Today I Think Golf Is In Order

In my head, I am the coolest, bestest, most awesomest golfer in the known world today. In short, I am a STAR. No, correction, a SUPER STAR.

But in reality, well, let’s just say that I don’t really live up to my own expectations.

To understand what goes on in my head where golf is concerned, we have to go back, back in time, way back. Back to when I was a small child surrounded by a family of pennant golfers and club champions with handicaps in the single figures all the way down to ‘scratch’ or ‘one’ for those of us unfamiliar with the golfing handicap system. It was a time when only the boys in the family were allowed to play golf and the girls were permitted to look on in awe. Or as in my case, sneak away from mum when collecting my father from the 19^th hole on Saturday nights, run amuck and causing havoc by stealing golf balls as they came falling from the sky at the 18^th hole, throwing them into the rough, and laughing and laughing with excitement as only an innocent little kid can, until I found out that what I was doing was wrong, so very wrong.

On the odd occasion we were granted the opportunity of being in attendance at either Heidelberg golf club or Huntingdale during a tournament, I longed to be able to grab a club and have a hit but I was never allowed, so I settled for washing all of my father’s golf balls in the fascinating ball cleaner at every opportunity.

a golf ball washer at my club

Zoooooom, now we go ahead in years and I am a grown up (in years if not in attitude) and I have never lost the desire to be a brilliant golfer like my father, uncle and cousins. Over the years I have played ‘golf’ at any venue I can find.... yup I have played ‘put put’ golf and mini golf all over Australia, and in the last 10 years or so I have become quite the player, I can tell you.

When my kids reached primary school age, one of the end of school year activities each year was going to play Par 3 golf and parent assistants were always needed. So naturally I jumped up and down the highest and loudest ‘ooooh pick me, pick me’, and got the opportunity to further hone my skills, thus my appetite for playing golf was ignited once again as I merrily trekked down to the golf course with 20 bored kids in tow.

Zooming ahead a few more years and voila we are back to the here and now. Last year when I was ‘sickish’ a friend suggested randomly that maybe going to have a hit of golf out in the fresh air and sunshine would do me a world of good and curiously at the time, I readily agreed. And so, a star was born again out there on the Par 3 golf course. My friend said I was amazing and a natural player as each time I teed off my ball would get so much lift and mostly stayed straight and on the fairway whilst hers would zig zag all over the course, find each and every hazard or sometimes fail to even leave the teeing off area. Yes, I was surely meant to be a world famous golfer.

I played a few times last year and 4 weeks ago I decided to make a habit out of it and so currently I am playing once every week. Now this is where the story saddens, this is where I let myself down, this is where reality sets in.

The way I saw myself can only be compared to the character ‘Hal’ from a movie called Shallow Hal, but in reverse. Hal was so shallow in general life all he saw was the outside appearance of people and not the inside. Whereas for me, I had waded out of the shallows and was in so far over my head in the ‘deep within me’ that I found that I was drowning in the fantasy that was my lifelong obsession with golf. All I could see was the inside of me and not the outside. I was attracted; no I was in love with the brilliance, the greatness, the awe inspiring golfer which was deep inside me busting to break free. I could not see past the vision of me as a mighty golfer. I could not imagine myself as anything other than a great and natural super star on the golf course.

In my mind, I wanted so badly to be to be a super dooper golfer that I had convinced myself that I was, in my mind. I was certain that I was such a natural player, that once I started playing golf regularly with my husband he too would be in awe of my ability and talent.

But then, the truth abruptly revealed itself to me... to my horror!

Instead of hiring my clubs the first week, my husband bought us some second hand clubs to share. He bought us right handed clubs and I am left handed, I think, aren’t I, I thought I was, maybe I’m not? I’m sure it doesn’t matter, greatness can overcome anything.

We get to the first hole and I run ahead, because naturally I will tee off first. Silence everyone, a star is about to tee off... silence please, SILENCE... a hush falls over the entire golf course as I line up my first shot.

I drop the ball down in what looks like a suitable place and pretend that I know exactly what I am doing. I place the head of the club behind the ball and adjust my hands. Then I adjust my feet a few times and wiggle my bottom, because all the best players do that, that little wiggle thingy. I look at the ball then I look to the flag way down the fairway, then back at the ball. The tension is starting to build. I am ready, let the game begin, Daisy is in the house.

I take my swing at the ball, it is a perfect swing, such power, such style, such.... erm, hang on, is that my ball, down there by my feet. I missed the ball. I totally missed the ball! But I recover quickly and yell out to my husband... ‘That was a practise swing’... phew, that was close, but now, the pressure is on. I am confused, I am almost faint, and I can’t believe I missed the ball. I take a deep breath, then go through the whole ritual again, rock from foot to foot, adjust my hands, wiggle my bottom, then swoosh another huge swing.

This time I connect with the ball but I only connect with the top of the ball and instead of it flying through the air with incredible lift and distance, it lazily rolls along the ground and comes to an embarrassing halt maybe 4 metres in front of me. I gasp with shock, I am speechless, I am confused.

My husband tells me I can take my turn again but I refuse and indignantly tell him, ‘I do NOT cheat, I HIT the ball, I have HAD my turn’. My husband shrugs, says ‘fine’ and takes his turn. Now, right about here I should tell you that he has never played golf before and never had any ambitions, or desires, or thoughts in general about golf. He is just ‘tagging along’ with me so that we can have some ‘together time’.  He is just here because this is the game I chose to play. Right, let us continue with his turn. Breathe Daisy, BREATHE.

He does no practise swing, he does no adjustments, he does no ‘wiggle’, he just hits the ball... all the way down to the other end of the fairway, on his first hit, at his first game, on his first hole. Then he apologises and shrugs his shoulders.  

I pretend that I don’t mind, I am happy for him. ‘Well done’ I say in my best pretend happy voice with my best pretend happy face as I walk the 4 metres to my ball to have my second shot. I do better with my second hit and finish that first hole with a respectable amount of hits, and to my delight it appears that my husband is very bad at putting and so far I am much better, so far.

The more holes we play, the worse I seem to get, the worse I seem to get the more upset and disillusioned I become. Until half way around the course, after yet another swing at the tee fails to make my ball soar through the sky, fly all the way to the green and place itself happily into the hole thus giving me that hole in one I have imagined myself achieving effortlessly on so many occasions previously, I can take no more and find myself throwing my golf club in utter despair and anguish over my poor inexplainable golfing game.

Those of you who know me will realise that this behaviour is out of character and I was shocking even myself at the loss of control and dignity which I was displaying during this first game of golf. My husband was lost for words as he watched me deteriorate in front of his very eyes.

I started to blame my golf clubs. Surely they were too short for me, the wrong ‘stick’ entirely, and above all else, the wrong handed. It must be the clubs as it couldn’t possibly be me, for in the words of Muhammad Ali, ‘I AM THE GREATEST’, aren’t I? Right now I am faltering, I am becoming weak, I can’t understand what is happening to my imagined superior golfing skill. I want to cry.

My putter is flat sided so I start playing left handed at every green and I find that I am able to hit just as well left or right handed. Instead of calming me, this makes me more frustrated... am I left or am I right handed, how can there be no difference, why don’t I feel more comfortable, more ‘natural’ in one stance or the other. I am thoroughly confused. I am that confused in fact that I have to ask my husband if I am playing a shot left or right handed as I have no idea which is which.

one of the water hazards with two duck families

I manage to get through that first game of golf with barely a scrap of humility left and dragged my feet as I walked back to the car licking my wounds. My husband ‘thrashed’ me by 10 points to claim MY victory. I managed to congratulate him and he promised to buy me some left handed golf clubs before our next game which we scheduled for one week from that date.

Strangely by the time I had arrived home I had forgotten the stress of that first game and told my husband how much I had enjoyed golf, what fun I had and how I was eagerly looking forward to our next game. He looked at me curiously and said ‘if you get as upset as you did today, I won’t play with you again’. Me, upset, pfft, what a bad sport he was, I thought to myself.

Bring on next week, next week would be my week to shine, I was certain of it. But next week was not my week to shine, neither was the third nor the fourth week.

The second week I played half the game left handed and half the game right handed and still I was unable to A) beat my husband and B) control my frustrations at being such a bad golfer.

The third week I decided to be left handed the whole time and my husband said if I don’t stop being so hard on myself there won’t be a fourth week. Apparently shouting at the ball is just as bad as throwing a club! I decided that I don’t like to be angry, there is no point to anger and besides, it just makes me play worse and surely I couldn’t get any worse than I already am at golf.

By last week, the fourth week, my eyes were wide open and I was shattered. It seems that my dreams of grandeur on the golf course were just that, dreams. I was no Karrie Webb, Jack Newton or Greg Norman, I was Daisy, just Daisy, I wasn’t even my father my uncle or my cousins, I was just Daisy and Daisy is barely an average player, Daisy has to work hard at golf, very hard.

Having said that, each week of playing golf my score has gotten better by a couple of points a time. Last week, week four, I was the calmest I have ever been. I guess once you submit and stop fighting, there is nothing to be passionate about and thus there is no point in throwing a club or shouting at the ball to ‘go go go go go’. My husband said it was pleasant to be around me while I was so calm and polite and that our fourth week was the best so far. He said he would be very happy to continue playing golf with me if I remained civilized as I had done that day.

Hmm...  But I am Daisy, and Daisy isn’t really truly ‘civilized’ by nature. I like to be childish and impromptu. I like to skip down the fairway after my ball or shout out ‘Nooooooooooooooooooo’ as the ball veers off course after it has left the tee. I like to bellow out ‘BOO’ when he starts his swing and laugh when HE misses the ball. I think I like golf, I think I like the drama and the raw emotion of that silly game and that awful little ball that refuses to do as I say. I haven’t landed a ball in a water hazard yet and I haven’t come across a snake in the rough yet. I think I will continue to play golf even if I am NOT a super star after all.

And... next week I think I might just try being right handed again. You never know, maybe next week I will be THE GREATEST player on earth today, or maybe I will just be Daisy. 

at just over  one metre long this tiger snake was very scary outside the golf club