From the editor
A large and fancy golf bag sits at the bottom of the stairs in the basement, the brand PING emblazoned across the side. It’s huge. It’s gaudy. I think I could fit both my 2-year-old and my 1-year-old daughters inside and still have room for the diaper bag and the stroller. I get both nervous and excited every time I pass it.
The bag was a hand-me-down gift from my father, a very good golfer who plays 3-4 times per week year-round in Arizona and Florida. The clubs inside, Cleveland something or others with graphite shafts, were also hand-me-downs. Yes, the bag and the clubs are used, but they are certainly a step-up from the skinny little golf club-toter I purchased at Target a while back and the no-name clubs I hack with currently.
I know there will come a time when I will have to debut the flashy bag and the expensive clubs on a golf course with my friends, who will not hesitate to make fun of me. I can hear them now:
“Spence, with such expensive clubs you’d think you wouldn’t have to borrow any more balls from me.”
“Spence, can I climb in your bag and take a nap?”
“Spence, is that a metal detector or your driver?”
I know this will happen because a few years back, my hacker pals and I met in Florida for a golf outing, and one of us showed up looking as if he were sponsored by Callaway. New bag, clubs, socks, shoes, golf glove – he looked as if he had just gotten off the PGA tour, and he had the gall to play well. We made fun of him until he nearly cried. Such a fate awaits me, which I’m both looking forward to and dreading. I’m hoping that better play, due to the new updated equipment, will help ease the effects of such ridicule.
On Saturday, the bag and the clubs went to the driving range with me. The head of my new driver is ridiculously enormous. A golf ball next to it looks like a pinch of white from a cotton ball. When I swung the driver, it felt like I was swinging a hollowed-out mallet attached to the stem of a weed. To my surprise, the ball didn’t shoot from the tee and travel 275 yards in a straight line like I was praying it would. It popped up, hit the upper deck area above me and bounced but a few feet from where I was standing. No one noticed.
I was able to punch a few decent shots out with the metal detector, but the majority of shots were pathetic, errant and life-threatening. The irons weren’t much better. My short-game is usually my strongest, but the whipping pitching wedge and the 9-iron shots looked more like low line drives than soft and lofty pop-ups. I was discouraged to say the least.
I have got to get this under control before I meet the guys. Perhaps a Callaway visor might do the trick?
Contact: bspencer@wjinc.com