Garage Sales & Golf Classes

What do garage sales and golf classes have in common? For most people, not a darn thing. For me, however, a $5 find gave me the confidence not only to trust my instructor, but also to be counted on by my playing partners, if only for just one hole.

Actually, the golf class was an excellent diversion of sorts. It was a stress reliever from work; not only could I take out life’s frustrations on an unsuspecting orb, but I could also forget how awful my game really was by walking around in the pro shop pretending I was a world-famous Big Bertha-buster in search of a bright, new outfit.

Upon arriving that night full of Fore!, our instructor directed us immediately to the southern portion of the driving range.

“Kraig, there won’t be any classwork tonight. We’re starting out on the driving range, so you might want to go get your clubs.”

No classwork? No note taking? No laughing at golf stories? I would actually need my clubs? Uh-oh.

I found that in some sports, a person could actually hide a lack of talent, especially when participating in a team sport. Can’t shoot the rock in hoops? No problem, just pass. But golf? Every player was out on an island. And in this case, you might as well have called mine “Gilligan’s.”

Mr. Applegate, a golf pro and lifetime PGA member, demonstrated the correct G (grip) A (alignment) and P (posture). He once again reinforced the importance of letting the core muscles do the work promoting the swing and not relying on the arms.

We chipped, played bump and run at four distances, worked on our proximity shots with 7-irons, and then smote golf balls with our drivers. Excellent.

My swing was unpredictable. I might have a good swing, an iffy swing, or a downright “where in the world did that come from?” swing immediately followed by its cousin, “I hope no one saw that,” swing.

And then the bearer of bad news broke the, well, bad news.

“Okay, everyone, listen up,” explained our instructor. “I’m going to divide you all up into teams of three, and you’ll play nine holes in the scramble format.”

Teams? No solo sand shots? Oh, good gosh. My favorite form of scramble involved eggs, ham, and cheese.

The team play painfully reminded me of the time my son and I played in a foursome with Dave and Nate Houghton. We were to play nine holes and after every third one, we would switch partners. I started out with Mr. Dave Houghton, whom I knew to be a good golfer.

“Well, Dave. I’m sorry I’m your partner for these first three holes.”

“That’s okay, Kraig. We all have to be your partner today.”

Ouch?

Mr. Applegate informed me who my partners would be. In order to keep their identities secret, I will give them each an alias. How about Sergio and Rory? These two guys were really good. I would remain Kraig because everyone was already familiar with my swing. I later discovered that pairing two golfers with a hack was a way to keep the teams even. It was two good swings and then a cloud of duff.

It didn’t take long for us to find out who was the hack in our trio. Sergio and Rory weren’t interested in using my drive off the first tee. Nor did they appreciate my fairway shot, iron, or putt. Luckily for them, we did make par; so that was a good start.

Sergio and Rory helped locate my tee shot on holes one, two, and three. I had trouble keeping up with the pace of play. I forgot to bring cash in case I needed to rent a cart. Sergio and Rory flew around the course on four wheels complete with air conditioning. I chauffeured the struggle bus while using a pull cart.

In the back of my head, the still, small voice of my golf instructing Yoda was saying, “practicing proximity is important because even if you don’t hit a shot 200 yards, as long as it is straight, it will be easier to find on the fairway.”

Great advice. Sometime I ought to actually try that.

We were in the middle of the fairway, still not having used a shot of mine. Never having played this course before, I asked about distance.

“The group up ahead, how far out are they?” I asked.

Sergio was sitting in the cart, eyes closed, waiting on the traffic jam ahead of us to move out of the way.

“Do you have a club in the bag that’ll get you 250 yards?” asked Rory.

“If I did, I would’ve used it off the tee,” I replied. Sergio and Rory cackled. I wasn’t kidding.

Rory took a swing and drove it across the water but deep past the green on the right. Sergio drew back and lofted a shot way left. Gulp. Now it was my turn. If my partners and I had a serious shot at par on this hole, it lay squarely on the shoulders of Señor Struggle Bus. I looked at the distance and then looked in my bag for inspiration. I soon found it in the form of my $5 garage sale 3-wood. This sucker screamed “old-school.” It also happened to scream “cheap!”

I took two practice swings. I rotated my hips slowly on the back swing, tucked my chins, then rotated my hips again in the opposite direction while bringing the club head down toward the ball.

“Boom.”

My little white Slazenger was up and airborne before I could lift my head. I followed through and about fainted as I watched my shot head to the middle of the green!

“Kraig, we’re taking your shot. Nice shot,” said Sergio.

I felt great. All of the instruction from Ron Applegate paid off in spades on that one specific shot.

It really didn’t matter that for most of the remaining holes I was either a wormburner sending my ball just barely screaming over the turf, or that I was a wack-a-mole poking my head up too soon to see where the golf ball had gone. My $5 garage sale 3-wood had proven that on any night, on any given hole, if I just listened and put into practice what my golf instructor was explaining, then not only could I improve my golf game, but I could also save some serious cash, too.