Take Your Medicine

Fore!

It never failed. As an 11 year old and first year golfer, I was always late to the course. If my tee time was at 8 AM, I didn't get there until 8:15. Since driving myself wasn't an option, I had the convenient luxury of blaming my slow-driving, unaggressive parents. This did not take into account the fact that a 7:30 AM wake up call on a Saturday, for an 11 year old, was preposterous. But, playing at 8 AM afforded more opportunity for a full Saturday. So there we were, freed of the prison that was Matt Power's backyard, dirt infested, root protruding, makeshift green ready to hit the real thing.

I always came in last. Golf required patience, standing still, and a lot of downtime between shots. None of this played to my strengths. At the time, my example to follow in golf was my uncle. As an amateur, he had played in a handful of tournaments in and around Columbus and had even made the paper on occasion. Since he made the paper, he might as well have been Tom Watson (Tiger Woods had yet to win the 97 Masters when I was 11). When my uncle offered me a better set of clubs, I pounced on the opportunity. If nothing else, Ping irons made me look a lot more legitimate than the Trident off brand clubs I had been hitting since I started. Even better than the irons, he gave me my first titanium driver. Nothing beat that momentary satisfaction after striking the ball and hearing the high pitched noise of the 21st century Golf Gods. Who cares if the ball careened 15 yards into the woods? If someone wasn't watching, they'd have thought that noise produced a 300 yard killed drive down the center of the fairway. They'd do a double take when they saw an 11 year old boy, standing 5'7'' and weighing 120 pounds soaking wet had just crushed that ball off the tee.

On the first golf outing with my newfound technology and confidence that came with, I watched in awe as my uncle pounded his 1st hole tee shot up the right side of the dog leg right at Maple Ridge Golf Club, a mere 120 yards from the green. "Good way to start", he said meekly. I set my tee up and took a couple of non-chalant practice swings. Trying to look as cool as possible, I strode to the ball and purposely set up to take advantage of my now patented slice. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing?" asked the sage of all things golf. "Listen Uncle Dave, I slice the ball when I use the driver. So I'm setting up to use my slice and put myself in the fairway." I had prepared and anticipated this exchange. If I was nervous before, I was obscenely nervous now. "Alright, let's see it." My uncle combined a dismissive tone with a hint of assurance. Feeling slightly more affirmed, I again began the purposeful stride to that Titleist x-out I had found on the range. I addressed the ball, and started my swing. Swinging as hard as possible, and apparently pulling my head off the ball far too early, I came up completely empty. "Wow, son. You really got a hold of that one." Red faced and embarrassed, I took another hack and promptly heard that sound that all golfers yearn for. The ball sliced, further than I had planned for, and I'd find myself sifting through pine trees and gum balls looking for it.

"Better just go ahead and take your medicine." I looked at my uncle, puzzled. In the mind of an 11 year old, that statement implies taking Robitussin or Sudafed. Apparently my non-verbal communication skills were already sharp at this young age, as my uncle waxed poetic about Jack Nicklaus and his use of the apparent golf maxim. "If you find your ball in the woods, just punch out and hit your next shot. Don't go making it worse by trying to hit some Macgyver shot." I was happy that my uncle actually thought I might be able to hit a Macgyver shot. Clearly, that 'take your medicine' line is some sort of metaphor for life. I don't remember thinking that at the time, I'm not sure I even knew what a metaphor was at 11 as Ms. Schell's 5th grade class was more focused on 4 square than academics.

Reluctantly, I took the advice. I really thought I could squeeze the ball through the foot wide gap between the pine tree and the pine tree, but my uncle had been in the paper before. For golf. So, I couldn't not take his advice. The punch out successful, I set up to take my 3rd shot on the par 4. Hitting the best (read:luckiest) shot of my young golf career, the ball rested 6 feet from the hole, begging to be returned home. His bags were packed, he was waiting at the airport, so I obliged and sent him home for my first career par. "Not bad son." I'm not a fan of being called son, but that one was ok.

Unfortunately, that miraculous par was not a sign of things to come. The proverbial wheels fell off quickly, and I snailed my way to a sterling score of 128. The next Casey Martin, I was not (You know, because he got to play professionally and ride in a cart). But, taking my medicine was worth it. It seemed like a concession, but the results played out better than the alternative. Hopefully, I'll take my medicine more often.