Today I was looking for some stuff in the shed and found myself face to face with my old golf clubs. Being the sort of bloke who gets easily sidetracked when I’m in the middle of boring housework type jobs (full-time bar wench position still available to the right applicant btw) so I thought “why not?” and grabbed a club to hit a few balls around for a while.
I used to be a half decent golfer when I was younger. At the peak of my powers I was playing off a 14 handicap which, while obviously not putting me in the same class as Greg Norman, meant I could hold my own on the course. Hell, I once carded a 79 off the stick and can even lay claim to the 1995 local “C Grade” club championship…*insert Fatty head wobble here*…
Now, I hadn’t picked up a club in anger in over ten years but I figured it was like riding a bike…once you learn, you never forget. Oh how wrong I was…
In about an hour I ended up moving as much dirt as if I’d been swinging a shovel around the garden. I think I hit the ball properly maybe…twice?
And the fact that I have to go back to learning how to properly swing a club again if I ever want to venture out for a game of golf anytime in the foreseeable future isn’t the thing that has me worried.
You see I was under the impression that there was such a thing as “muscle memory” and to a certain degree I’m sure that’s true…as long as you keep using them (the muscles).
But if that old adage about riding a bike doesn’t apply to ALL physical activities then I might be in a spot of trouble if I ever manage to land myself another bar wench.
It’s been such a long time between “drinks” that if I can’t even hit a simple golf ball after all this time I’m now not so sure my body will remember all the steps when it comes to “the big dance”.
Come to think of it, the last time I pulled on the boots for a run in the local old boys footy game I made a break up the sideline and felt like I was going flat out only to look over my shoulder and see the oldest bloke on the field catching up like I was standing still. I was running soooo slow and no matter how hard I tried my legs just wouldn’t work like they used to.
In my prime I would have run the length of the field and scored under the posts. But in the cutthroat world of footy, especially for “the old boys”, you’re only as good as your last game and the boys still give me a hard time about that one. I’ve even had a few of them walk past me and sing “I believe I can fly…” as a not so subtle shit stir. Luckily I’ve got a good sense of humour…
So I guess if I ever want to play another game of golf I’d better start practicing again, at least enough so that I don’t make a fool of myself in front of everyone.
As far as the other thing goes, well I can’t really practice that one by myself too well so I’ll just have to hope that when push comes to shove (so to speak) that I have a partner with a bit of a sense of humour.
Actually…it might be fun to have to learn SOME things all over again…
