Thanks, golf.

Couple of days ago, a friend of mine says, Why don’t we break away Thursday morning to play golf? I was reluctant since this week has been full, the kind of schedule one has when preparing to go on vacation for three weeks. But, my appointments on Thursday were in the late afternoon so I said yes. Our tee time was at 9:30. He calls me at 8:50...How far away are you? I worked it out so we can go off of 10 if you get here early. That way we’ll have the course to ourselves. I was just leaving the house when he called, so I raced over, walked straight from the parking lot onto the 10th teebox and we were off! Three hours and fifteen minutes later, we were having lunch on the patio, smoking cigars. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how golf was meant to be played.

The fact that we never encountered another living soul on the golf course was not the only reason we finished so quickly. My friend and I have one thing in common when it comes to golf. We both play fast. We are see ball, hit ball players. Our “pre-shot routine” takes all of ten seconds. There are no ponderous debates about club selection, the vagaries of wind and yardage. You will never catch one of us tossing blades of grass in the air or gazing at the top of trees as if a better understanding of wind direction could possibly make a discernible difference in the result. That stuff is reserved for guys who play golf for a living. My friend and I would much rather spend our time talking trash, questioning each other’s manhood, planting seeds of doubt by reminding each other of the hazards of each shot...Alright Dougie, don’t worry about that lake. You hardly ever slice and besides, you’re too weak. You probably don’t have enough length to even reach the water! Or even better, our pre-putt advice...Hey, don’t hit this one too hard. If it rolls past the hole it might go all the way off the green. On the other hand, if you don’t hit it hard enough it it might roll back to your feet! 

I hate everything about golf except actually playing the game. I never practice, never “work on my game.” I don’t warm up before a round. All of that bores me to tears. What I love about golf is the fact that I’m outside for four hours in a beautiful setting with good friends. My cell phone is turned off. Sometimes there’s a friendly wager on the table. I get to smoke a cigar. You get to disengage from the real world for a while, escape fluorescent lighting, and return to a more natural setting. It frees you up. You find yourself having real conversations. 

I shot an 86. Played pretty well. My friend played out of his mind and shot 82. He still has manhood issues.

The real world was waiting for me back at the office. It never goes away. But yesterday, I escaped it for a few glorious hours.

Thanks, golf.