Before I got married, I believed golf was a “sport” for not very athletic men—in other words big-bellied specimens–who loved riding a little goofy cart around a park ( I now Know it is called a course) for hours. I didn’t even know the object of the game, or if it had an object besides having a few drinks and smoking cigars. Then, my hubby started playing again a couple of years ago, and now I love this sport, and secretly, I even dream about owning a little goofy golf cart.
Golf has provided our family with several benefits. First of all, it takes my husband out of the house for four or five hours during the weekend, which stops him from making messes around the house. Having him in the house is like having another kid to discipline.
For example, I can always tell which way my hubby walked into the house starting from the pantry, because I find a path of crumbs as if he were Hansel—I guess this turns me into the Witch, because I want to put him in the oven and eat him!
The second benefit is the amazing bond this sport nurtures between my husband and my son. While my hubby tries to teach the little man his secrets to hit the ball well, our son loves to hit it into the water, chase the geese, and collect rocks and sticks. Besides the golf lesson, he gets to enjoy the thrills of the improvised roller coaster his dad recreates in the golf cart going up and down the hills.
The third benefit is the therapeutic effect it has on my husband. He can be stressed out and tight as a pretzel after a busy week at work, but when he gets back from a round of golf, he is a mellow as a marshmallow. His eyes glow with pride when he tells me the score he got that day and the recap of his best play. Sometimes I feel that I am listening to a Golf Channel commentator without the commercials.
However, his love for the game–rooted in a shared family tradition of his father, brothers, and uncles over decades—has made my husband a golf-coholic and a real stickler when the rules and etiquette of the game come into play.
According to his good luck mojo, “You gotta look good to play good.” Therefore, this man buys golf shoes, collared shirts, and pleated shorts on a regular basis. Now, based on this, imagine how he reacts when he sees a good old red neck playing, wearing a t-shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flop sandals. We are in Florida, so these characters–who can make Larry The Cable Guy blush–are the fabric of our local society’s fashion style.
Nevertheless, as much as some people’s atrocious apparel offend him, nothing compares to what he feels towards the lack of regard some golfers display for those following them. For example, last Friday my hubby and I “played” golf—meaning I drove the cart and drank a couple beers–behind a foursome of jackasses who were drinking and goofing around.
They took forever and measured every hit as if they were Arnie Palmer or some other legend waiting to get inducted into the hall of fame. The funny thing is that they sucked and several balls hit the trees or ended up in the water. All my husband wanted was to go through, but they dismissed him.
While I was having a good time enjoying the breeze and warm summer weather, my husband was making faces and showing the desperation our five-year-old shows when we are in line for a ride at a theme park. (The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?) Thank God we finished quickly, because at one point I thought he was going to run them over.
I wish I loved any sport as much as my husband does golf so I could sweat-out all the junk I eat. Instead, I love writing, and the only muscles I exercise are the ones in my fingers when I press the keyboard. I am an indoor creature who prefers minimum physical activity. Now you can understand why I am craving a golf cart.
Thanks for reading and sharing.