I guess there is nothing that will get your mind off everything like golf. I have never been depressed enough to take up the game, but they say you get so sore at yourself you forget to hate your enemies.
~Will Rogers
I predisposed myself to a lifetime of frustration at the age of 11. It was just a month or two after Tiger Woods won the Masters, giving him his first PGA Major Tournament. The craze was on. Eldrick was young, firey, charismatic, and real freaking good. On top of all that he had his own shoe. His own Nike shoe. “I am Tiger Woods,” became an instant catchphrase.
And I fell in love with the game of golf.
I played a bunch through middle school. Living for six months in Florida made that possible. I was constantly tuned into the Golf Channel. I suffered through the 1997 Ryder Cup. While my mom was grocery shopping I was flipping through golf magazines.
This lasted through the early part of high school, but became a bit too expensive and time-consuming to remain dedicated to. So between 10th grade and my freshman year in college I had a dry spell. The clubs were put on the shelf. For the time being, at least.
During the summer between my freshman and sophomore year I started hitting the range again. A couple times here and there. Nothing serious. Just enough to keep my swing, well, there. This carried on into the next. Then, during my internship with ESPN this past summer I played more golf than ever. Hit the range as often as I could. And took advantage of a course within a mile of the hotel myself and the fellow interns were staying at. It was perfect.
Prior to this, my course experience was fairly limited. That was evident from the very beginning. My first two drives on hole 1 landed in a pond about 100 yards down the left side of the fairway. Things got relatively better each time out. I got more and more comfortable with the course. With my clubs. With each shot.
And then there was that one time. (more…)
