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I would rather play golf than do almost anything.
This may include “going to work”, but there is no reason the peerless masters must know everything.
Funny sport, really. In any round, there is usually a moment or two of utter amazement, surrounded by all these spirit-crushing mistakes.
Hard to think of something middle-aged men are worse at, except marriage, yet attempt so often.
All of which to introduce our newest sports crush, Brooke Henderson.
Honestly, what the Smiths Falls teenager has accomplished in the last few weeks is the biggest local sports story in ages.
It is certainly more historic than the Ottawa Senators’ run into the playoffs, great heart-thumper that it was.
I believe it is true that no golfer from the Ottawa area, male or female, has ever won a big PGA or LPGA tour event, or even come close. (Manotick’s Brad Fritsch did crack the top 10 at least three times in 2014, only to falter later.)
Henderson, who only turned pro in December, came third in an event last week and finished tied for 13th on Sunday. She had led both tournaments heading into weekend play.
This isn’t “remarkable” or a “great start”. It’s unbelievable. Repeat slowly: she is playing some of the best golf on planet Earth.
This from an athlete who can’t vote or ale it up with the cart girl. Brooke Henderson is 17.
She had to ditch class in Grade 12 to turn pro. So, if it doesn’t work out, it’s been a great summer job: $152,640 U.S. in the last two weeks.
But this is women’s golf today. The No. 1 player in the world, we’re informed, is New Zealander Lydia Ko. She turned 18 about a week ago. You may remember the Korean sensation Inbee Park? She’s already in her eighth season on the tour, but proved she can still get it done at the ripe, old age of 26, winning Sunday.
For us plaid hackers, there are two ways to view Henderson’s success:
a) give up; children, even little girls, are playing way better than us, or
b) if a five-foot, four-inch teenager can play this well, hit the ball that far, there’s hope for bigger, stronger, heavily-deluded geezers with access to The Golf Channel.
I’m going with b).
My father, who played golf well, always said men can learn more from watching the LPGA than their male counterparts.
Agreed. Their swings are smoother and more rhythmic. Men should not emulate Rory McIlroy. Only a freak of nature swings like that.
Look only at McIlroy and say, “Never in a million years.” I can’t dunk a basketball. Why would I think I can hit a driver 300 yards?
Part of the problem is that, strategically, men play like knuckleheads. If you ask 10 male duffers: “Would you rather score well or just bomb the ball?”, nine would answer: “Outta my way, I’m crushing this mother.” Seriously, who ever practises chipping?
Many people mock golf. They musn’t know its secret appeals.
Inside every middle-aged man, after all, is a 12-year-old boy who wants to run away from home and live in the woods with his gang.
The gang will have a clubhouse, with rules. It will have code names for special exploits, like birdie or eagle, and its own numerology: seven stands for awful and eight for idiot.
Green will not mean green. Lie will not mean lie. Fat is not be good, neither is thin, or push or pull, or hook or slice. Shank is death, but lag is good. OB is good night. Bump and run is easy, flop is hard. So, so much to explain.
They will wear uniforms – expensive, brightly coloured and arrest-worthy off the course – and strange shoes. Hats will be mandatory and white gloves.
Play will be well-mannered and courteous: silence on the tees, hush on the greens, swearing everywhere else. Cheating is not necessary because, in this magic boy’s world, basic arithmetic is banned.
The woods will have their own transportation network, with curved paths and food stops. Men will drive little cars, but never recklessly, as the console has multiple drink containers. There is no road rage.
And time will stand still, clocks ignored. Questions like “why does golf take so $#*@ long?” will never receive a suitable answer.
It is just the first week of May and this glorious window is opened. So you run, Brooke, you absolutely run, before the weight of impossibility — called age and wisdom — slows you down.
To contact Kelly Egan, please call 613-726-5896 or email kegan@ottawacitizen.com.
twitter.com/kellyegancolumn
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This may include “going to work”, but there is no reason the peerless masters must know everything.
Funny sport, really. In any round, there is usually a moment or two of utter amazement, surrounded by all these spirit-crushing mistakes.
Hard to think of something middle-aged men are worse at, except marriage, yet attempt so often.
All of which to introduce our newest sports crush, Brooke Henderson.
Honestly, what the Smiths Falls teenager has accomplished in the last few weeks is the biggest local sports story in ages.
It is certainly more historic than the Ottawa Senators’ run into the playoffs, great heart-thumper that it was.
I believe it is true that no golfer from the Ottawa area, male or female, has ever won a big PGA or LPGA tour event, or even come close. (Manotick’s Brad Fritsch did crack the top 10 at least three times in 2014, only to falter later.)
Henderson, who only turned pro in December, came third in an event last week and finished tied for 13th on Sunday. She had led both tournaments heading into weekend play.
This isn’t “remarkable” or a “great start”. It’s unbelievable. Repeat slowly: she is playing some of the best golf on planet Earth.
This from an athlete who can’t vote or ale it up with the cart girl. Brooke Henderson is 17.
She had to ditch class in Grade 12 to turn pro. So, if it doesn’t work out, it’s been a great summer job: $152,640 U.S. in the last two weeks.
But this is women’s golf today. The No. 1 player in the world, we’re informed, is New Zealander Lydia Ko. She turned 18 about a week ago. You may remember the Korean sensation Inbee Park? She’s already in her eighth season on the tour, but proved she can still get it done at the ripe, old age of 26, winning Sunday.
For us plaid hackers, there are two ways to view Henderson’s success:
a) give up; children, even little girls, are playing way better than us, or
b) if a five-foot, four-inch teenager can play this well, hit the ball that far, there’s hope for bigger, stronger, heavily-deluded geezers with access to The Golf Channel.
I’m going with b).
My father, who played golf well, always said men can learn more from watching the LPGA than their male counterparts.
Agreed. Their swings are smoother and more rhythmic. Men should not emulate Rory McIlroy. Only a freak of nature swings like that.
Look only at McIlroy and say, “Never in a million years.” I can’t dunk a basketball. Why would I think I can hit a driver 300 yards?
Part of the problem is that, strategically, men play like knuckleheads. If you ask 10 male duffers: “Would you rather score well or just bomb the ball?”, nine would answer: “Outta my way, I’m crushing this mother.” Seriously, who ever practises chipping?
Many people mock golf. They musn’t know its secret appeals.
Inside every middle-aged man, after all, is a 12-year-old boy who wants to run away from home and live in the woods with his gang.
The gang will have a clubhouse, with rules. It will have code names for special exploits, like birdie or eagle, and its own numerology: seven stands for awful and eight for idiot.
Green will not mean green. Lie will not mean lie. Fat is not be good, neither is thin, or push or pull, or hook or slice. Shank is death, but lag is good. OB is good night. Bump and run is easy, flop is hard. So, so much to explain.
They will wear uniforms – expensive, brightly coloured and arrest-worthy off the course – and strange shoes. Hats will be mandatory and white gloves.
Play will be well-mannered and courteous: silence on the tees, hush on the greens, swearing everywhere else. Cheating is not necessary because, in this magic boy’s world, basic arithmetic is banned.
The woods will have their own transportation network, with curved paths and food stops. Men will drive little cars, but never recklessly, as the console has multiple drink containers. There is no road rage.
And time will stand still, clocks ignored. Questions like “why does golf take so $#*@ long?” will never receive a suitable answer.
It is just the first week of May and this glorious window is opened. So you run, Brooke, you absolutely run, before the weight of impossibility — called age and wisdom — slows you down.
To contact Kelly Egan, please call 613-726-5896 or email kegan@ottawacitizen.com.
twitter.com/kellyegancolumn
Related
查看原文...
