In this blog, I am saying goodbye to golf. A recent MRI of my aching back suggested that if I wanted to continue to be symmetrically bipedal, I should not swing another golf club in earnest (except perhaps for the putter). So as this blog goes out and the column hits the streets, I am a non-golfer. From now on, I’ll be able to truthfully brag to my golfing buddies that I’ve finally solved my heartbreaking slice, my duck hook, and have lost my fear of sand bunkers. No problem now that I’m officially a former golfer.
This is sad for me, and frankly as I write this, I am a bit misty. Weird and wonderful happenstance on golf courses over time have provided my life lots of color, confusion and joy. I remember being out with my older brother Tom at the little driving range associated with Pacific Grove Golf Course (the poor man’s Pebble Beach). Poor Tom! He was in the middle of a hopeful backswing when a headless Canada Goose hit him directly in the chest, knocking him ass-over-teakettle. I and some other incredulous duffers saw it happen but still couldn’t believe it. While Tom was still on the ground trying to regain his breath and brush the goose blood off the front of his shirt, we were gathered around the headless goose trying to dope-out how it lost its head in mid-flight. Best guess was that it was just flying too fast and too low for the driving range netting guy wires. Tom later did his 18 holes complaining the whole time about broken ribs. Anything to excuse a score of 135 from the white tees. I’ll miss stuff like that.
I’ll miss walking nine holes at China Lake Golf Course on crisp Spring and Autumn mornings with my first wife, Denise. She has become a country fair golfer in her own right. She leaves nothing in the bag off the tee and putts like a sober Christian with a clean conscience. I think golf taught her how to properly cuss, though. Not too long ago we played through a slow foursome of local sailors and I heard one of them whisper to another, while surreptitiously pointing to Denise, “Yeah, that’s her. Better cover your ears!”
One time years ago, I was golfing at China Lake GC with free spirit Irishman Dave Simmons (whose golfing attire was always farmers overalls). On the 18th tee, Dave (an inveterate liberal and articulate iconoclast) was feeling contrary and decided to tee-off with his 9-iron. Once he struck his ball, we followed his 100-yard drive high up into the blue desert sky where our gaze was diverted from his ball to a UFO purposefully winging along at orbital velocity and uncertain altitude directly over our Valley. We both stood there gawking like a couple of gap-toothed rubes, as this incongruous metallic elongated cigar-shaped craft silently sped (with impunity!) from South to North right over our test ranges. Surely, Range Control saw this! Surely.
“What are we looking at, Dave?” I asked.
“Beats me,” the old fellow said thoughtfully.
And then we simply continued down 18 as if nothing had happened. Curiously, we never had occasion to mention it to each other again during his lifetime. Very strange!
I remember once long ago, in the early development of the now long-running Gorman family “Aquaman” golf tournament format, we five Gorman brothers found ourselves on Torrey Pines Golf Course in La Jolla during a raging rainstorm blowing in off the coast. We actually had the course to ourselves because it was cold and wet (some fairways were flooded!) and the wind was nearing hurricane force. But since the intended Aquaman schtick was “to golf in the rain,” we were properly declared certifiably insane by the locals in the clubhouse as we waded out into the tempest to “golf”. That was such an otherworldly golf adventure that none of us remember any of the torturous details or if we even finished the round. Torrey Pines, we hardly knew ya!
But mostly my golf memories are sunny, halcyon and idyllic. I have golfed with remarkable people in wonderful places, by day and sometimes by night. I golfed while singing drinking songs with Bud Sewell, drove into a sand bunker sharing a golf buggy with Denise Gorman one night, and never got a hole-in-one. I’ve heard all 17,505 golfing jokes in the known universe (some more than once) and have reached a deep understanding of why it’s the finest sport on Earth. I’ll miss it.
About Sky Line Net Installations:
Sky Line Net Installations Inc. is a 100% independently owned Canadian Company. Specializing in design, engineering, supply and installation of sports and industrial barrier netting systems since 1980, we are considered the leaders in innovative design and performance throughout Canada. Our expertise allows us to match the best pole and line support materials along with the best foundation designs to the finest netting materials for our customer’s requirements anywhere in Canada.
In 2002 we became affiliated with Coastal Netting Systems in California. Coastal is recognized for their excellence in engineering and manufacturing of the finest steel poles for the netting industry in North America. We have hundreds of successful pole and netting systems in place in all types of environments. With decades of design engineering and field experience we stand behind our products and performance with the best warranties available.
Contact:
Phone: (604) 328 – 1474
Email: info@skynets.ca
Web: https://www.skynets.ca