Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Golf: I don't get it

I am pretty tolerant when it comes to sports. I even enjoy them, most of the time, and my tom-boyishness prompts me to (attempt to) be knowledgeable about sports.

But try as I might, I just don't get the whole golf thing.

Last weekend was one of several weekends throughout the year during which an incurable boredom gloom settles over the entire Carter household. Well, not the entire household; my dad is deeply content as he sits in his chair for a million hours straight.

Yes, you guessed correctly: I'm talking about golf marathon weekends. The Master's tournament just happens to be one of my dad's favorite golf tournaments, and he faithfully watches all 14,000 hours of it every year while the rest of us walk around with glazed-over eyes.

I'm not accusing my dad of anything beyond suffering from the same illusion that most of the male population suffers from: that golf is fun, even if you don't have to swing a club or walk to the next hole.

However, I am still trying to understand this fascination with this brand of ball watching, chasing, and throwing. I have come to the conclusion that it must be one (or more) of several things:

  • The bizarre fashion choices.

  • The exciting commentary: "Tiger is squaring up . . . Oh, he doesn't look happy--it must be because he is a cheatah . . . Let's wait for the ball to land . . . And he misses another birdie. . ." (I think it's the commentators' monotone voices that cast the first soporific spell on those of us not suffering from mental delusions.)

  • The dramatic music played before and after commercial breaks.

  • The slightly gay-looking athletes. You know, perfectly styled hair, matching pink outfits . . .

  • Watching the crowd scamper for cover whenever a ball comes their way.

  • Listening to the crowd's dramatic intake of breath while the small white ball teeters on the edge of a cliff, hill, or hole.

  • Riding in a golf cart and calling it "exercise."

  • Skipping out on work to enjoy the beautiful surroundings (actually, that one I understand).

  • Age is no limit. Even 4-year-olds and grandpas can swing a club.

Hmm, I must be really dim. I'm still not getting it. I guess I'll just have to accept the fact that golf really is for Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden.

1 comment:

  1. Hee hee! I can just imagine everyone stumbling around like zombies while Dad sits contentedly and unaware on the couch...