Lots of things annoy me, I’m just that way. I’m not sure if its because I think my way is better, or because I think your way is worse. In fact, everyone annoys me. Well, not you, but everyone else. Maybe I shouldn’t say lots of things annoy me, maybe a better way to say it is EVERYTHING annoys me. Every day, all day, I’m annoyed. Like many, I spend some hours every day in an office. Don’t get me started on everything that annoys me in there. But, like a lot of people, I use the golf course to get away from the world. Notice I didn’t say relax, because some days, and we all have them, golf just doesn’t seem relaxing. Sure, every swing, every shot, every hole is an escape from life and without that escape, who knows where I’d be today. But, when I’m on a golf course, I expect that the idiots that invade my life on a daily basis outside of golf won’t interfere with my life inside of golf.
All too often, I am dead wrong.
The slow player, the oblivious, the under-achiever, and worst of all – the parent.
The Slow Player:
Most slow players don’t know they’re slow players. Some do, and they pretend that they are trying to get faster. Some do, and they frankly don’t give two shits about your opinion, because they’re good enough they think they’re allowed to be slow. That accounts for about 20% of this annoying category. Divide the remaining players up, and you’re left with a variety of individuals. There’s the “I’m really good if I take my time and really focus on this shot, just not on that last shot, because I didn’t take enough time” guy. 85 shots later, he’s still not as good as he thinks he is. Maybe after that 30 second pre-shot routine, you should have stood over the ball completely motionless for 60 seconds, instead of 45. Those extra 15 seconds would have made all the difference. Or, maybe you should have backed off the shot when you thought of all the bad shit that could result from your terrible pass at that poor little ball. That ball did nothing to deserve being hit like shit, repeatedly, into places Paul Bunyan, Jacques Cousteau, Sir Edmond Hillary, or even that drunk college buddy you used to have would ever consider going into. Please, for the love of all things holy, explain just what the hell you’re thinking about while you’re standing over the ball. Does your heart stop? Do you stop breathing? How in the hell can you remain motionless, in your “athletic address position” for so long without falling over? Don’t your muscles tense up? Doesn’t your brain stop working? As my buddy says “What the hell are you worried about? Just hit the damned ball, its gotta go somewhere!” Well, I’ve seen you hit the shots, yes, I can confirm your brain stops working. How do I know this? Because, when you get to the green, you walk 20 yards from the cart to your ball that’s 10 feet off the green (after 4 shots), chip it onto the green, then walk all the way back to the cart to get your putter, then walk back to the green so you can promptly 3-putt (that last one was good) your way to a solid opening hole 8. Play smarter, not harder.
The Oblivious:
Guess what, the later in the day it gets, the longer your shadow is. Guess what else? Get that shadow the hell out of my line. Maybe it doesn’t bother you, but it bothers me. If I wanted to deal with shadows, I’d hit my shots into the trees like you do. Stepping in my line again? I can forgive that once, because I understand reading a green is a foreign concept to you. Rumor has it, that the slope of a green can affect the direction a ball rolls on the green, so, contrary to every putt you’ve ever hit in your life, they’re not all straight. Stay the hell out of my line. If you’re not sure, ask. I won’t get mad, in fact, I’ll be happy you’re trying. And after you figure out what my line is, how about using a coin to mark your ball. Not a tee, not the little button from your golf glove (that you wear while putting), not a fucking poker chip, a coin. You won’t lose it. Unless it’s the size and texture of a blade of grass (most countries use some type of metal for coins), you’re not going to lose it. With that covered, when I ask you to move your mark, don’t toss your entire putter on the ground and move your mark 3 feet the other direction. Try the head of your putter, use an object in the distance as a reference point, and move it 3 inches one direction. I’ll remind you to move it back, I promise. And while I’m putting, feel free to answer that phone call, drop your putter, talk, sneeze, cough, laugh, or anything else you want to do because really, you’re the only one on the golf course, specifically that hole, so do as you please. It’s your world, I’m just living in it. Hey, don’t forget to move that mark back.
The Under-Achiever:
Go ahead, throw that club. It’s the clubs fault, you did nothing wrong. Your flawless golf swing and impeccable ball striking ability was hampered by that 6 iron getting in the way. ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!?! HOW DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!?! I’VE NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE!!! Sure. I bet. You’re not good, you’re not just having a bad day, just stop. I can tell by watching you swing the club, you’re not fooling me. Ty Webb, of Caddyshack fame, said it best – “You’re not, you’re not good Al. You stink.” If you think you’re good enough to get mad about being bad, you should be playing for money. Not a $5 nassau using your 12 handicap strokes, money that you use to pay your damned bills with. You hit 1 reasonably good shot out of the 110 you had that day, you’re really gonna be surprised when 109 of those shots don’t get hit how you had drawn up in your head? Get over it. You complaining, explaining what you were TRYING to do with that shot, and being angry it didn’t come off as you wanted isn’t going to impress me. In fact, it’s going to make me consider driving the cart into the nearest pond, after I tie your leg to the floorboard, of course.
The Parent:
I’m all for parents getting involved in their kids lives, especially on a golf course. Golf is first and foremost a game, meant to be played and enjoyed by people of all ages. Go walk a few holes with your kid, carry some kid clubs in your bag, let him or her swing at the ball till they’re tired of it. Laugh with them, encourage them, let them know you’re proud of them. It was fun when we were kids, why not create new and great memories with your child on the golf course. I’ve spent years teaching groups of grade school kids the game of golf. The most important part, I’ve found, is encouraging them when they make good contact with the ball, and their eyes light up when they realize what they’ve just done. Most kids don’t swear, but the reaction I see is “holy shit, what the hell, I just bashed the living shit out of that ball!!” I don’t see a lot of parent/child interaction on the golf course, but I see way too much of it on the driving range. I recently was at the tail end of a lengthy practice session, about an hour before dark, when a dad and son walked up to the range to his some balls. The kid wasn’t very old, couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. “Great,” I thought to myself, “The dad is gonna let the kid hit some balls into the setting sun, just to see them fly.” Wow, was I wrong. For an hour, the father berated that child for not hitting perfect shot after perfect shot. Shots that I considered well struck for a 7-year-old weren’t anywhere close to good enough for the father. The last place that kid wanted to be, as it got very close to dark, was on that driving range being told the things he needed to do better. Pushing your kid to be good at golf isn’t going to negate that fact that you never lived up to your perceived potential. At the end of the day, for everyone but that kid that night, it’s still a game.
What’s the point of this rant? Well, nothing really. The game of golf I’m obsessed with, the game that consumes my life, the game that is my escape from the world, is increasingly invaded by morons. I’m not saying I’m perfect, because everyone knows that can never be true. I have my quirks and annoying habits, and those most likely aren’t going anywhere. I like to think that those idiosyncrasies don’t show up on the golf course, and if they do, I keep them to myself. But, chances are, I annoy you, and I’m adult enough to admit it. After all, it’s your world, and I’m just living in it. Take notes, someday perhaps you can use me for inspiration for an angry golf blog post.
*Editor’s note: Wow, Levi, didn’t take you long to use your new outlet for an indulgent rant. You truly are a blogger now. 
I’m not one to brag, I certainly don’t feel worthy of the attention. But, for perspective, in the past week, my scores have ranged from 67 to 83, on the same damned par 72 golf course. Unfortunately, both ends of that spectrum make me want to play more. What the hell is wrong with me? A few weeks ago, I even attempted to go on a date. It was planned that I’d pick her up at 7pm. That left me just enough time to play a few holes at my club. Birdie. Par. Birdie. Birdie. Birdie. Oh crap… I’m 4 under thru 5, and I’ve gotta pick this girl up in a little while. I figured I could get through 6 holes and have to leave. Then, the Golf Gods smiled on me. I got a text saying she was running late; let’s plan for 7:30. I’VE GOT TIME FOR MORE GOLF!!! Par. Birdie. -5 thru 7. I’ve never shot in the 20s, and 29 was in sight. 2 years ago, I played with a buddy who shot 30-32 to set the course record. That’s some rarified air, and I was bumping up against that ceiling. I played my heart out, but could only muster 2 pars coming in, for a 5 under par 31. In an extremely uncharacteristic moment of clarity, I never once considered playing the back 9 to go for that course record, because I had a date. My focus certainly wasn’t on the date later that night. Needless to say, there wasn’t a second date, and I’ll have to live with that regret the rest of my life. Regret that I didn’t put enough effort into that date to see what could have been? Hell no. Regret that I didn’t ditch her ass and play the back 9. Hello. My name is Levi, and I’m an addict.