I am not a sporty person. I’d rather participate in individual events than having to depend on other teammates. Or worse, having people depend on me. That being said, there is one sport in particular that I am terrified of and that is golf. I could only dream of having the aid of teammates with this sport. But unfortunately I’m the only person who can help me. (I feel like I’m being really dramatic.) I mean, people can help me by giving me tips, but I have to figure out how to move my body properly. It would also help if I could hit the ball when I wanted to.
I always knew I would be terrible at golf. Some sports I look at and I’m like, okay I could do that. Like volleyball or tennis–I’m not great, hell, I’m not even good, but I can get away with looking like I know what I’m doing. Kind of. But whenever Paul watches golf, I get confused by so many things:
How do the golfers know where to aim? You can’t even see the flag from the beginning of each hole so like, do the golfer just guess where to swing? Unclear.
Why do there have to be so many different clubs? Can’t there just be one kind that works for every type of swing? Why do I have to learn which iron or wood to use? Why are there numbers involved? 9 irons? Drivers? Putters? How annoying.
Who decided 18 was an appropriate number for holes in a course? Did they realize that it takes hours upon hours to complete a full game? I mean, that’s cool if you like golf a lot, but do you still like it after 4 hours of playing? Probs not.
The one thing that I do approve of are the chic clothes that you get to wear. Lots of argyle and polos and plaids, oh my! So that’s fun.
I’ve only been to the driving range thrice in my life and one of those times was when I was twelve. The other two times were recently when Paul was trying to teach me some golf basics. Needless to say I’m the worst and try to stand far away from anyone else because I’m so embarrassed for myself.