The Wacky Side of Golf |
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19TH HOLE COMEDY • Today, the blog • Tomorrow, the book |
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I'm Nuts . . . About Golf This entry was posted on 2/22/2006 12:08 PM and is filed under uncategorized. I have supported enough teaching professionals to merit special recognition from the PGA. Unfortunately, none have moved my game off the comic page. It’s not that I don’t try, I burn a lot of daylight at the practice range, but you’d never know it by the way I play. The answer to my problem is as mysterious as Hogan’s “secret.” Could my problem be psychological? Perhaps. At least it is something to consider. I visited the local library in search of sport psychology books. Maybe the hours at the driving range would be better spent on a shrink’s couch. "The Golf of Your Dreams" by Dr. Bob Rotella caught my eye on the shelf of golf instruction books. (It seems like the only one who hasn’t written a golf instruction book is my plumber, and only because he would have to take a cut in pay.) Chapter One looked pretty good, so I figured, what the hell, why not? I may be on to something. This may be the answer to my problems. If it isn’t, I’ll hire a burglar to steal my golf clubs. The blurb on the book jacket says Dr. Rotella is a consultant to some of the top golf organizations in the world, including the PGA of America, the PGA Tour, the LPGA Tour, and the Senior PGA Tour. Those are excellent credentials if you are a touring pro who needs a little cerebral tinkering. When it comes to clumsy, ham-handed dimwits like me, the good doctor is overqualified. My tournament experience begins and ends with 7 and 6 elimination in the first round of the club championship, Flight D (the flight just above Junior Golf). The only thing my game warrants is an autopsy. But then, I had a thought -- I have played with men and women on the PGA Tour, Senior PGA Tour and LPGA in pro-am rounds. By association (far fetched association), Dr. Rotella is perfectly qualified to diagnose my case. How encouraging. I forked over my library card and thanked the check-out clerk, who graciously gave me 21 days to find my game (42 days with one renewal). I rushed home -- with work to do. Midway through the introductory remarks, Dr. Rotella hit my hot button. On page 18, he writes: “This book is for the golfer who’s stopped being indifferent, the golfer who puts or is ready to put a lot of time and energy into the game, the golfer who’s puzzled and frustrated that his time and energy don’t produce lower scores. It’s written for the golfer who is determined to get better, but hasn’t figured out how “ “That’s me, Doc,” I said to page 18. “Find my game. Massage my medulla.” As I turned the page I tried to imagine myself playing par golf. I was so amused that I fell asleep to live the dream. The excitement wore me out. I was off the air for an hour or so. When I awakened, my wife was reading the book and refused to give it back. “Wait until I finish,” she said, “I’m playing with the girls tomorrow. This might make me more competitive.” “Well isn’t that swell,” I muttered, realizing she was dead serious. “Apparently my game goes on hold while you learn how to wallop a bunch of blue hairs who haven’t made a par since Coolidge was in office.” I don’t give up easily. I crept to the living room at two o’clock in the morning, opened the book and began to cram. It didn’t take long -- after a couple brief minutes Dr. Rotella had my cerebral cortex diagnosed. It was his phrase “fear of failure,” that stopped me in my tracks. Hell, I’m not afraid of failure. Failure is what my game is all about. Defeat is my middle name. In my case, failure is a comfort zone, I’m used to failing. My problem is FEAR OF SUCCESS. A self diagnosis -- right on the button. I put the book down, and went back to bed. Case closed! Success is what’s scary. If I ever improve, I’ll be scared shitless. Tennis, anyone? * * * |
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