I was invited to give a presentation to the Palm Springs Writers Guild on the fine art of humor writing recently. I had 45 minutes to teach them everything I know, which was about 43 minutes more than I would probably need. So I was trying to think of some humorous anecdotal lessons to share. Like the fact that humor comes from pain.
That's what led me to think about golf. The first time I tried golf I thought it was ridiculous – and dangerous! But it turned out over the years to be a good source of material. So I figured I could whip out a few golf metaphors – the ones where no one actually got run over by my cart. That led me to wonder if maybe I needed a lesson.
"Yes!"
"Oh yeah!"
"Please!"
Never ask the other members of your regular foursome a question like that.
I checked to see if they have any golf courses in the California desert. I don't know if you know this or not, but they have hundreds of them! The first explorers of the Coachella Valley (Lewis and Clark? Palmer and Nicklaus?) must have found every grassy spot available and run around sticking flags in them. They already had sand traps. It was a natural... Maybe that's what I needed – a more natural swing.
"Yes!"
"Oh yeah!"
"Please!"
I looked up Natural Golf online. And it came up! Only apparently they don't call it natural golf anymore. Someone must have figured out that was an oxymoron. Now they call it Single Plane Swing Technology. Sounded complicated, but I called a guy named Mike.
"I teach the Moe Norman approach."
"Wow! That's great. He was always my favorite of the Three Stooges."
"That's Moe Howard."
"Oh yeah." I was a bit disappointed because I figured I could master something the Stooges did. I already know the chin shuck and the eye poke.
It was a comfortable 95 degrees when I arrived at the College of the Desert. "College of the Desert?" I checked to make sure I had the right address. I hadn't been to college in decades. Which probably meant they wouldn't still have my records on file and immediately escort me off campus. So I grabbed my clubs and headed for the practice range.
"Hi, I'm Mike," Mike said. "I understand you'd like to have a more repeatable swing."
"Yes!"
"Oh yeah!"
"Please!"
"Where are those voices coming from?"
"Just some guys I've borrowed a few thousand golf balls from and occasionally hit with my tee shot when they were standing too close – behind me. Ignore them, Mike."
"Okay, well, let's see you hit a little chip shot with your sand wedge."
I took my usual stance, gripped the club, took a nice smooth short back swing and a clean follow-through.
"Fore!" Mike yelled.
People all down the line on the practice range ducked. Several of the closer ones dove out of the way.
"Wow, that's highly unusual," I said.
"I hope so."
"Usually I pull those chips to the left."
Several golfers to my left grabbed their clubs and headed for the parking lot.
Mike was now wearing a hard hat. He pushed it back on his head. "Let's start with your grip. Does the club ever fly out of your hands with that grip?"
"Yeah, but only every other time or so."
Mike changed my grip to a much stronger left hand, weaker right. I chipped again. It went kind of straight.
"Wow!" Three ominous voices said in unison.
"Now let's change your club position at impact."
I hit another chip. It went even straighter.
"Wow!" Three voices said in unison again.
"Now let's work on your shoulder turn – or lack thereof."
Fast-forward an hour. People were back on the range. Mike had taken off his hard hat, and I was hitting my wedge straight. It was great – except I probably wouldn't have any more humorous golf adventures to tell anyone about. I decided to hit a few drives before I left for my talk.
"Fore!" Mile yelled. People dove for cover again.
"Maybe I'll take another lesson next time I come to the desert, Mike."
"Yes!"
"Oh yeah!"
"Please!"
Mike gave me his card. "Please take those voices with you," he said.