Already He Has “The Touch”

My husband is slipping into that green and sunny place that most of us never see or understand… that place of bunkers and sand traps and water hazards and greens… the place where they speak a strange language and use words like “birdie” and “slice” and “chip” and ask questions like “is it a par three?” and “is it 9 or 18 holes?” and “I saw that last putt on worm-cam – he had to play it on a drop ‘cause the chip ended up in the drink.”

Yes – I am the wife of a golfer. The funny thing is – he wasn’t a golfer last month. But he is today. And it is amazing to me how quickly he understood the ritual that is golf.

For those who do not know it, we wives-of-golfers speak a language of our own, too. We say things like:

“Wow, honey, you really bent your knees and stuck your butt out on that one.”

“No, you didn’t miss it. The wind blew it a little just as you started to swing.”

“Try it with your new Calloway driver. The Ping one may just not be fully awake yet.”

“Today may not be a good day for driving. Try chipping.”

“Oh, yes, honey – that WAS your ball that flew past the 300 yard marker.” (This is usually said while surreptitiously kicking his ball behind you so he doesn’t see he missed it completely and the ball he THINKS is his was shot by a guy at the other end of the range.)

“No, it didn’t hook. That bird flew by just as you swung and disturbed the wind currents.”

“Oh, you just need a new glove; that’s all. That one is old. After all, you bought it Monday.”

“Oh, stop it – you WILL be a good golfer sooner than you think. You just need better balls.” (This is said while biting the inside of your cheek, saving the silent evil snicker for your own private enjoyment.)

The man can smell golf clubs five miles away. He finds them in flea markets, used sporting-goods stores, and boxes of them arrive from eBay every day. He hefts them, gives them a practice swing, pretends to look in the distance for the soaring little white orb and pronounces them either “a golden find” or dismisses them as “not worth the powder it would take to blow them up.” Never mind that he swung his first golf club only weeks ago – already he has “the touch” and knows whether a club has life in it or not. Would that I could learn the ins and outs of antiques that quickly and be as experienced a collector as he is a golfer – in only thirty days.

Did you know there is a “Golf Channel” on TV? There is. I know this because my TV seems to have lost all the other channels. The Golf Channel plays almost all the time… the only time we are not watching The Golf Channel is when we are watching his Golf For Dummies DVD. Every time I walk into the living room, someone is lining up a drive or putting – or walking.

Golfers walk. A lot. Sometimes the golfer stops and bends over a tiny white sphere and taps it with a five-iron. The ball leaves the iron with a featherlight bit of loft, lands as softly as a baby’s breath on the pampered grass, rolls eight and a half inches and comes to a gentle, almost tentative stop. People clap. And my husband is mesmerized…. “did you SEE that? Did you SEE how gently he touched that ball and where it went?”

“Yes, sweetheart – I did…. oooh… that WAS impressive. I’ll bet you can do that too! Show me tomorrow on the putting green at the range, okay?”

Yes, I watch him. I enjoy watching him. I go to the range with him and I watch. Well, that is not exactly true… I DO watch, but I often generously and thoughtfully leave him there to “warm up” while I go occupy myself elsewhere. As I drive away, I see him carrying his golf bag (black-and-white with well-known logos on it) and a jumbo basket of balls ($12 in the pro shop) to his favorite driving spot. I stop at the top of the hill to watch him prepare. He pulls on a sweatband, puts on his glove, snaps it at the wrist, and takes out a driver. (The drivers are the ones with the big fat thingies at the end that make the ball go really, really far when you hit it.)

He then does his “stretches” as his pro has taught him. Yes, he has a pro. His pro has actually played “The Tour” and is almost as good at name-dropping as he is at teaching. (For the ignorant, “The Tour” is the rite of passage that elevates you above mere “hobby” golfer. I am not altogether sure what it is, but from what I can gather it involves some sort of initiation rites, squirrely little shoes, occasional pink trousers, a very fat checkbook, and sponsors.) He shakes out his legs and does some deep knee-bends, and prepares to swing. Once he is swinging, I leave, because I want to be gracious and allow him to be at his best when the time comes to impress me.

A jumbo basket of driving-range balls ($12 in the pro shop) lasts for exactly one hour. I know this because I have timed it down to the second. So through careful planning, I know exactly how to schedule the hour between the time I leave and when I return to the driving range to be duly impressed… five minutes to drive to my favorite antique mall, 45 minutes to look at the new
arrivals, five minutes to pay and arrange pickup of my purchase when I can bring the truck down, and five minutes back, just in time to see him hit his last five balls. I also use the five minute drive back to the range to practice my admiring remarks and little words of encouragement and helpful remarks that I slip in whenever I can…

“Holy cow! How far DID that ball go, anyway? I lost it in the sunshine! Vintage breadbox.”

”My goodness…. your arms looked twice as long as yesterday in that swing! Antique dresser with beveled mirror.”

“Vintage iron headboard with frame Good heavens… I think I need to sit down after that one!”

“That driver was the best find you’ve made yet. Antique armoire. You should buy that one a special cover!”

“I think we need to go back to the pro shop for that better five-iron you liked. Chippy-paint old table. That one seems just a little short antique stool from estate sale since your pro improved your follow-through so much the other day. 1921 Hoosier cabinet.“

I can’t swear by it but he may be picking up on my tactics. Yesterday he said “I am taking the lawnmower in for repairs down in the next town scoping new golf course and when I get it back I will mow the yard because I know how you hate it when the grass gets so high at-home putting green and I want you to be happy since you have been so supportive of me new golf shoes. How about hamburgers on the grill when I get home? New belly putter at pro shop.“

I kissed him and told him how proud I was of him and how happy I was that he has found something he likes so much. “How about I dash to the store and pick up some chips and cold soda for the hamburgers after I cruise eBay for a while and I’ll make brownies for dessert? Vintage embroidered linens. You burned up a lot of calories on the range yesterday so you can have a brownie or two and after dinner we’ll polish all your clubs. Antique rug beater collection. How does that sound?”

He smiled and hugged me and drove away. I love him so much and it’s so much fun to do things together like we do. He is so supportive of the things I love to do, and I find that I really like golf. I mean… if I had known antiques were involved I would have steered him toward it a lot sooner.