A Good Walk Spoiled

"They call it golf because all the other four letter words were taken." - Raymond Floyd

"Golf is played by twenty million mature American men whose wives think they are out having fun." - Jim Bishop

Yes, it's time once again for my annual golf outing with my four big brothers and one brother in law. It used to be just the six of us, but now all the sons and nephews jump in too. We used to run all over the country for a full week of golf at places like Myrtle Beach. Now we just play a couple of rounds down at the lake. And that's enough. I have not touched my clubs since last year's get together, and I haven't missed them a bit.

Don't get me wrong. I love golf. I am fairly knowledgeable about golf. I can talk golf, on or off the course. I just can't play golf. (That's really not strong enough. I suck at golf.)

When I was in seminary, there was a big golf tournament for students and faculty, 135 golfers played and the scores were posted in the classroom building for all to see. I came in 135th. No lie. And when I play golf, no place is safe. I have hit tee markers, sprinkler heads, clubhouses, cars, stop signs, a fire hydrant, countless trees, at least two weed-eater guys, and a very startled cow. Three times I have taken friends out for their very first round of golf. All three beat me the first time they ever played.

Suzanne summed it up well one day when she said, "I guess it's commendable that you keep doing something you do so badly. . . I guess it's commendable." I think she was trying to convince herself. So, why do I still play golf? Three reasons.

1) I love my brothers and they love to play golf.

2) When I'm playing golf I'm not working, answering the phone, or stressing out about anything except finding my ball.

3) Every now and then, when the stars are properly aligned and the planets are positioned just so and God is on His throne and the law of averages is bending in my favor, I will hit a decent shot, maybe even a good shot, a putt will roll in the cup.

Once at Jekyll Island, Georgia, I chipped in from 108 yards out! My brother Pete, standing on the green stuck his fist in the air and said, "Nice shot, Andy! Is that a birdie?" I shook my head. "Is that for par?" "No." "Well, nice bogey anyway." I guess that's good enough for me.