Dear Dave Hackenberg,
Let me start by offering a heartfelt "Thank you."
And now, having said that, let me follow up by adding this: "Hey, next time, could we just do lunch instead?"
You like it. You like it so much you not only write about it, oh fellow Blade scribe, but you play it, too.
(Well, after a fashion )
Me? I'm not so wild about golf. And I don't let the fact that I've only tried it once or twice interfere with my steadfastly unappreciative view of this sport.
If you can call something that involves riding around in a cart "sport."
Still, it was very nice of you to offer to erase my ignorant prejudice against the game.
And, having actually now played the game, I should also add that it was very nice of me to accept your offer.
Oh, but still - the fun we had, Davey! (That masochistic, golfy kinda fun, anyway.)
A lovely summer morning. The unending green of Whiteford Valley Golf Course. You. Me.
And don't forget Brian, the cameraman from WTVG, Channel 13, who trailed us that morning, documenting for all time your golf swing (which I would have to describe as "inspired") and my - what? My what, exactly? My pro-level frustration camouflaged by my novice-level play?
Well, let's just say Dick Cheney could learn a thing or two from me about linguistic self-restraint.
Of course, I could stand to learn a thing or two about golf from the plaid-pants, country-clubbing Republican set.
Or, failing that, from you, Dave Hackenberg!
Oh, and hey, I'm really sorry about that whole "grip" business. Look, I tried. But it didn't feel natural, wrapping digits like that around the club. Or whatever it was I was supposed to do. Aw, now don't feel bad: You tried. I'm just not easy to teach, OK?
And besides, who's got time to learn? You should have told me how long this excursion would take.
We played, what? Four holes? Some dinky number like that? And it seemed to take forever.
I gave birth in less time than it took us to whack around a little dimpled ball - and, at four holes, that's only 22 percent of the course.
Dave, Dave, Dave. Some people have places to go, things to do, people to see. Know what I mean? I'm starting to wonder just how much better the economy might be if so-called movers 'n' shakers weren't out dorking around on the golf course for the better part of a workday, cooking up deals.
OK, I know: My assumptions are totally wrong. Still, though I keep seeing photos of young, hip, tattooed rock stars out on the links, I cannot wipe from my mind the association between golfers (duffers) and the gray-templed occupants of the ruling class (almost-geezers).
But I will yield on a newly conceded fact: Golf, David, is a lot harder than it looks. I sure proved that all by myself! (Note to Whiteford Valley: sorry about those grass chunks.) Hey, there's a reason the words g-o-l-f and f-l-o-g are so much alike.
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