IT WAS JUNE, 1961, I had just turned twelve and did I ever have the Golf Bug. The expression was coined by my mom and it was meant to describe the mesmerizing allure found in the great game of golf.
I had tried baseball for four years. My stockiness and limited lateral range placed me as a catcher with the coach’s expectations for bone crunching collisions to tag runners out. It was also the year I finally decided I’d had enough. It was time to focus on another sport. My clear choice was the game of golf.
Golf is a sport where a player uses both hands to grip oddly shaped “clubs” initiating all kinds of twisting body movements to somehow strike a small white sphere sending it through the air. The “ball” progresses, shot by shot down earthly landscapes, toward pins placed in little round cups. The objective is to hit the ball into this very small cup using the fewest number of swings. The emotional high golf can deliver is often met by agonizing lows from unexpected failures. It is the greatest, but not always kindest of games.
This depiction may help explain why I had been bitten by the Golf Bug. But I readily admit, my initial attraction to the game had a bit to do with the pleasure I derived from eating Stewart infrared sandwiches laden with yellow mustard at the “halfway house” between nines. In all reality, golf’s attraction was about so many things, not the least of which is the absolute requirement to use the six inches between one’s ears, a challenge at any age.
This reflection hints at the realization that days are starting to get longer and the 2019 golf season will be here before we know it. The fun and varied courses await us along the m22golftrail.com.
Come play. Come stay.
The Golf Shot
There is nothing that challenges one’s emotions
quite like a game of golf.
Asking one to muster courage while initiating
very practiced swings.
A white sphere is sent aloft to distant greens
and waiting pins.
Then comes the realization, there can be heartache
even with well-rehearsed shots.
Robert Adams
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