I played my first 18 holes of the season last week. I invited a slightly older woman I'd met training at the gym a couple weeks ago. She had good game, meaning she could get the ball in the air most of the time, but she had this tendency to talk while I was getting ready to swing. We were playing with two guys, a young one and an old one. When I was on the tee box at a par 3, I heard her chitchatting with the old guy, so I stopped and just looked at them till they got the message to hush up. Of course, my shot was ruined anyway and I ended up in a bunker. The next time, she decided to whisper loudly to the old dude just as I was getting ready to putt, so I had to turn to her and say, "Really? While I'm actually putting?" in as good-humored a way as I could. Truth is, though, I was quite annoyed. Call me old-fashioned, but talking during other people's swings and putts is just flat-out rude, especially among virtual strangers.
Since the woman seemed to be striking up a relationship with the old guy, I decided to chat with the young one. He was hitting from the blues, and I noticed he was a long hitter. I'll call him the Irish Lad since his first and last names clearly indicated that his ancestors must have hailed from the Emerald Isle.
"So, are you in a men's league or something?" I asked.
"No, I just play when I can," he said. "I work in sales, so I travel a lot and my schedule is flexible."
I quickly discovered what a stupid question it was to ask if he was in a men's league because his partner, the old dude, revealed that the Irish Lad was actually a former pro golfer. He played the developmental Hooter's tour and was once sponsored by Ping, though it didn't last. He missed the cut at the U.S. Open local qualifier a few years back, then suffered a health-related setback. Now he's training to try and make the cut again this summer.
I should have known that the Irish Lad was a pro. He had a quiet, modest demeanor, didn't curse and showed no emotion even when he hit a ball into the water. But most of all, he had a true golf whisper. I noticed that even when he was giving instruction to his partner (they didn't seem to talk except when the old guy asked for advice), I couldn't hear what he was saying. Even while on the same putting green, I could see lips moving but I couldn't hear sound coming out, as if he knew the exact decibel level for his vocals to travel exactly 1.5 feet and no more. This must be a talent that can only be developed on a professional tour.
Playing with high-level golfers always makes me nervous, but it also makes me want to play better. I noticed that I was hitting longer than usual, which I credit to my golf trainer making me work on my obliques. On a tee shot at a par 5, my ball flew in a perfect draw trajectory, up the fairway, farther than it had ever flown that fairway before. It was as if my ball had wings.
The Irish Lad said, "Wow, you out-drove me." Of course, my tee box was about 150 yards shorter than his, but I took it as a compliment. What made me beam inside, though, was the knowledge than I'd out-driven myself. So far, the work I'd been putting into strength-training seems to be paying off. While I've been wearing an elbow compression band to prevent tendinitis, these early outings have given me the confidence to look forward to the season.
And news flash -- I finally joined a women's league. It's a different one than the one I almost joined last year. I was encouraged to join by a woman whom I'll call "Sergeant Pixie" because she's a petite redhead who once served in the Air Force and has an effervescent, optimistic quality to her, although she is also disciplined and tough. She's kind of like an ex-military Tinkerbell. We'd gotten together for a few 9-hole pre-season rounds in the past couple weeks; it was fun and she didn't do anything annoying. I decided that if the other members of her league were like her, then the league would have the right mix of sociability & self-improvement. So I joined. League play doesn't start till mid-May. In the meantime, I'll be testing out those wings on my golf ball.
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