So, this happened: An old golfing-poker buddy from the UK, Neil, called last night and asked if I could go a round with him this morning at the Oxford Golf Resort. He said it was his treat. Now, given that I had not swung a club in anger for over 4 years at the very least (though my golfing gear is in ship shape), I thought I should warn him that I may not really be very good company.Surprisingly, he said he didn’t care, and also said he’d buy me a bucket of balls to hit on the range to get my muscles to remember the swing. I said, I will disappoint him. He said I should shut up and come.
OK, then. This morning, I woke up at the usual time, finished my entirely pleasurable fatherly duties of running and working out with my daughter, put on my golf togs, picked up my golf kit (ok, strictly speaking, my driver did), and made my way to Oxford, where true to his word, Neil arranged for the use of the range as well as a tee off with him.
Turns out a golf swing is like cycling. Can’t really forget it. Soon, I had my mojo back (well, almost), and we played 9 most enjoyable holes and then had some really nice and cold lemonade at the club overlooking the first fairway. A shower and change later, I find myself thinking of the game and wondering about the difference between how the same game is remembered by a golfer who shoots 3 over the course (he cannot stop thinking or talking of the 3 bad shots he hit) while I, who played 16 over cannot stop thinking of the 3 good shots I hit, where I hit them, where they landed, and how it felt. Maybe that’s why I am a bogie player at best and he is a scratch handicap.
All in all, a wonderful beginning to a glorious morning. And golf, here I come. Again.
P.S: Thanks, Neil. You brought back some memories, made my morning a beautiful one, and reminded me of the small joys I miss, and can still have should I want them. You are a star!
