Golf

I grew up beside the 11th hole of the Lebanon Valley Golf Course. I often have wondered if I hadn't grown up there would I ever have played golf?

But since I did grow up next to a golf course, it was only a matter of time before I was out there knocking the little white ball around.

I used to pay around $1.50 and play all day long, two or three rounds, just by myself. I'd get out there in the sunshine in cut-off denim shorts and no shirt. I would drop a couple balls, practice my game. It was fun. I became pretty good.

But golf isn't fun anymore. It hasn't been fun for me for years. For the industry Tiger Woods saved golf. For me, he ruined it.

When Tiger hit the scene, suddenly everything about golf changed. All of these people who never golfed before came out of nowhere and started golfing and spending. It wasn't a fun little game anymore. It was a industry.

Almost overnight, everything became very expensive, very uptight, and very snobbish.

I remember coming down the 18th fairway at Galen Hall one day and suddenly this lady came out of the clubhouse and screamed at the top of her lungs, "PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON!!!"

I'm young. It's hot. It's summer time. Why do I need a shirt? I'd put it on before I went into the clubhouse of course.

Now tell me, what was more offensive - me without a shirt, or this lady screaming across the golf course at the top of her lungs?

The more I looked around, the more I noticed that golf had become some kind of weird fashion show. There were all these guys that suddenly appeared. They were all outfitted very well with expensive clubs and bags and golf clothes, gloves and shoes.

Suddenly I noticed that everyone was looking down at me and snickering at me in my shorts and a t-shirt. One thing I loved though, was the first tee.

I'd step up on the first tee and I could hear all these guys who spent hundreds of dollars on their outfits and equipment making fun of me beneath their breath, laughing at me. Then I would swing and nail the ball 275-yards down the middle and listen to them all swallow their tongues.

You shouldn't judge a book by it's cover.

My boss at a magazine asked me and the business manager to go out golfing once. I was typical shorts and a t-shirt, with sneakers too no fancy spikes. My boss was decked out with everything from the Greg Norman hat to the spikes to the Big Bertha metal driver. My clubs were old. My woods were actually made of wood.

Into the back nine I was building a pretty big lead on him and his game was falling apart. He hit another one into the woods, and as he was searching for his ball the business manager came over to me and said, "You better back off and let him win. He doesn't like to lose."

No way, I thought to myself. That's childish.

One hole later I looked back and there was my boss bent over beating his club into the ground. That was childish. I beat him. He didn't talk to me for a week. Then he fired me. Good riddance. He was a scam artist and a thief who had already spent time in jail for running confidence games in Virginia Beach.

I do miss golf. I enjoyed getting out there and taking a walk through a well-groomed park-like setting.

But guess what - you're not allowed to walk anymore. It slows down play too much. Golf courses now all make you get a cart.

You're not allowed to play by yourself anymore either. If you show up by yourself they will pair you with strangers to make sure that every group as four players. They need to smash as many players onto the course as possible to make the most money.

And guess what - it doesn't cost $1.50 anymore either. It's expensive. If you can find a course that costs $25 on a Tuesday afternoon that's rare, and probably not one of the better courses around.

The last time I golfed was at a sales meeting for a company I worked for. The salesman in my four-some were all snickering at me on the first tee. They all had the latest, greatest, most expesnive clubs. They were all dressed head to toe in the latest, greatest, most expensive gear. I, of course, wasn't.

I got up on that first tee, rested my wooden driver on the turf behind the ball and swung these long orangatang arms for the fences, smashing that little white ball way down the middle.

I listened closely to them all swallowing their tongues.