If you know me, then I guarantee you I’m the worst golfer you have ever met.
If you haven’t met me, when when do meet I will automatically become the worst golfer you have ever met.
This is not where my heart lies and is most certainly not by design, but it is the truth. It’s a cruel reality that haunts me almost daily. When I drive by a golf course I imagine the wonderful shots I would make — my drives splitting the middle of the fairway; the high-arching approach shot striking the green then checking up and gently rolling within feet of the cup; the tap-ins for birdies and the long winding putts for eagle. All of those are things I imagine, but when it comes to golf my imagination frankly ain’t worth much.
Now before we get into a heated argument about some terrible hack of a golfer you know that is BY FAR worse then me, there are a few rules: they must actually own golf clubs; have at one time or another tried to play on a regular basis; and have played in at least one tournament, even if it’s a company scramble.
I am a self-taught golfer, which only proves that not only am I the worst golfer you’ve ever met, I’m also the worst golf instructor you know.
But how I love the game. I enjoy watching it. I really checking out golf course layouts. I would go watch a pro tournament in a minute. All of that does not one little bitty thing to improve my game.
One of the stories I like to tell “fellow golfers” when I first meet them is that the last four times I played I shot a 72. They say, “really”? And I respond “really”, of course I may fail to initially mention my 72nd shot took place on the 11th hole and at that point I simply stopped playing.
Another way I keep score is by how many golfballs I loose. I try not to ever take more than two dozen with me, otherwise it can get quite expensive.
You don’t believe I’m that terrible? Well let me share three stories with you — and you better believe there are many more — that will cement the truth of my golf awfulness forever into your disbelieving brain.
— I am a pro at hitting the ball into the water. It doesn’t matter if it’s a lake, a creek, a river, a stream or the cup of water in my playing partner’s hands — if there is water, I’m going to find it.
On more than one occasion I have actually hit the ball into the water behind the tee box. Yep, behind the tee box. How is that possible? Simple, just smoke a drive into a pine tree right in front of you and then duck, because that baby is coming back “atcha” on a mission.
— One of my most often-told golfing futility stories occurred many moons ago at the football preseason media days for the University of West Alabama.
The media guys and gals would team up with school alumni and members of the coaching staffs to form three or four person teams to play a scramble tournament. The rules of scramble play is that everybody on the team hits a tee shot, then all of the team members get to pick out the best drive to play their second shot from there. The same thing takes place on each following shot until the ball finally gets into the hole.
I don’t remember who was in my group, but I do remember the circumstances. My team was about to finish the front side and was teeing off on No. 9. When it came my turn I decided to use my trusty 5 wood so I could put the ball in play and give us a reasonable ball to play as the rest of the guys on my team pulled out their drivers and hit is as far as the could.
I lined up and took a mighty swing. To this day I still can’t tell you where the ball went, and neither could anyone in my playing group. That’s because their attention was squarely on the 5 wood which slipped out my hands and flew like a propeller freshly dislodged from a helicopter finally coming to rest in a tall pine tree to my left. I mean way up. Way, way up. So far up that we literally couldn’t find it.
UWA sports information director Mike Peacock nearly killed himself as he raced in his golf cart back to the clubhouse to tell everyone else the incredible feat of golfing lore he had just witnessed.
My longtime friend Dee Outlaw, the former athletic director at UWA, said that he himself had thoroughly searched for the club to no avail. In fact, when severe winds took that stand of trees down several years ago he went and searched again.
My club my be gone, but the story lives on forever.
— That however is not my most spectacular piece of golf-work. Robbie Robertson and my oldest son Ryan Satcher were eye witnesses to the tale I’m about to share.
This occurred on the No. 6 hole at Lakeview Golf Course, which is an uphill dogleg to the left bordered by the lake on the right.
Both of these guys have seen the unpredictable flight of the ball when I’ve struck it before, so they safely remained seated in the golf cart behind me as I lined up to unleash my next mammoth drive.
I’m not even sure how this happened, but when I swung I struck the ball with the very nose of the driver with such force that it went directly toward the lake in front of me, struck the tee box sign and then came directly back toward me. It screamed past me to the left and then went through the golf cart almost directly “behind” me where Robbie and Ryan were sitting.
I’m telling you folks, when I’m playing golf nobody is safe.
Austin Bishop, AKA The Old Sports Dude, has been covering high school, college, amateur and professional sports since 1975. He is currently pastor of Great Commission Assembly of God in Philadelphia, Miss. He may be contacted by email at starsportsboss@yahoo.com.
