In the beginning . . .

I took up golf in the '80s of the last century for the limpest of reasons.  I had joined a law firm, my partners played the game, and a fair amount of our firm and business development activities included or involved golf.  So, over beer and burgers in my backyard, my next door neighbor and I agreed to swap an unused set of golf clubs sitting in his garage for my wife's old bicycle sitting in our garage.   A few weeks later, the bicycle (now his wife's) was stolen from his garage, while the garaging marauders left the clubs (now mine) untouched.  He only commented that whoever stole the bicycle got further on it than anyone had ever gotten with those clubs.

The irons were the 'game improvement' clubs of the era--muscle back irons that helped the beginner get the ball in the air.  Together with a mallet putter and woods with persimmon heads, that made up the bag.  I was in business.  I signed up for a set of lessons from a driving range pro (the younger brother of the famous distance driving champion Art Sellinger).  I participated in firm scrambles and began accepting invitations to client golf outings.  I drank beer during and after rounds, listening to war stories but having the good sense not to inflict accounts of my own travails on anyone.  I learned to pick up promptly when I was out of the hole--pace of play, and all that.  Some of the cart girls, in their tanktops and short shorts, made good eye candy.

It was pleasant.  Occasionally I would hit a nice full shot--off the tee or from somewhere in the rough (maybe a fairway once in a while)--that felt pure with those old muscle back ironss.  I replaced the persimmon head woods with a set of the new fangled ones.  I was innocent enough not to be embarrassed by the sky marks I promptly put on them, though I can't say that I hit them much better than the persimmons they replaced.  Oddly, I found that I could putt, and something about the short game appealed to me.  I was stunned by the quality of golf writing--John Feinstein, Herbert Warren Wind, the British--much better than the general sports writing of the day.  I developed a smattering of golf lingo and a nodding acquaintance with the rules of golf.

After a year or two, it all sort of petered out.  My children's youth sports became a bigger part of my life.  The driving range was sold for real estate development.  I bought a sports car.  I kept going to the firm scrambles and accepting the invites to client functions, but that was about it.