VOL. XV, NO. 12
MAY 3, 1974
Bench Beat
By BROCK AKERS
Thousands of Americans spend great parts of their weekends and afternoons off with the wind in their hair, sun in their eyes, and grass underfoot, amid carefully manicured trees, bushes, and occasional ponds. Most of these people aren't necessarily nature lovers but of a different breed entirely: golfers.
Golfers spend vast amounts of time, (depending on how good they are) great amounts of money, (clubs, bag, shoes, balls, tees, and green fees), and great amounts of patience for a limited amount of fun and relaxation. The fact is golf is probably as impractical a game as ever devised.
What is golf anyway but knocking a little white ball around and trying to sink it into a little cup - all this in the least amount of strokes possible? But as simplistic as it sounds, golf is as challenging as the A honor roll and 50 times more irritating. Good golfers (with the exception of the Maine West golf team) are as rare as a smokeless washroom. Fun and relaxation are nowhere to be found when the duffer dubbs his putt, sends his buck and a half ball into the middle of the river, or raps his three-wood around a tree.
Thousands of Americans spend great parts of their weekends and afternoons off with the wind in their hair, sun in their eyes, and grass underfoot, amid carefully manicured trees, bushes, and occasional ponds. Most of these people aren't necessarily nature lovers but of a different breed entirely: golfers.
Golfers spend vast amounts of time, (depending on how good they are) great amounts of money, (clubs, bag, shoes, balls, tees, and green fees), and great amounts of patience for a limited amount of fun and relaxation. The fact is golf is probably as impractical a game as ever devised.
What is golf anyway but knocking a little white ball around and trying to sink it into a little cup - all this in the least amount of strokes possible? But as simplistic as it sounds, golf is as challenging as the A honor roll and 50 times more irritating. Good golfers (with the exception of the Maine West golf team) are as rare as a smokeless washroom. Fun and relaxation are nowhere to be found when the duffer dubbs his putt, sends his buck and a half ball into the middle of the river, or raps his three-wood around a tree.
It all starts early in the morning, when one wakes up the birds starting his car and the only traffic encountered is that of the drunks who never made it home the night before. The golfer stumbles onto the first tee, and blindly drives his ball into a patch of trees which look as though they must have been imported from the redwood forest. Twelve strokes later he has gotten as far as the green - not on the green, but as far as it - in the adjacent sandtrap to be exact. Twelve strokes and a lot of displaced sand later, he is faced with a two-foot putt. Normally that two-footer wouldn't be any problem, except for the fact that the green is at an 89 degree angle. Twelve putts later he stumbles to the second tee and starts all over again.
Sounds like fun, doesn't it? And that's just the first hole! The excitement really builds when the golfer plays for $1 a stroke.
The game of golf would have been called "frustration," but that sounds too much like a Parker Brothers family game for ages 6 to ancient. Frustration would be an appropriate title, though, for that is the greatest net result.
Yet for every duffer who hangs up his spikes, there are three more ulcer‑bound athletes to take his place, of which I am no exception. When will we learn that frustration is not the key to fun and relaxation, that we must rely on other forms of entertainment?
Anyone care to shoot some marbles? We can play for $1 a shot.
Sounds like fun, doesn't it? And that's just the first hole! The excitement really builds when the golfer plays for $1 a stroke.
The game of golf would have been called "frustration," but that sounds too much like a Parker Brothers family game for ages 6 to ancient. Frustration would be an appropriate title, though, for that is the greatest net result.
Yet for every duffer who hangs up his spikes, there are three more ulcer‑bound athletes to take his place, of which I am no exception. When will we learn that frustration is not the key to fun and relaxation, that we must rely on other forms of entertainment?
Anyone care to shoot some marbles? We can play for $1 a shot.