Hot Golf
Central Florida is hot and muggy. Our sticky summers send many scurrying forthe north each year. As a native Floridian you would think I would beaccustomed to these heat onslaughts. ButI’m caught off guard every year. I find myself even attempting to justifyresiding in this hot box (and don’t let me get started on the politics of thissweaty state.) This summer, as the west suffered 107-degree days I naivelynoted how afternoon rain showers often cool down the 95+ degree heat. “So, we are better off here than in otherparts,” I said reassuringly to my furry, panting, labradoodle one overheatedafternoon. On the heels of that boast, Icalculated the heat index. Combining the temp and the humidity level, the indexregistered a resounding 116 degrees!
The pathetic point of this diatribe is the fact I only calculated the index after playing golf that morning. Perhaps it was my tomato red face or the fact I almost fainted following my drive on the fourth hole that should have clued me in. By the eighth hole I was pondering whether the hat I was wearing was a good or bad idea. Was it really shielding me from the sun’s radiating rays, or was the hat just holding my head hostage to the heat? I think even my liver got a suntan that day.
But somehow, by the next day, hell it was probably even fourhours later, I’d forgotten about the misery. I began planning my next golfouting. Sure enough, the following Sundayfound me out on the links again. Itdoesn’t really matter the time of day in the month of August. Golfers like to pretendearly morning golf is cooler. I thinkthe dew emanating from fairway (actually from the rough where I typically findmyself) generates even more humidity.
What is it about that stupid game I, and others, find soaddictive? I guess I just answered my own question. It’s addictive. Each time I stand over that tiny, dimpled ball,I hope that maybe, just maybe, this time I will hit the ball on the sweet spotof the club face. That moment of impact is called “the moment of truth” and isexcruciatingly satisfying. I admit tohaving used the word “orgasmic” to describe the satisfaction of hitting a goodshot. A “good shot” is one that (a)travels an appropriate distance, and (b) manages to travel in the correctdirection. Now, how often does thatmarriage happen? After ten years, Iwould have to say, “often enough”. Although I must say, my score at the end of most rounds does not reflectmy level of enjoyment. Typically, I don’t play more than nine holes. I really wish I could find a golf course witha twelve-hole option. Eighteen is too many and nine too few. I also wish thecup on the greens was six inches rather than a measly four. A cup four inches in diameter on an undulated(definition: slopy) green makes for a ridiculously hard game.
As a thirty-year potter, I used to tell my golfer friends Ihad no intention of taking up the game. “Pottery is frustrating enough. I don’tneed something else to test my patience.” So, I gave up pottery. I like beingoutside. I like the social aspect of the game. And I Love hitting the sh@! out of that stupid little ball. Friends and I have been known to dodgelightning strikes and pelting rain to finish a hole.
So, this post is a shout-out to my fellow ball enthusiasts. Do you feel the same compunction when you play tennis, pickleball, golf, racquetball, etc? Do you, on occasion, risk 116-degree heat and thunderclaps, to fulfill your ball-lust of choice? I just booked a flight for Chicago. I’m going to play in dryer, 70-degree weather up there. Oh yes, and I’m going to visit my kids and grandchildren too. See you on the links….