Adam Karon
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Last week I almost killed a man.
I hit him from behind, right between the shoulder blades, as he
calmly walked away. Strangely, I felt no guilt.
After all, it was only my second day out on the golf course.
Here’s some novice advice for those who want to try their
hand at the toughest slow-sport on earth. First, don’t play
near me. It is all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
Second, hit the driving range a few times before you get out on a
course. The guy driving the ball-retriever at the range is much
more protected than the poor veteran I pelted at the VA golf course
just behind Jackie Robinson Stadium.
It is ironic that a man like that can make it through years in
Vietnam only to be taken out by a hack in sandals and a backwards
Bruins hat.
Some say that golf is defined as an endless series of tragedies
obscured by the occasional miracle. My miracle is that my new
veteran friend did not rip my eyeballs out to use on the putting
green after I left my mark on his unprotected torso.
Golf can be strangely intimidating, even if there are no men in
helmets or masks, no sharp cleats or blunt sticks. There is just
something incredibly disconcerting about hitting a tiny dimpled
ball with a crooked stick.
Fortunately for you, and anyone else who might have to share a
course with this writer, UCLA offers lessons to improve one’s
game. For a mere $10 a quarter, you can work in a group with former
LPGA pro Judy Marlow. If your short game needs work, she can help.
If you have a kink in your swing, she can fix it. If you are as bad
as I am, you’re screwed.Â
One thing I’ve learned about golf is that it can be very
therapeutic. Angry about your final grade? Turn that little ball
into your favorite professor’s head and give it a good whack.
Need to blow off some steam? Head to the range and swing away your
anger until your wrists ache and your back splits in two. Heck,
nothing is more frustrating than a few rounds of golf, so after a
weekend on the links you should be able to handle anything your
life science professor throws your way.
For some reason, those who do not play give golfers a lot of
grief. These critics are either jealous, ignorant or liked to pick
on the kid with braces back in fifth grade.
Some claim golf is not even a real physical activity, let alone
a sport. They are wrong. When was the last time you saw an
overweight golfer who was not named John Daly?
Admittedly in the past, golf has been the sport of a privileged
class of citizens, but even this is slowly changing. Golf is
becoming more affordable, and more dangerous, as hacks like me pick
up their used clubs and contribute to overcrowding at golf courses
nationwide. There is a par-3 just across the 405 that charges $8
for the entire day. All they ask is that you be respectful and try
not to kill anyone. Oops.
This sport is really hard to figure out. One day I’ll
slice and shank everything, missing all the greens and finding all
the sand traps. The next day I will go out, and, for no reason at
all, will really stink.
The funny thing about golf is that no matter how badly you play,
it is always possible to get worse. New golfers find that out the
hard way. When we enter a course we are pelted with dirty looks
from other patrons, which only serve to add to our anxiety and
increase our level of futility.
If golf is so difficult, why do we come back? If it is so
frustrating, why not quit? Surely it is not the snappy dressing or
strict rules of etiquette. No, new golfers like myself play because
chicks dig penny loafers, slices can be cured, and taking out a
middle-aged man from 150 yards is priceless.