Tiger
Money List Winner
They are weird looking creatures with long legs, what seems like a preposterously huge derrière all attached to a scrawny long neck: bit like me really only without the beak.
They also have a bizarre means of escaping danger. Instead ofutilising the fact they are one of the fastest land animals, they prefer to bury their head in the sand in the vain hope that their problems will evaporate.
So having barely played for the past month I had the chance to practice this evening. For some inexplicable reason I had expected to be half decent, the golfing equivalent of burying your head in the sand. In fact after what happened in the bunker, I was tempted to abandon the metaphor and dive in.
My god I'm useless at this game, a problem exacerbated by the fact that the joys of having a young family negate three critically important requirements. I play infrequently, struggle to get any meaningful practice time and find it nigh on impossible to arrange a date for a lesson.
So when I was peppering the unfortunate souls playing the 9th (it runs parrallel to our practice hole) with a volley of socket rockets, I was perplexed. I shouldn't have been, in fact given my lack of golf, I should have been pleased I was making a half decent connection with the ball. Who cares if the shots were travelling at right angles and threatening to knee cap innocent bystanders, at least it wasn't a series of massive fats or air shots and tops.
Why do I even have expectations at all, why was I even practicing rather than getting on the course and playing as many holes as possible before my golf pass expired? Actually I probably would have run out of balls in plenty of time and it would have been more fun.
So today I have decided to cancel all ambition. When I get a pass I'm playing as many holes as I can. If I manage to get the ball on the green I can at least enjoy the fact that my putting is now amazing. That's unsurprising really given how much I practice with the flatstick. Anyone for crazy golf?
They also have a bizarre means of escaping danger. Instead ofutilising the fact they are one of the fastest land animals, they prefer to bury their head in the sand in the vain hope that their problems will evaporate.
So having barely played for the past month I had the chance to practice this evening. For some inexplicable reason I had expected to be half decent, the golfing equivalent of burying your head in the sand. In fact after what happened in the bunker, I was tempted to abandon the metaphor and dive in.
My god I'm useless at this game, a problem exacerbated by the fact that the joys of having a young family negate three critically important requirements. I play infrequently, struggle to get any meaningful practice time and find it nigh on impossible to arrange a date for a lesson.
So when I was peppering the unfortunate souls playing the 9th (it runs parrallel to our practice hole) with a volley of socket rockets, I was perplexed. I shouldn't have been, in fact given my lack of golf, I should have been pleased I was making a half decent connection with the ball. Who cares if the shots were travelling at right angles and threatening to knee cap innocent bystanders, at least it wasn't a series of massive fats or air shots and tops.
Why do I even have expectations at all, why was I even practicing rather than getting on the course and playing as many holes as possible before my golf pass expired? Actually I probably would have run out of balls in plenty of time and it would have been more fun.
So today I have decided to cancel all ambition. When I get a pass I'm playing as many holes as I can. If I manage to get the ball on the green I can at least enjoy the fact that my putting is now amazing. That's unsurprising really given how much I practice with the flatstick. Anyone for crazy golf?
