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We must be doing something right
when we can stretch out like this;
spend hours and hours
traipsing through estate grounds,
around man-made ponds,
across escarpments,
batting a smooth dimpled sphere
about the size of a stone
with awkward bent rods
to deliver it into a tiny hole
marked by a small flag
cut into a patch of shaved grass.
It's called Titleist.
A fox hunt without much left to chance;
We dress for the occasion, wear special footwear,
and soft leather gloves.
Instead of horses we ride vehicles
with rubber wheels and humming electric motors.
Instead of aiming rifles
we swing metal sticks around our heads.
The swings are counted—
the point is to reach par
which means average.
Below par means you're very good.
For the privilege
we join expensive clubs—
moms with their neighbourhood friends,
dads with business associates,
after rounds,
over finger food and cocktails
they compare handicaps.
Mom was club champion.
One time when we were kids
dad handed my older brother
his heavy oblong putter,
told us to practice on the front lawn.
He used it to whack me in the head.
I’ve hated the game ever since.
7 comments:
What brought on thoughts of fox-hunting and golf?? The formality of both sports down to the buttons and how seriously the players take it. So THAT explains your aversion to golf!!
It's not golf I have an aversion to...
If it's not golf that you have an aversion to ... then, what is it? golf "culture"?
Or was the whack on the head with the putter the turn off?
Fun bit of TV trivia. Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David apparently find the word "Titleist" hilarious. If you know George's speech in the "Marine Biologist" episode ... they had to wait to get permission to use "Titleist" in the speech, because no other golf ball brand was as funny, in their estimation.
I struggled to find a title. So I definitely have to check out that Seinfeld episode. My aversion is to elitism. My parents were elitists in their own way, belonged to golf clubs, and from a very young age attempted to indoctrinate me and my brothers. My brothers embraced the game and culture. We spent many weekends hitting balls from the practice tee, and taking tennis lessons. My bar mitzvah party was even held at the club. I always hated the snobby atmosphere. The trophy case. The dress code. The made-up rules and etiquette. I thought Titleist made sense as a title.
Maybe it was karma that my brother whacked me in the head with a putter, which did happen (I still have the scar). But in all fairness to him, it was accidental.
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