I’ve tried off and on to learn the game of golf. It isn’t like learning to play ping pong or chess. It is more like learning to pay to be humiliated in nice surroundings. My first golf instructor was a young stud named Greg. Nice guy, big hair, tight pants. My wife liked him right way. He spent most of our first lesson inspecting her ass and then showing her how to hold the club. He even told her to “waggle.” No kidding, just like in the movie Tin Cup. In the process of helping my wife he looked over his shoulder and told me I needed “swing thoughts” to help guide my swing motion. “Think of throwing a bucket of water” he said.
I’ve had a lot of swing thoughts since then. Sometimes I think of swinging and hurling a yo-yo on a string at a midget (excuse me, a Little Person.) Sometimes Greg is the Little Person, sometimes it’s my high school gym teacher.
Here are some of my more printable swing thoughts:
• I bet Tiger doesn’t need swing thoughts
• Is my butt sitting out too far?
• When do I get to the point where I can hit the ball farther than I can throw my club?
• Why is it called a bunker? Is there something there I should know about?
• Why do I need spikes on my shoes? Is there something around here I need to step on?
• Who is that guy with the clipboard at the first tee who reminds me of my high school math teacher? Can I kick his ass?
• How come I can’t hit one of the Canada geese on the course, no matter how close they are or how carefully I aim?
• Why do they call it a fairway? What is so fair about it?
• If I wanted a handicap I’d drop my pants.
• Who are those girls riding around on the snack carts bending over to get your Bud Light and showing off their underwear? Can’t they see I’m trying to golf here?
• Who is the guy who reminds me of my junior high teacher who drives around telling us to play faster? Can I kick his ass too?
• Waggle!
