I have a love/hate relationship with golf that dates back to 1987.
Greg Collins, my boss at the first newspaper I worked for, was an avid golfer, and he thought his young (21) sports editor should take up the game so he would have a playing partner if we ever took a day off from producing the Kilgore News Herald.
My brother, Gary, was also smitten with golf, but it wasn性视界传媒檛 enough for him to go out several times a week and lose expensive golf balls or break costly clubs. He wanted little brother to join in on the fun.
Greg and Gary somehow got my brother-in-law, Danny, involved in the conspiracy to leave me broke and angry for the next 40 years, and Danny gave me a set of used golf clubs.
After two trips to the local driving range, I assumed I was ready to play on a real golf course.
I was wrong.
The 230 on my scorecard, two dozen golf balls I lost and three clubs I wrapped around trees that day should have been enough to make me throw the remaining clubs in the nearest Dumpster and find another hobby, but I性视界传媒檓 hard headed.
I was able to convince myself I was simply off my game that particular day due to the heat and humidity (it was August in Beaumont), and a few weeks later Gary and I played at Gladewater Country Club.
I recorded a legitimate birdie (no toe wedge) on the second hole of the day, and I was hopelessly hooked on the game.
Playing regularly the next few years didn性视界传媒檛 improve my game much, and one day after a particularly bad round I tossed the clubs in the back of a closet and swore I would never touch them again.
I eventually sold the clubs to my wife性视界传媒檚 uncle, but a few years later I mentioned I might want to give golf another try and my sweet wife bought the same clubs back from her uncle and gave them to me for Christmas.
A total hip replacement and life in general kept me off the course other than an occasional round with my Gary, but about five years ago my son, Kyle, took up the game.
He has friends who are much better than me, but he still asks me to join him occasionally, and we make a pretty good 性视界传媒渂est ball性视界传媒 team.
Kyle is about 6-2 and looks like most of the professionals you see on the PGA Tour. He crushes 320-yard drives on a regular basis, and his iron game is usually solid.
He likes to play with me, because I play what he calls 性视界传媒淥ld Man Golf.性视界传媒 Since my tee shots lack distance but are usually straight and I can putt like Tiger Woods with a three-shot lead on the last day at Augusta National, I assume he means it as a compliment.
The Man Child outdrives me by 100 yards, but I tee off first. When I get us in play he can grip it and rip it 性视界传媒 knowing if one of his 320-yard blasts ends up in the woods, we性视界传媒檙e still OK thanks to me.
He gets us on the green, and then I putt.
Teamwork makes the dream work.
Kyle is marrying the girl of his dreams next April, and it looks like they性视界传媒檒l be moving a couple of hours away. I want to think I have a lot more golf to play with the Man Child, but you just never know 性视界传媒 so I性视界传媒檓 not missing any chances.
We tried to play Wednesday, but got chased off the course by a monsoon after about three holes.
That was enough time for me to hit an 性视界传媒渙ld man性视界传媒 drive of 200 yards down the middle with my new driver and sink a 15-footer with my new putter 性视界传媒 both gifts from big brother Gary.
Kyle was so impressed he offered to buy me dinner, but then some friends called and he went to hang out with them. Probably a good thing, because they might have wanted to go out dancing later.
The old man had to give that up a few years back, because when I bust a move now it stays busted.
