Taking to the driving range yesterday to snap some pics of Zebulon's golf clinic for children, it dawned on me that the ball was going straighter for some of the 12-year-olds than it frequently does for myself.
I remember that age. If you don't like school, you don't do good in school. But if you like sports like golf, and practice, you can leave the course rich in many ways.
Naturally, like most guys, I fancy myself a good golfer. But I also fancy myself a good 24-year-old — I feel there are things on my plate that hinder me form the full concentration of an 11-year-old, nonetheless.
So when I went to the golf clinic, I noticed a bitter taste in my mouth. It was the taste of someone who no longer has time to sit around all day on the driving range Happy Gilmoring Slazengers until the sun goes down. It was, yes, the taste of envy.
Adding insult to injury, I decided to pick up a club and give pride its chance to hit the fan. Big Mistake.
My swing looks fine — it always has, but being a lefty and playing righty, things tend to get weird in the wrists and I have been know to put one on the kids in the play-pen just off of four fairway.
I guess bottom line is I set myself up for disaster going and watching those kids swing the sticks without a care or responsibility in the world. Personally, I am always too busy worrying about work while not even at work, or growing sick from the first-hole jitters as an under-practiced golfer.
I used to be one of those kids, one day, but I vaguely recall when and where that was.