2003 Soap Box Archives

Duffing Across America 06/23/03

Because I travel for a living I get a chance to play some of the finest
golf courses in the country. Beautiful lush green sweeping pieces of
real estate with greens like carpets and brilliant white sand traps.

Such a sight is enough to get any golfer’s heart racing and you hit the
practice range with enthusiasm and even the driver cooperates with long
straight shots that you stand and watch and relish with calm confidence
that today is the day.

Today is the day that you’re going to burn up the course or at least
post a decent score which for me would be anything south of 95.

So you lift a couple more lofty wedge shots which all but knock down
the flag and with a brief visit to the putting green, where everything
inside six feet is automatic, you join the queue at the first tee and
spend the next few minutes warming up.

Your head is as still as the rock of Gibraltar, your left arm is firm
and straight, you’re shifting your weight, you’re finishing high and
all is well with the world as your foursome is summoned to the first
tee to keep a date with destiny.

Your step is swift and sure, your eyes are confident and cool and your
face is a mask of concentration, and now it’s your turn to tee off.

You reach into your pocket and select one of the brand new balls you’ve
just purchased at the pro shop for a minor fortune. The balls which
will add an extra twenty yards to your drives, according to Lee Trevino.

You study the back of the scorecard at the diagram of the first hole to
determine just what part of the fairway you want to land your ball in
to better shape your second shot.

You put your ball on a tee and insert it into the ground, making sure
that it’s just the right height to prevent sculling and step behind it
to evaluate the elements. The wind is blowing slightly and you gingerly
toss a handful of dead grass into the air to discover that it is coming
from an angle off to your left.

You walk up close to the ball and take a couple of practice swings just
to make sure that everything is working properly.

And with a final look down range you step into position.

Now your world has turned into a small white sphere with dimples.
There is nothing on the planet except you, your driver, 434 yards of
fairway and that little round ball.

The time has come. A couple of deep breaths and you begin your back
swing, being careful to take the club just enough inside and not
rushing it and at the top beginning your downswing firmly but softly.

The head of the club makes contact with the ball and you finally raise
your head in time to see it dribble off the tee and come to a complete
stop three yards short of the ladies’ tee.

Your mulligan is perfect soaring 210 yards down the middle of the
fairway but your second shot goes into the water and your approach shot
rolls across the green into the bunker and after three sand shots and
an incredibly lucky putt you finish the hole with an eight.

I will not just come out and say that I am the world’s worst golfer,
but I certainly belong in that echelon.

I have a mat and several hundred shag balls behind the house where I
stand and hit ball after ball. I actually get pretty consistent on
that mat and spray the balls around the back pasture with a reasonable
degree of accuracy.

I even get to thinking at times that I’ve finally figured it out, that
I’ve at long last discovered that little glitch which has bedeviled me
for so many years and at last I’ve found the swing that really works
for me.

And it really does work, until the next time I step on a golf course.

Well so be it, I didn’t want to be on that dad blamed senior tour
anyway.

Pray for our troops.

What do you think?

God Bless America

Charlie Daniels