Monday, July 23, 2007

how is this a sport...

I'd never hit a golf ball until yesterday, but turns out, I'm basically Tiger Woods. Only with a personality.
My roommate often spends sunny weekends staring off into the distance and exhaling, "I want to play golf today."
Oh, I'll hit some golf balls. Where do we go? What do we wear?
Unlike the male members of my family, I do not garner inclusion in their club, even now that it deigns to let women in. And I've never really been that pissed about it. It's my dad and brother's thing. All they do is play racquet ball and take steams.
Pass.
I know their little code number anyway, so I can charge drinks at the bar. The only thing that really kills me is that the little cafe has one hell of a curried chicken salad sandwich, which is my main argument for why I deserve a membership. I mean, that's a fucking great sandwich.
And it's not available to the general public.
Which obviously, only makes it better.
But otherwise, I've managed to survive adulthood without country club affiliation and it's not as bad as one might imagine.
Until all of a sudden, one day you want to play golf.
Turns out, it's really expensive to show up at a golf course and try to play. Christ, it's really expensive just to get the outfits and clubs and various accoutrements required to blend with Muffy and Skipper.
But Mikey, my roommate/golf coach decided that if we went to the driving range, it'd be really cheap and more fun than playing 18 holes with someone who has no idea what the hell she's doing.
Oh, driving range. How Something About Mary.
I tried on like, 12 outfits.
And it's a shame we forgot the camera because I really feel like I captured the sartorial essence of golf attire based upon my exsisting options. I mean, I rocked the sweater tied over the shoulders of my Polo.
And pearls.
I borrowed Karen's clubs and little Michael Jackson glove and we headed to the top floor of the driving range.
With MINIMAL instruction, I took my first swing and to quote Mikey, "Oh my god. That was actually good."
What's up.
Folks, I like a 9 iron. And I find if I relax, I do a lot better. As I told those around me, "Golf is 90% mental."
My golf coach, however, was stealing my goddamn thunder. This old man comes over, complete with cell phone earpeice and asks to watch Mikey swing. Turns out, "George" thinks my golf coach is some kind of undiscovered golf talent and I had to stand around listening to them talk about form and shit.
"Hey George, how come you don't want to watch my swing? I got 80 yards on my last one!"
George, not comprehending the complexity of my emerging skill, consoled me, "Oh, that's okay." And then went back to kissing Mikey's ass.
Whatever. I focused on hitting the kid in the armored golf ball retreiver cart and wondered whether or not Gavin was into golf.
Suddenly, Mikey revealed the best part of a day at a golf course.
"Okay, we're out of balls. Let's go to the bar."
Ah yes. I understand it now.
We sat outside, watching those far less talented that us smack golf balls into the sky and sipped our cocktails.
Then I cracked open the menu.
As if a sign from god, there it was.
A curried chicken salad sandwich.
Seriously. I could really get into this golf thing...

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Just think how hot you and Gavin would look on the links in your matching linen ensembles. I see the Olympic club needs a part time server. Can we forward the job posting to jennifer? I'm sure she could use the work.

Anonymous said...

Your family belongs to the Olympic Club? No wonder you like Gavin. That is old time, San Francisco money.

amy said...

The Olympic Club isn't nearly as bad as the Bohemian Club. I can't believe SF has so many exclusive clubs!

But who cares? Hilarious, as usual Beth. I actually love playing golf. We should go!

Anonymous said...

ah yes the spotswoods and golf...this reminds me of a little story in which i was able to prove your brother wrong...i believe alex and i were fighting about whether or not golf was a sport or that he thought it "easy, cuz the ball doesn't move"...and i told him that we should head out to the range at the o-club and he can prove to me how easy golf is...and of course afterward we'd have drinks and a steam....so we get out there are i give him one of my clubs and tell him to start hitting balls...ya know, because it's so easy and all...after whiffing about 6 times in a row i think he may have topped one right before he took a monstrous swing and let go of my 7 iron sending it flying all the way down the range...now i say down the range and i don't mean out where the balls end up...i mean down the range parallel to all the other people hitting....needless to say we were both extremely embarassed i think i hit about 3 more balls before we sook refuge in the clubhouse...my joy at proving alex wrong and finding a sport he had difficulty playing was marred however by the fact that the entire range was full of crotchety old men who were pissed at us and i was sure we were to receive some sort of reprimand/monetary penalty, if not expulsion from the club...but we made it out ok and stuck around long enough for a steam...i think ben or mike might have been there as well...and did anyone see sergio blow the open then proceed to blame everyone but himself?...all class