My First Golfs

“I’d like one golf, please!”

The clubhouse attendant gave me an odd look. He clearly did not understand what I had said. I was in South Carolina, after all. Maybe the attendant had never learned to read. Perhaps my strange Virginia accent overloaded his small, primitive South Carolina brain.

A moment of clarity, and he rang me up for a round of golf. I also rented some clubs. This would be the first round of golf I had ever played.

….

“If I decide I want to play more than one round, should I say ‘golfs’, or ‘golves?’”

The rest of my foursome looked at me quizzically.

“I just don’t want to sound like an idiot.”

It was a clear, fresh, morning. Dew splashed up on my ankles as I walked up to the first tee. The sun wasn’t high enough in the sky yet to break up the clouds. My buddy, Mike, was having a golf weekend for his bachelor party. Many friends and family made the trip, including myself. I was by far the least experienced golfer of the bunch, but I felt good about today’s round. This would be a great day.

Not having my own clubs, I took my brother Stephen’s driver out from his bag and lined up my shot. Make your club an extension of your body. Just hit it straight, I thought, and the game will come to you. A wise man said that to me once. Or maybe I heard it on TV. I’m not sure which.

I swung the club around with such force that I felt my arms separating from my body. My arms! Actually, those weren’t my arms, but rather the club that I had previously made an extension of my body. I nearly hit a small child.

And whither the ball? It was there, directly straight ahead of me, a whole ten feet into the distance. A small victory, but a victory indeed.

….

I hit a sharp ground ball towards the third base line. If this were baseball, I would have gotten a solid base hit, a double if I had placed it just right. Unfortunately, this is golf. There’s no tolerance for groundballs from the tee.

“Evan, we’re not putting yet.”

Har har har! This was only the 12th time I had heard that joke today, and it was just as funny as it was the first time. I never did figure out what was wrong with my swing. I tried different approaches, different clubs. Using a strategy I learned when dealing with my life’s other obstacles, I started drinking liberally from my flask. My swing only got marginally better.

I was still wondering about my swing up until a few days ago. I looked at a group picture taken of us from the weekend-long event. I noticed one difference between my grip of the club and everyone else’s. Look at how I’m holding the club, and look at everyone else, and if you look hard enough, you’ll be able to find the difference yourself. It doesn’t seem obvious at first, but you’ll see. I think I can make one adjustment to my swing and solve everything: