving
range. Stockton finished his lines; laid the driver he had borrowed from the
rental shop on the ground next to the unused pile of range balls and joined the
crew and several clubhouse workers in congratulating themselves on a job well
done.
Now
I’ve never claimed to be a golfer. I’ve said I don’t even like the game. But I
had been watching one of the world’s best demonstrate his technique over and
over and over. Perhaps that was what inspired me to pick up the driver lying
next to the waiting pile of golf balls. That and the fact one ball was
already teed up and just begging to be blasted, straight and true, out into the
blue and green yonder.
The
rest of the group was engaged in their conversations and not paying any
attention to me. So I picked up the club and proceeded to address the ball. I
turned my head to the left and visualized the white speck falling away in the
distance. Turning back to the ball, I fixed my gaze, concentrated on keeping my
left arm straight and my head down and drew back with all my might. Back around
I came with a vengeance, anticipating the solid ping of contact but
instead........Whoosh! How could it be? I had missed the ball.
The
shocking disbelief of the near miss gave way to a sudden dread the entire group
had seen my humiliation.....But no... I glanced back... maybe not. They were
still involved with their conversations. One or two perhaps had seen some
movement and maybe thought it was a warm-up swing. Yes, that’s it. It was a
warm-up swing. I certainly felt warmer.
I
just needed to relax a little bit. You know. Shake out the shoulders, wiggle
the butt, and reset the feet. Don’t try to kill the ball, just make smooth,
solid contact.
I
appealed to my inner self, took two deep breaths and became one with the ball.
Unfortunately becoming one with the ball was not the same as hitting it.
Whooosh!
Damm! I missed again.
I noticed the conversations behind me had stopped and worse, there were a few
outright snickers. There’re never gonna buy three warm-up swings. This next
one’s gotta be on the money.
I
can’t tell you how bad it felt to miss that ball a third time........Whoooosh!
The
laughter was loud, as I laid the club back on the ground and walked away, but
not nearly loud enough to cover Dave Stockton’s stinging observation, “That’s
great Chuck,” he howled, ”You can play golf in your own living room.”
The
crowd roared.
I
haven’t picked up a club since, and the world’s a better place for it.
THAT is FUNNY!!!!!! :-))))))))
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