Just a few blocks off the corner of Westwood and Pico
boulevards, students can get a deal that beats almost anything
inside the Westside Pavilion.
The Rancho Park 3-Par Golf Course, which sits just about next to
the aforementioned shopping mall, is the Buck-fiddy of golf
courses. What it lacks in quality, it makes up for in convenience
and affordability, the two most overriding concerns for college
students.
My roommate and I needed to get outside over the Memorial Day
weekend and we didn’t want to brave the beach crowds in the
process, so we made the short drive over to Rancho Park.
It had been a couple years since I last picked up a set of
clubs, but considering how little I golf, it wasn’t really
worth my time to get rid of the rust at a driving range. Rancho
Park was very forgiving of my impatience and inadequacies.
With the nine-hole, par-three format, I could get my quick fix
of sport and sunshine without losing the entire day and my
roommate’s golf balls in the process. And at $6 per player,
I’d have plenty of leftover cash to buy my roommate a new
sleeve of golf balls in case of some errant tee shots.
From 8-year-olds to college students to elderly ladies, Rancho
Park draws quite an eclectic mix of people. My roommate and I were
grouped with a pair of weekly regulars, Lynette Perkin and Geannie
Sutton. I wouldn’t classify them in the elderly category, but
that’s partly because Perkin insisted I only write nice
things about her.
It’s also pretty embarrassing for me to admit that I lost
to a pair of senior citizens.
Perkin and Sutton said they don’t play full 18-hole
courses because of the length, and after my first tee-shot I pretty
much understood why. While my roommate was lofting sky-high shots
onto the green with ease, the ladies and I were taking a shorter
and lower approach. Actually, they were striking line drives toward
the hole, while I was firing grounders toward the nearby line of
trees.
On the bright side, I didn’t have to shout
“fore” once during the entire day, but that was largely
because my shots didn’t go far enough to threaten anyone.
After a couple holes, I felt a little guilty about slowing the
group down and apologized for being such a dead weight.
“I think it’s great that you’re even out
here,” Perkin responded, which was a nice way of saying that
I was the reason the term handicapped is used in golf.
The low point of the day came on the fifth hole. Abandoning my
conservative approach on the green, I decided to take my
roommate’s advice and follow through more on my putts. Of
course, this just caused my putts to roll off the green, and by the
time I tapped in with a score of nine, I had solidified my last
place finish within the foursome.
Despite my miserable performance, there were some highlights.
After sinking a putt to bogey the seventh hole along with the rest
of the group, I made a point to remind my roommate that I had done
just as well as him. He quickly informed me that the phrase to use
was “just as bad.”
On the final hole, though, not even my roommate could rain on my
parade. With my ball about 60 yards away from the green and sitting
on a downhill lie after a couple shots, I lofted a beautiful
approach shot that landed just a foot away from the cup. Tapping in
for my fourth bogey of the day (I didn’t have a single par),
I couldn’t mask my feeling of accomplishment.
“Golf will beat you up for two hours, but then you hit
that good last shot and want to do it again,” my roommate
said.
It didn’t really matter that a pair of older ladies had
finished seven strokes ahead of me. Or that no serious golfer would
ever practice on the course I had just played.
Less than two hours after teeing off on the first hole, the
important thing was that I had finished a round of golf.
My wallet didn’t feel the pinch, my eyes had enjoyed the
scenery, and my mind could replay the triumphant shot on the ninth
hole.
Like a Buck-fiddy sandwich in the wee-hours of Friday night,
Rancho Park had given me what I wanted.
E-mail Finley your handicap at
afinley@media.ucla.edu.