From the Sidelines: For a terrible golfer, par is sweet victory
Sports reporter
Golf is a funny yet amazing game.
That can be said about many sports really. Skating on ice hitting a puck, shooting a round ball through a hoop, or hitting a tiny ball with a wooden stick.
Golf however, is frustrating, odd, almost silly, but if played perfectly, even just one good hole, can be a great feeling of accomplishment.
At first, the thought of hitting a tiny ball more than three football fields in length toward a tiny hole, seems about as much fun as watching someone watch paint dry. And really, the actual game is not always fun.
But what makes the sport great is not how fun it is, but the sense of accomplishment when one defeats the course that lies there motionless, silently laughing as you hit the ball in the water for the third time.
The splash in itself is the course's way of saying, "I got you again."
But then comes that hole. For a professional golfer it might be a eagle on 18 at The Masters. For an avid recreational golfer it might be a birdie on a hole that always caused him or her to finish with a double or triple bogey.
For someone who really is no good and can hit a moving baseball better than a stagnant golf ball (I've never understood that), it's shooting par on a par four for the first time, from the blue tees no less.
Sad, yes.
But in all my years of golfing, which is about twice a year for the past 13 years until this summer, a lucky par three every now and again was as close as I could get to beating any hole.
Now granted, a par is only breaking even with a hole, but when you lose every time, a tie is a victory.
So as my friend Pete tapped in Sunday on hole number two for par for the 10,000th time in his life, I followed suit from five feet out, and not letting on to him or our friend Nate, felt like I just won The Masters.
Once again, sad.
We're talking about a course (name withheld) that Travis Hett could shoot even-par on or better in his sleep.
My second par attempt of the day on hole number four from six feet out was no good. I tapped in for bogey, and little did I know that was my demise. At that moment the course smiled a sly smile, knowing it had me right where it wanted me.
A disgruntled golfer might as well be a writer without a laptop.
Angry at missing such a gimme, I proceeded to lose a ball on the next hole, land one right next to a tree on seven, and out-drive Pete on my third shot on eight.
As I tapped in for double bogey on nine, I wondered why I played this game.
Basketball, a sport I can at least not embarrass myself in, is free and open to anyone anytime. While golf not only costs money to play, it also manages to frustrate everyone who steps in a tee box from this columnist to Tiger Woods.
Still, it's a great game, if only because when you succeed at something at which you so often fail, it makes it that much sweeter.
Even if Tiger could have birdied my par hole left-handed, it doesn't matter to me. At that moment, the hole that was pre-conceived to laugh at my failure sat silent.
That is until Nate tapped in for an eight.
