White balls in the sand

*I wrote this yesterday but couldn't post it. Here it is a day late*

Today I got my first taste of white elitism. I dipped my finger in the sport of Scotsmen, played best sober, but more often with a beer. Hitting small white balls over acres and acres of land. Yes my friends, I played golf.

Real golf too! Not that disc golf that all the hippies play. No sir! This was old rich white men golf. I even bought a glove. A single glove. Cost me $16.99 plus tax. I can't say it helped my game any, but it did protect my left hand from the elements. And Oh! The elements! I could go on like a Hemingway novel about how we braved the rain-permeated wind with high gusts and bending tree limbs. I could, but I'd be lying.

I met a few guys from work at an open course on Yale this morning, Think it was going to be a quick game and no wind, I was the only one wearing shorts and t-shirt. Everybody else is wearing jeans and either sweatshirts or long-sleeve polos. Thankfully there is no dress code on this course, but one could easily pick the hillbilly out of the bunch. I'm just lucky I wasn't playing with tree branches and stones tied to sticks, ala the Flintstones. Everybody else is pulling Pings and Cobras and Callaways from their bags, I'd be the guy with a pelican, holding it by the feet. Saved by my double awesome cart-chauffer, Derek loaned me one of his older collections, so I had a good working set. Was I any good?

Excuse me while I laugh. Hahahahaha!

The Golden Bear I am not. We followed the rule of not going above 8 strokes on any given hole. I think on all but 4 or 5 of them I 'snowman'ed it. I was truly horrible. My father would be ashamed. All the hours he had spent in the backyard, the putting greens, the driving ranges, the courses... one would think the latent talent he has would have rubbed off on me. Nay nay. I was shanking, hooking, slicing and the all comical "never hitting the ball" stroke. That's great. Out there with a group of my peers and it's like a Lucy sketch on the fairway.

"Keep your head down!", "Bend your knees, elbow straight!", "Don't pull up!", "Don't pivot here, pivot here!" I was getting frustrated by the end, and after losing my fifth ball on hole 17 I just gave up. I had fun, but I had given my all by that point. The worst thing is that I'm already sore. I'm dreading tomorrow morning. If I'm hurting now, what's tomorrow going to be like? But fun... that's the key. I had fun.

Also, Dave almost killed a guy. I could elaborate, but I won't.