As the warm weather appears to be returning to Wisconsin following a lovely weekend with sunshine and temperatures in the 50s, I get the itch to clean up my golf clubs.
I’ve played golf since my teens when my dad pulled out a couple of dusty old sets of sticks and we hit up Riverside Golf Course in Janesville on a weekday after his shift at the Chrysler plant in Belvidere, Illinois, had ended.
I knew very little about golf. In fact, my entire knowledge of the game came from Golf magazine and watching the sport on television on weekends – when the weather was lousy here, but perfect for the PGA to hold an event in Florida.
Pro golfers make it look easy. They tee up the ball and then power a drive down the middle of the fairway. Their second shot is about a 200-yard iron which they put it on the green. After that, their putter does the talking with one or two shots getting them in the hole for a birdie or a par.
And if the pros make a mistake, they have mastered some wicked recovery shots out of sand traps, deep rough, over trees and through brush.
During the first round with my dad, he teed off and hooked the ball into a stand of trees about 50 yards from the fairway. My very first attempt at teeing off saw me completely whiff – three times. I was pulling my head up while trying to make the shot. I figured, like the pros, I’d just hit it and the ball would go right down the fairway. I was really embarrassed to learn that for a 13-year-old, golf didn’t work like that.
I eventually hit the ball which went about 50 yards to the right. My dad and I walked to where we would take our next shots. My second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth shots traveled a combined distance of 50 yards. I would have felt awful, but I kept hearing this loud knocking sound from the trees where my dad had walked. He was pelting the bark pretty good and he took a few shots to get back on fairway.
I began to think that golf wasn’t fun. Instead it was pretty hard work carrying your golf bag 10 yards, picking a club, setting down the bag, trying to hit the ball, and then following the same procedure over and over again.
When my dad got his ball out of the trees and back on the fairway, he hit an iron shot that landed on the green. He then came over to me and gave me some coaching tips on where to put my feet in relation to the ball, how to relax while swinging, keep my left arm straight and keep my head down throughout my swing. I then actually hit the ball and it went about 80 yards toward the green! Amazing.
Next I took the putter out of my bag, because the ball was only off the green by a few feet and although I had some coaching, I hit the ball and it went all the way across the other side of the green. I walked around and tried to do a better job, but I had the same result. That’s when I picked up on the “Happy Gilmore” golf trick of “tap, tap, tapping” the ball slowly to the whole. Eventually the ball went in.
My Dad was a stickler for keeping score of your shots and on that first hole I carded an 18. He had a seven. And off we went to the second tee. The only way we were able to do this is that it was very early in the season and we were the only ones on the course.
As the nine-hole round went on, I improved a little bit. I ended up with a score of 143. By the third hole my dad had shaken the winter rust off his game and he finished with a 51. I was thankful for his patience with me, because I made a lot of mistakes. Not only was he teaching me how to play golf, but he was teaching me golf etiquette. I raked sand traps, fixed ball marks on the green that I hadn’t made and learned how to approach greens and the proper place for putting my golf bag when playing in and around traps and the green.
After that first round, I played more often with my dad and even spent a year on my high school golf team. I got to play in one competitive match that year at Big Foot where I defeated my opponent 54-64. I have to mention I was playing Junior JV. The varsity players on my high school team were shooting under par. I did get to see Steve Stricker at a match, but I was nowhere near his talent.
I still golf to this day although I play far less frequently than I would like. I generally play a handful of rounds, most of them coming at an annual weekend golf outing I have with friends.
As the sunshine starts peeking out and the snow melts, I know I’ll get an urge to clean off my golf clubs and get ready for another summer of uneven, somewhat pathetic travels on the golf course. During an 18-hole round, if I can par just one link, I consider that a victory. I’m also happy when I walk away from the course without an injury. It’s not fun to throw your back out of joint while hitting a fairway wood.
To all of you golfers eager to hit the links, my best to you this upcoming season.
— Matt Johnson is publisher of the Monroe Times. His column is published Wednesdays.
