Thursday, April 23, 2009

Thursday means one thing to you and me: it’s bloggering time. It may also be clobberin’ time, if that’s more your thing, depending on how agitated I become after discussing golf. We’ll play it by ear. The heart of the matter is the irons are hot again, with a renewed sense of purpose, and this time we shall overcome. There was this idea of equanimity when we last discussed this, where I wanted the ability to play calmly and with poise, come what may. I still do, of course, but more to the point I just want to hit the goddamn ball, you know?

Here’s where I am. I’ve got all the basic equipment, less a 3-iron. Clocked in about 10 rounds, scoring anywhere from 125 to 150 to 170 to even greater depths of mediocrity. Corporate necessity is what’s driving me onto the green. I continue to find the effort-to-payoff ratio maddening. I’ve attended a single lesson at a respectable golf school, which seemed like a wise move initially, but ultimately proved injurious to my mojo. I’m back at square one, if I may triangulate this shit for you.

And the next step I want to take leads straight into the crucible. I plan on packing as many rounds as possible into the next few weeks, effectively supplanting professional instruction with green time and advice from peers. I’m still convinced I can reach proficiency without lessons. The same couple of hundred dollars that would’ve gone toward having some dude stand next to me at a range and dispense tips seems better spent on fees. Besides, did the very first golfer–architect of all that is unholy–benefit from formal guidance? Certainly not. He made this crap up.

I found these things on the range yesterday: an exasperating first half hour, then calluses, then progress. And when I left, I was ready for more. Even nature seems amenable to this. I stepped out of the office today into gorgeous weather–from clear skies to a pleasant breeze to the trace patches of snow salt on the ground, the scene before me was truly seasoned, top to bottom. The stage is set.