Idle Clubs, still idle.
It's morning and I've made it back home after quite a long night out. The message the other day was "Golf Friday, 3:45p" and I'm not going to make it. Today, there will be no standing on the green, triumphant after sinking that birdie on a 552 yard, Par 5, nor will there be the dance after winning the $1,000,000 Hole In One prize the Baltimore County Revenue Authority is offering this week.
Instead, I'll be working and getting things in order before I leave next week.
As I spy on my clubs sitting in the garage, I think of potential glories. That's when I realize that they look kinda old. Unlike my friends, I tend not to buy new clubs every year. In fact, I don't think I've ever bought a set of clubs - ever.
I guess I'm lucky. My dad is an absolute golf fanatic. He obsesses over golf. It's all-consuming for the man. Go on a casual golf outing with him and he's giving you a mini-clinic with tips on grip, swing and how to improve your game. Let him catch you putting around the yard and suddenly, an impromptu clinic has sprung up around you.
When you're growing up and trying to just play casually, it's absolutely annoying. Until the day, many years later, when you walk onto the course after not playing for several years, line up the ball, cock back your swing and drive the sucker out of the ball - suddenly, then you realize the value and wisdom of those impromptu clinics.
But still, no golf today.
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