|
YOU KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE BALL: MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH GOLF ���������������������������� ��������������������� by Gord Paynter ��������������������������������������� ���� Forty‑eight
‑‑ an age?� Forty‑eight,
a failing grade?�� Or forty‑eight, the projected value of our Canadian
dollar? Possibly.� But,
in this case, "48" refers to my best score for nine holes of golf. ���� Granted,
it's no Tiger Woods.� But
pretty damn good for a 43‑year‑old passionate about the game
and playing without his sight. ���� At 22,
I began losing my eyesight as a result of complications from diabetes.� With that came a loss of drive, desire, and dreams ‑‑ dreams of
career, of sports and, in particular, of golf. ���� The acceptance
of my new blind state was slow, but eventually I found myself back doing chores, and participating in games and events.� I was not aware that I was growing and accepting my environment. ���� One day
I tagged along with a friend to a driving range.� Smack!�
His driver connected with the little white ball.� The sound
stirred feelings deep within me. ���� My friend
must have sensed my keenness, because he asked me if I wanted to hit a few.� We fidgeted about 'til he had me all lined up, club squared behind the ball
and no longer aimed towards the parking lot.� "Swoosh!"� I missed. Not once, but several times. ���� Even if
you're not a golfer, you've heard the phrase, "keep your eye on the ball."� Eliminate the "eye" part from the equation, and this simple task becomes more difficult!
However, with perseverance and the moon rising, contact
was made, the sound sweet and the feeling through the club
shaft exhilarating. ���� "Where'd
she go?" ���� "About
240 yards, dead straight." ���� "Now
the truth." ���� "Ah,
just over there....Should I get it?" ���� ���� And with
that, the love affair was rekindled. ���� As a blind
golfer, I need to orchestrate my games and companions to caddy‑slash‑assist well in
advance.� Sometimes I enlist a friend or a junior member...a niece...a
mother... somebody...ANYBODY!�
Anybody willing to trudge a course and endure the occasional curse.� And while many golfers carry their clubs around in the trunk of a car, mine are
often found in the trunk of a cab. ���� Days when
I can find no companion or cab fare, I am reduced to taking a five‑iron to the back yard
and swing, swing, swing away.�
Feel my stance.� Check
my grip, my balance and swing. ���� Chomp!�
Another clump of sod sails off into the blue sky. ���� I wish
my wife Catherine shared my love for golf.�
She encourages me to play and tolerates my long absences
on those days.� For
this, I am grateful.� But
she neither thrills with me after a good round nor understands
my frustration over a lousy outing.� Even today I can hear her words echoing, "I don't know why you play if it's
going to make you so angry.�
I thought this was supposed to be fun." ���� Only a
non‑golfer would make a silly statement like that. ���� Only a
golfer would respond, "I do love it. That's why I hate it." ���� Catherine
was the first to see that my addiction to the game was complete when I overruled her decision not
to get the additional cable channels.� "What?!" I exploded.� "No golf channel?" ���� To Catherine,
the channel is "stupid."�
She says this as she flips to The Y & R. ���� In the
cold winter months, I nestle into my easy chair and switch on the golf channel.� Tournament play from sunny, hot Australia and, later, putting tips.� Ahh, but life is good. ���� I'm tempted
to clear a patch of snow from the back yard and swing, swing, swing.....and dream of forty‑eights. ���� Gord Paynter
is based in Brantford, Ontario, Canada. He tours as a motivational speaker and stand‑up
comic.� For booking information, call (519) 758‑0236. |
||
����
������������