But on the range I was making contact AT LEAST every fifth swing!?!?

To this day whenever I golf with Dave he chuckles and asks if I remember the first time he and I were on a golf course together. I almost always shrug my shoulders and pretend to have forgotten. This, of course, is not the case. In all honesty that day will be burned into my memory forever. I had not thought about teeing off in front of anyone else but just in front of my friend, and failed to grasp the idea that on most summer days there would be a line of people waiting to get to the tee box. As we were dropped off and I pulled that old dingy bag full of clubs (probably once owned by Bobby Jones himself) out of the trunk of my mother's car, I looked around and it hit me. I wasn't just teeing off in front of Dave but in fact in front of a ton of "real" golfers. After we paid and I headed down to show the receipt to the starter I was shaking like washing machine that is loaded unevenly. This was it, my first time really golfing. We stepped up to the tee and there were about 10 people around, some waiting to tee off, others staff at Hillview golf course. It seemed like significantly more than 10 while I was standing over my ball however. I don't think I even looked at the ball I was just staring at the ground thinking I may have gotten in too deep on this whole "golf" idea. As I drew back my drive in that severely ugly baseball style swing I just repeated in my mind just hit the ball... hit the ball...hit the ball. STRIKE ONE!! I could hear the umpire say...oh wait its golf. One more time and contact. "Yes one out of two aint bad" I said almost at the exact time I made contact. The problem was that the ball landed just feet in front of me. It took me another 2 shots just to get out of the tee box. I could not have been more embarassed. I could see some of the older more experienced golfers sigh with what appeared to me at the time to be utter agony. That round of golf was about as bad as a round of 9 holes of golf could be. The ranger asked us several times to speed up, we let pretty much everyone on the course play through what seemed to me to be at least twice, and I didnt get tee to green in under 6 shots all day. NOT even on a par 3. Almost every shot I hit was undescribably bad. I say almost because I remember being about 70 yards out on a par four, after probably hitting 6 shots and I pulled out my rust covered pitching wedge. I took an ugly swing and somehow I made a shot that looked half respectable. The ball went up in the air and landed on the green. I was still a good country mile to the whole and had to putt over what appeared to be the grave site of a very large elephant, but I was on the green. This was the shot. You know the one that always keeps you coming back for more. This one did it. It was official I was hooked. I remember lying in bed that night and asking myself what exactly I did on that shot. If only I could repeat that say 80 more times with 13 other clubs I would be a good golfer. Thats the way it works, one good shot makes you physically salivate for more. You can forget every bad shot you have ever hit but you will almost always remember all of the best shots you have ever taken. This is why golf is a love hate type of addiction. You can be having the worst round of your life and be hating yourself for it and then one shot later every star has alligned and everything is right with the world. You went from zero to hero in one shot. I have said it before and I will say it again golf is an amazing sport!

My new (very very old) clubs take to the range

Like a man in his midlife crisis ripping down the freeway in his new family vehicle (2 seater porsche) at 120 miles per hour, I decided it was time to give the new clubs a test drive. There really was nothing like that first time at the range with my sweet set of rust covered clubs, lovingly wrapped in their red plaid vinyl bag. As I walked past bags reading Callaway and Taylor Made with pockets for balls, tees, wallets, velvet lined pockets for a person's delicate items, and even a lined pocket for "sodas" to keep thier owners hydrated on the course, I thought I am finally a golfer. Sure my bag barely held six balls and a small bag of tees forget keeping a six pack cold, but nevertheless I was there I was in the world of golf...practice golf but golf no doubt. My friend Dave and I grabbed a couple of mats side by side and got ourselves "warmed up". Dave had been golfing for a while and was a serious factor in me being interested in the sport. He told me he would help me learn how to play and we could go out together during the summer. Dave watched me take my first swing, which in my head was as graceful as a seasoned ballerina. In reality it was more similar to that of the great Charles Barkley...before Hank Haney had any input in the matter. Dave being the kind supportive friend he always is told me that it looked "great...for my first time". I definitely did not hit the ball and more likely didn't even come into the balls 4 foot personal bubble, but it was a start. After several more swings and misses, looking like Pedro Cerrano from the movie Major League trying to hit the curve ball, I finally made contact with one. The ball wiped out several blades of grass like the mower blades on my father's Jacobsen ride on mower and came to rest near the 100 yard sign. I was beaming and proud that I finally made contact with the ball and that it went 100 yards. I was, of course, using the driver which made the whole event all the more amusing as I later thought back on it, but I hit the ball.
I will never forget hearing the sounds of real metal drivers striking into the range balls. Dave had just come into possession of a brand new Taylor Made Burner Bubble driver ,that his grandfather got for him, and it sounded awesome. He stroked ball after ball straight down the middle right past the 200 yard marker with the ease and grace of Fred Astaire. He gave me pointer after pointer and none of them seemed to stick but hey I was at least making contact on every fifth swing. That day I went through a medium bucket using nothing but that old red wooden driver and I dont think I got one ball over 3 feet high or past that elusive 100 yard marker, but I had a blast. Me and one of my best friends together enjoying one of the most challenging sports in the world and seeing some, albeit little, progress. That little progress however is what keeps me coming back to this day. The hundred bad shots I hit cannot even come close to bringing me down from those 3 great PGA looking shots, and that is why I LOVE golf!

The start of the golf relationship

Like so many others my golf relationship began in a barn off the beaten path that sold "experienced" clubs from a far bygone era. As a twelve year old on vacation, my father asked me if I wanted to go check out a nearby barn that had golf clubs for sale. I felt like an elementary schooler on Christmas eve as I walked into the dark dusty barn. Who knew that this simple trip would lead to a serious addiction? The first step was to grab a bag...but not just any bag I decided that I wanted the red vinyl plaid colored bag. Then it was on to the clubs, all of which had more rust than shine but were nonetheless beautiful. I grabbed a wooden driver and three wood that my father told me was probably older than he was, then a 3, 5, 7, and 9 iron all covered with a patina that could have been from St. Andrews sacred soil for all I knew (not that I knew what St. Andrews was then). Finally I grabbed my pitching wedge, with its bamboo shaft and leather wrapped grip that was slightly pulling apart as if displaying the love and experience that the wedge had seen. Altogether I paid 5 dollars for each wood and 3 dollars for each iron and wedge for a total of 25 plus another 10 for the classic vinyl bag coming to a grand total of 35 well spent dollars. I did not realize at the time that I would someday buy a single club for almost 10 times as much, but it didn't matter, These were now MY CLUBS!! For the next week all I did was swing that pitching wedge. Sure it looked more like a little league baseball swing of a 3 year old with a broken arm but in my mind I was golfing. This was the start of my relationship with golf. Since then I have played probably a thousand rounds or more and have been to places all over my country and also in other countries. No matter where I golf in the future or where I have been since that day at the barn, it all started with those clubs.