Hello, I'm new here so I just wanted to say "Hello".
I've been swinging golf clubs at golf balls for 7 out of the last 9 years. I say that because only once have I ever manage to break 90. Normally, I'm in the deadly fever range, around 107-110. So for me to say that I've been "playing golf" belies the sad state of affairs that is my "game".
Anyway, to the title of the post-at least the part about "The Addiction"...
Two years ago I quit the game for good. I'd taken lessons from the most reputable pros in my area and even tried Natural Golf for over a year. That's an interesting story in itself but I don't want to slow down the entire internet by posting a 10,000 word essay on the follies of letting an instructor talk one in to playing right handed when one is already a struggling lefty.
Back to the point: After 5 years of unrewarding struggle, I sold my right handed Adams irons and no name right handed woods and got me a new set of no name irons and woods that are left handed. I figured, that I couldn't totally quit due to the nature of my job, so if I had to play bad golf, I should at least be physically comfortable doing so.
But in private I told the wife, "I give up. I've never put so much time and effort into something and gotten so little out of it." See, I'm in outside sales so I can practice every day if want. And I did.
I was the kind of nut who would get to the course at first light and sneak in a round before going to work and then set up a golf game with clients for later in the week. I was the guy who would play 36 holes in a day and sometimes more. I was swinging clubs 6 days a week.
I bought book after book in the hopes of improving my game and I still have them all. It was Dave Pelz' "Short Game Bible" that finally killed me. I tried do what he said to do in the book and everything fell apart and there was no recovery. So I quit. Once and for all I was done...
That is until I absolutely had to take some clients golfing. This was about a year and a half ago. I hadn't picked up a club in 6 months. But I didn't care, I like these particular guys and they're always fun to hang with. So I arrived at the course about 3 minutes before teeing off. It's not like warming up was going to do anything for me.
The first tee I pull my three wood out of the bag and hit a wonderful shot, about 260 yards right down the middle. But I know golf for the cruel game it is and surely the next shot to the green 230 yards away would some kind of top, slice, pull, push, or flat out miss. So I grabbed my five wood and hit the green dead center. Two putts later, I had a birdie. All day long it went well and at the end of the day, I'd finished with an 86. Throw in the fact that I'd missed 5 putts inside 6 feet and it was easily the best day of golf I ever played.
"This is it!" I thought. In the past I had worked too hard and worried too much. I just had to relax and not fret over every shot. Just swing the club with good tempo and the rest will take care of itself. I was back in the game! So three days later, armed with my new confidence and casual attitude I hit a local muni course that's wide open and overall pretty straight. It's much easier course than the desert style Hidden Valley that I had shot my 86 on three days prior. So this is what it's like to shoot decent golf I thought. So I went to the local muni and shot over 120. I don't remember the exact score because I stopped counting at the 16th hole.
So I quit again. Over the course of the next year and a half I only played twice, both regrettable affairs. And I only played because of industry pressures.
But two weeks ago, I got a call from one of our manufacturer's reps and he was putting together two foursomes to play at a private country club. Everything was going to be on his company, even drinks. I hadn't been out in a while so agreed to play.
So I reluctantly went to the range to see just how much I was going to embarrass myself the following week in front of colleagues. The first couple of balls were predictably shaky. But then I hit a groove. My pitching wedge shots travelled in beautiful high arcs 130 yards down range. My long irons soared through air with wonderful looking fade on the end. My woods and driver were monster shots. But I knew better. This was just a feak occurence. Surely the game would make me pay for reshooting the equivalent of sports heroin. But no, four more trip to the range produced the same wonderful looking shots.
On Friday, the first game I had played in 9 months produced a variety of shanks, tops, chili dips, and one particular slice that was so glorious in it's sheer ugliness that it was beautiful. It traveled about 30 yards forward and well over 200 to the left. What was my score? I don't know. I would have added it up at the end but I left my abbacus in the car.
But I'm addicted again. I've already been on the Golf Smith website in order to see how much a new set of Callaway irons will cost me. Or maybe I'll go Cleveland or Ping. Why wouldn't a pathetic hacker like myself need a new set of clubs? And why would I continue to play a game that seems to take such delight in punishing the very best of my efforts? It's because I'm addicted. I never stopped loving the game, I was just mad at it. And now I've come to terms with the fact that I'm an insane masochist.
I've been swinging golf clubs at golf balls for 7 out of the last 9 years. I say that because only once have I ever manage to break 90. Normally, I'm in the deadly fever range, around 107-110. So for me to say that I've been "playing golf" belies the sad state of affairs that is my "game".
Anyway, to the title of the post-at least the part about "The Addiction"...
Two years ago I quit the game for good. I'd taken lessons from the most reputable pros in my area and even tried Natural Golf for over a year. That's an interesting story in itself but I don't want to slow down the entire internet by posting a 10,000 word essay on the follies of letting an instructor talk one in to playing right handed when one is already a struggling lefty.
Back to the point: After 5 years of unrewarding struggle, I sold my right handed Adams irons and no name right handed woods and got me a new set of no name irons and woods that are left handed. I figured, that I couldn't totally quit due to the nature of my job, so if I had to play bad golf, I should at least be physically comfortable doing so.
But in private I told the wife, "I give up. I've never put so much time and effort into something and gotten so little out of it." See, I'm in outside sales so I can practice every day if want. And I did.
I was the kind of nut who would get to the course at first light and sneak in a round before going to work and then set up a golf game with clients for later in the week. I was the guy who would play 36 holes in a day and sometimes more. I was swinging clubs 6 days a week.
I bought book after book in the hopes of improving my game and I still have them all. It was Dave Pelz' "Short Game Bible" that finally killed me. I tried do what he said to do in the book and everything fell apart and there was no recovery. So I quit. Once and for all I was done...
That is until I absolutely had to take some clients golfing. This was about a year and a half ago. I hadn't picked up a club in 6 months. But I didn't care, I like these particular guys and they're always fun to hang with. So I arrived at the course about 3 minutes before teeing off. It's not like warming up was going to do anything for me.
The first tee I pull my three wood out of the bag and hit a wonderful shot, about 260 yards right down the middle. But I know golf for the cruel game it is and surely the next shot to the green 230 yards away would some kind of top, slice, pull, push, or flat out miss. So I grabbed my five wood and hit the green dead center. Two putts later, I had a birdie. All day long it went well and at the end of the day, I'd finished with an 86. Throw in the fact that I'd missed 5 putts inside 6 feet and it was easily the best day of golf I ever played.
"This is it!" I thought. In the past I had worked too hard and worried too much. I just had to relax and not fret over every shot. Just swing the club with good tempo and the rest will take care of itself. I was back in the game! So three days later, armed with my new confidence and casual attitude I hit a local muni course that's wide open and overall pretty straight. It's much easier course than the desert style Hidden Valley that I had shot my 86 on three days prior. So this is what it's like to shoot decent golf I thought. So I went to the local muni and shot over 120. I don't remember the exact score because I stopped counting at the 16th hole.
So I quit again. Over the course of the next year and a half I only played twice, both regrettable affairs. And I only played because of industry pressures.
But two weeks ago, I got a call from one of our manufacturer's reps and he was putting together two foursomes to play at a private country club. Everything was going to be on his company, even drinks. I hadn't been out in a while so agreed to play.
So I reluctantly went to the range to see just how much I was going to embarrass myself the following week in front of colleagues. The first couple of balls were predictably shaky. But then I hit a groove. My pitching wedge shots travelled in beautiful high arcs 130 yards down range. My long irons soared through air with wonderful looking fade on the end. My woods and driver were monster shots. But I knew better. This was just a feak occurence. Surely the game would make me pay for reshooting the equivalent of sports heroin. But no, four more trip to the range produced the same wonderful looking shots.
On Friday, the first game I had played in 9 months produced a variety of shanks, tops, chili dips, and one particular slice that was so glorious in it's sheer ugliness that it was beautiful. It traveled about 30 yards forward and well over 200 to the left. What was my score? I don't know. I would have added it up at the end but I left my abbacus in the car.
But I'm addicted again. I've already been on the Golf Smith website in order to see how much a new set of Callaway irons will cost me. Or maybe I'll go Cleveland or Ping. Why wouldn't a pathetic hacker like myself need a new set of clubs? And why would I continue to play a game that seems to take such delight in punishing the very best of my efforts? It's because I'm addicted. I never stopped loving the game, I was just mad at it. And now I've come to terms with the fact that I'm an insane masochist.
