Two Thumbs Down on the Four-Wheel Cart

Finally bought a new push-cart of the four-wheel kind. Costco was having a deal on a $99 model that looked just like the Sun Mountain one that hubby and I have been eyeing all year. At 15 pounds, it is relatively lightweight, and it does open and close like a breeze. But I tried it out on the course today, and I must give it two thumbs down. Here's why:

1) The wheels only roll straight, so to roll the cart on a curve, you have to lift the front two wheels by pushing down on the handle. After doing this all round long, my triceps are actually sore. My old two-wheeler was much easier to maneuver since I just had to steer with the handle and it would go wherever I pulled or pushed it.

2) You need to kick on the brake to make sure the cart doesn't roll away. My old two-wheeler had a brake that I never had to use since the plate where the bag rests effectively served as a brake by resting on the ground whenever you stop the cart and let go of the handle. Having to step on a brake is yet another repetitive motion that annoyed me.

3) Because it's heavier and harder to maneuver, I couldn't take the four-wheeler all the way up to the collar of the green like I can with my trusty two-wheeler.

4) Worst of all, you have to push the cart. Pulling it is doable, but awkward. The thing I like about pulling my two-wheeler is that it gives me a good stretch in the arm and chest muscles, which are essential to driving the ball long and keeping the arms straight and relaxed. With the push-cart, I felt like my arms were always bent and all my upper body muscles were constantly tensed in the pushing motion. I already spend too much time hunched over a computer, and the last thing I want to do is feel like my back is hunched over a push-cart.

So, it's back to the two-wheel push-cart for me. Maybe I'll try a three-wheeler, though I have a feeling I'd end up with all the same problems as a four-wheeler. Or maybe I will just have to save up some dough for the remote control golf cart.

You Might Even Say It Glows

One thing about being of a certain age is that you get to see fashion trends come and go, and come around again. Take neon, for example. It was back in the ‘80s when neon colors like day-glo pink and fluorescent yellow were first deemed appropriate for use as apparel, as opposed to just highlighter pens. Now, thirty years later, neon is back. It probably came back last year. I am not quite sure, since I don’t really follow fashion. I just seemed to notice a lot of neon colors in stores as I walk around town these days.

Chalk it up to the power of suggestion, but lately I am finding this vibrant neon pink color appealing, so I bought a shirt in that color and wore it with a bright green vest out on the golf course the other day. Even though it’s winter already, the temps were supposed to peak in the 60s. Plus, I was golfing with my hubby and it felt like a date, so I wanted to look even more chipper than usual.

As I strolled up to the clubhouse with my hubby next to me, we heard a golf cart screech to a halt nearby. We turned to look, and the man in the cart leaned out and said, “Well, the good news is, if it snows, you’ll be able to find her!”

I looked down at my bright pink shirt and laughed. Yup, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer ain’t got nothin’ on me.

Golf Gifts for the Gal Who Has Everything

I was browsing on Etsy the other day, wondering what they had in the way of golf gifts, and I came across these hand-painted wooden tees from a shop called WyomingCreative out in the cowboy state. The shop also makes hand-stamped ball markers with encouraging sayings like, "Just tap it in." Pretty nifty, aren't they:

Another shop called JudyCootieCreations makes hand-painted tees with whimsical little pictures of ladybugs, flowers, sailboats, and fish, which are sure to lift your spirits just before you top them with a ball and whack the crap out it.

Seriously, though, these tees are too cute to actually use, but they would certainly add a little flair to a Christmas stocking!

The Driver Wedge Game

I've always dreamed of playing a driver-wedge game, just like the pros do. That means they hit driver so long that there's only a wedge shot left to get on the green in regulation. Last week, I had a taste of this. I was playing a course that I affectionately call "the Mindf*ck Course," otherwise known as The Woodlands. It shares the same clubhouse with Diamond Ridge, where the girls and I have been playing a lot lately. I kind of dislike the 20-minute drive out there, though, because it's always just after morning rush hour, when all the big trucks are on the highway, menacing those of us in little sedans. Also, driving on the highway to get to a golf course makes me feel like I'm commuting to work or something.

But on December 1, the county golf courses dropped to winter rates, and the normally pricey Woodlands suddenly became affordable. So Bea set up a tee time there. The last time I played there was last winter with Seri, when we were matched up with a former pro lacrosse player who actually thought we were good golfers. Somehow I had parred the first two holes, and did okay till the turn, when it all went to pot.

This time, I played like crap from the get go. I've had loads of work lately, so it felt weird to be standing up instead of sitting at a desk in front of a computer. While my driver was magnificent, everything else was crazytown. Let me explain. The Woodlands is a short course, yardage-wise, but just about every tee shot is blind, so you have no idea where that ball is supposed to land once it gets over that hill in front of you. Plus, the fairways are narrow and either concave or convex, leaving you with really awkward stances and almost impossible lies from the rough. Because of this driving-into-the-unknown business, I lost 3 balls on the front nine alone.

On the up side, the course has some short par 4s that I drove to within 20 or 30 yards of the green. And it's on these holes that my wedge became very important. But my $16 wedge failed me miserably. I skulled it on almost every shot. It was so frustrating to get close enough to birdie on a par 4 and then ruin my chances with a skulled shot 30 yards over the green. Seri, who has a flawless short game, tried to explain what I was doing wrong, something about using all arms and no body turn, but I just couldn't get it. I tried to remember what I'd learned from that one golf lesson I took where Mike explained how to hit a wedge shot. But that was before I actually owned a real wedge club.

My husband thinks it's my cheap wedge. I think it's partly that, but it's mainly my technique. But I don't want to complain. I know my wedges need work. And it looks like I've got my work cut out for me.

All in the Family

The day after Thanksgiving is traditionally a very crowded day on the golf course. I managed to get hubby to agree to play with me and I was able to snag the last available late-morning tee time which would allow us to get in 18 holes before dark. We were paired with a 30-something guy and his 12-year-old nephew who was so adorable it made my ovaries hurt. The boy was small for his age, but he swung the club with a natural, child-like abandon that often resulted in shots better than everyone else’s. His uncle, on the other hand, was under the tutelage of a golf buddy, who was either a terrible golfer or giving out bad advice as a joke. When the uncle addressed the ball, it looked like he was squatting to take a poop. But he was a nice guy who explained that he only played golf a few times a year, whenever he and his family got together for the holidays. He pointed to the foursome ahead of us. “That’s my family over there. Dad, brother, brother-in-law, and my other nephew. Dad’s the real golfer because he’s retired and has the most time to play. He’s good, but he gets kind of angry if he doesn’t play well.”

As the round progressed, I could see that anger kind of ran in the family. Whenever the uncle would hit a bad shot, which was almost every time, he’d fling the club at the dirt and mutter a self-admonition to himself, such as, “Really? Again?” What was interesting was that the nephew picked up on it, imitating the club-flinging and self-flagellating comments, although not as often since he didn’t hit as many bad shots.

It didn’t help that my hubby outdrove the uncle by about 100 yards. After nine holes, the uncle must’ve cried uncle, because he shook our hands and said he and his nephew were going to switch with two other family members at the turn.

So the uncle and nephew were replaced with the uncle’s brother and the other nephew, in other words, a father and son. It turned out the father was also a pastor, and for a pastor, he sure cursed up a storm. (Call me Pollyanna, but I consider “dangit” a curse.) And he liked to use golf clubs to kick up dirt too. I asked him what kind of pastor he was, and he said “nondenominational,” which is probably why he didn’t say “Jesus” as a curse word. His son was two years older than the other son, i.e. the nephew I’d played with on the front nine. His hair was shorn close to his head, which gave him a forlorn look. He didn’t need to look so sad, since he had a decent swing. But he cursed and threw the club at the ground too, as though those learned behaviors were part of the rules of the game.

Occasionally, I’d hear a very loud, annoyed, “Goddarnit!” emanating from the group ahead, and there was really no question who it had come from. Like father, like uncle, like brother, like son.   

The Future and Other Buzzkills

A few weeks ago, when I had first gotten my new driver, I was at the range breaking it in. It had taken me about half a bucket to figure out how to hold the grip so I wasn’t pulling every shot left. I had just hit one or two perfect, straight drives that flew at and over the 170-yard target mound when I heard someone say, “For such a little girl, you got a big swing!” I looked up to see an ancient old man with a face weathered by age and perhaps illness setting up his golf bag in the stall next to me. I was annoyed at the interruption and wasn’t sure what to make of the comment, so I smiled grudgingly and forced a whispered “hee hee” giggle out of my mouth, pretending I was a shy Korean who couldn’t speak English. A frown of confusion shadowed the old man’s face, and he left to go fetch a bucket of balls.

A wave of guilt immediately overcame me, but I rushed to refocus. I hit one or two more perfectly straight, long drives, and I was pleased that the old man hadn’t irreparably broken my reverie after all. So when he returned, I apologized. “Hey, I’m sorry if I was rude before. I had just figured something out with my swing and I didn’t want to forget it.” Then I went on to babble proudly about my new Ping G20 driver and how it was helping me gain extra yards off the tee.

Being an old man, he had also switched to game-improvement drivers recently, and I listened to him explain the benefits of the TaylorMade Rocketballz and Burner clubs he’d turned to. “I can’t swing like I used to, and these help a lot,” he said.

As we returned to our separate stalls, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad. I wondered how long I had at this game till I wouldn’t be able to swing like I used to. Then again, I feel so far from the apex of my game that I haven’t yet reached the point where I could imagine lamenting swinging “like I used to.”

But I know someday that point will come. I had just graduated from ladies’ flex shafts to regular mens’ flex. I thought I could donate my old ladies’ flex G2 to someone in need. But maybe the day will come when I’d regress and need that old thing again.

I looked at the old man, his back turned to me and his head lowered, gazing at his rubber tee, and I thought, “You’ve been where I am. Where you are now is where someday I will be.”

When I had finished my bucket of balls, I left quietly without saying goodbye to the old man. I had a feeling I’d see him around again, either at the range or sometime in the future, at the big golf course in the sky. There, everyone’s tee shots will fly straight and perfect, and it won’t matter what club you use.

Driver Love

I love my new driver and 3-wood so much I sometimes have the urge to kiss them. Of all my clubs, they are the only ones I still keep the head covers on when I'm out on the course. I let all the other clubs go bare to lighten my walking cart load. But my new Ping G-20 driver and 3-wood -- well, I still keep their socks on. I've had them for a couple of weeks now and we are all getting along quite well. I've been playing Diamond Ridge, one of the longer public courses in the county, and recently I was able to break 100, shooting 97 and 98 the last two times out. This is something I've never done before at that course. I know I could do even better, but I get so excited when I hit driver and 3-wood super-long that I just lose focus on the shorter shots. This may change when I get around to buying new irons. I am lusting for the Ping G20 irons, but I am waiting to see if black Friday will bring a major price drop.

Today I hit two notable drives of 220 and 225 yards. These were on relatively flat fairways with no helping wind. My new driver does seem to propel the ball with more forward roll, and these distances were longer than I've ever hit before. It felt a bit like breaking the sound barrier.

There was one par 4 hole that is 230 yards from the red tees, but it is a sharp dogleg right that beckons the reasonable mind to aim at the bend in the fairway, rather than tee off over a large bunker and directly at the hole. Today I felt so confident with my driver that I decided to go for it. Of course, I landed in the bunker, but I was close. So close. Just a few more yards and I would have cleared the bunker easily. Can't wait to try again.