'Hey, golfer, golfer -- Swing and a miss!"
By Richard Zowie —
There will be no invitations for me to join the PGA tour, no offers for me to golf at the Masters or in San Antonio at the Valero Texas Open. Whenever I drive by the Boot Ranch Golf Course, they probably will hoist a handwritten sign saying, “Do Not Enter. This means YOU, Richard Zowie.”
Of the many things in life I’ve always wanted to do, golf was one of them. It’s now gone from that list, and it left with a whimper.
It’s funny how you can spend years craving to do something, and then finally do it and think of how it was nowhere near as fun as you had imagined.
For years, a maroon golf bag with a used set of golf clubs occupied a corner of my bedroom. Often, they’d talk to me.
“Rich, it’s BORING in this golf bag!” they’d say. “We want to hit golf balls!”
I’ve never liked watching golf on TV, but I’ve always thought it would be fun to try. And so, in the first weekend of April, my sons and I went to a local golf driving range and tried it out. My plan: if we were good enough, we’d eventually try our hands at an actual round of golf.
Judging by the results, I’d say that round of golf will happen sometime around when someone pries the Dallas Cowboys general manager job from Jerry Jones’ cold, dead hands.
I bought a bucket of balls for myself and my two youngest sons, and we went to the driving range at the Lady Bird Johnson Golf Course.
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