When I met Dan and Amanda a few weeks ago, I made the mistake of telling them that when I lived in Atlanta, I used to play golf weekly – and even once attempted a few holes at Augusta.
It looked like it was going to bite me in the tusch today when they asked if I wanted to join them at the driving range at Chelsea Piers. I haven’t touched a club in about four years, so when I went along to meet them this afternoon, I had no idea how I’d fare.
As it turned out, I was… okay. I could hardly remember how to hold the clubs and I entirely missed the first ball (about six times) but when I calmed down and vowed not to take my eye off the ball or lift my body, soon they were reaching the 80 yard line. (Some pun about me getting into the swing of it?)
Amanda and Dan were also great – especially Dan, who had been freaking out about playing a round with colleagues tomorrow. He was consistent and even gave me some crafty tips to avoid my ball always veering off to the left.
I was actually pretty surprised that I managed to do okay, and the experience was great – visiting the Piers so soon after the last time, the view over the Hudson in the sun and hanging out with Dan and Amanda again.
Golf is a nightmare of a sport. You have to be so unbelievably consistent not to ruin a round with a single poor shot. When I used to play regularly, I had the bug; every time I played, I left wondering when I could play again. And that’s what seems to have happened this time too. I just want to go back and get better.
Watch out Tiger/Bubba/Adam.