Pasture pool is a derogatory term for the noble sport of golf, but anyone unable to see the humor is possibly also under-appreciating some of the best things about golf. Being outdoors, walking on smooth green grass, and concentrating on perfecting a physical skill. These are a few of my favorite things, and they began for me eons ago when I was a teenager with the best summer job in the world - assistant greenskeeper at the municipal golf course in my small Midwestern town. The head greenskeeper, who was also my chemistry and trigonometry teacher when summer was over, gave any special instructions for the day, and by 6:00 in the morning we were at work, always beginning with the daily job of mowing the aprons and greens. The smell of fresh-cut grass takes me straight back to that summer when my body was young and strong and the physical effort of working all morning was just a warm-up to the game at the end of the shift. I loved the cool of those mornings in the humid and sultry days of a Dakota summer. By 10:00, the working crew was expected to be totally done and off the course. But if it wasn't crowded, and it never was, we could golf a round - another one of the many perks of the job. The greenskeeper's son, Billy, was too young to be on the staff but had a little side business of selling lost balls he found in and around the creek. He'd stop his work of stocking up on inventory and we would golf until it got too hot to remain in the sun. Billy was only in 5th grade, but he was an excellent golfer even then, and that summer he taught me everything he knew. I've been golfing ever since. Since being coached by a 10 year old was the extent of my formal training, I've never taken my game too seriously. It has always been purely a pleasure - except when my sister comes back to town for a visit. She always wants to play a few rounds of golf, partly because there's not much else to do for outdoor recreation in the corn belt, and partly because she knows I enjoy golf, and thinks she's sharing my interest in the sport. Here's the thing, if you only golf once a year, you're always going to be a rotten golfer. Golfing with Judy was truly painful until I learned about the game of 'best ball.' You've probably heard of it, and even played it. It saved my sanity. Used to be, when Judy and I went to the course together, I spent most of my time standing around watching her swing and miss and swing and walk 50 feet to where the ball landed, leaving a divot in the ground behind her big enough to bury a Chihuahua. I gently told her that custom was that she didn't need to keep score after the 12th stroke on any given hole, in fact what the heck, let's not even keep score. Now, I don't like to complain, and I sure didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so it took a while before the subject came up among some friends and one of them was given the opportunity to share some information that would change the course of events. A friend explained the basics of 'best ball.' Very simply, everyone tees off. Then the 'worst ball' (or 'worst balls' if you're playing in a foursome) gets picked up. Everyone goes to where the best ball lays. The person who hit the 'best ball' takes the first stroke, and marks the spot. The person whose ball was 'worst' drops it on the marked spot and takes their swing. Whichever of those balls is 'best' is the next one to get played. The 'worst ball' gets picked up on the way. The owner of the 'best ball' always goes first, and the process repeats on down the fairway (hopefully not too often), until a ball lands on the green. Putting is not a 'best ball' kind of thing except for going from the location where the 'best ball' landed on the green. The game is still pretty slow, zigzagging all over the place to pick up the 'worst balls.' And you wouldn't want to include your 'best ball' score in any handicapping calculations, but it is a lot more fun - both for you as the experienced player, and for your guest. Every once in a while, Judy's is the 'best ball.' She hits a good stroke and I love to see the radiant smile on her face. It's that random reinforcement, the pleasure of feeling and hearing that perfect "swock," and seeing the little white orb sail straight and far over an incredible length of verdant grass. |
