By Larry Canning
How can a golf ball not spin when hit at 120 mph with a driver (not mine by the way), but stop on a beer coaster with a pitch shot?
“Back in my day” we used to play with balls made from 100 metres of elastic bands encased with a rubber cover made from the sap of a tree only found in the deepest darkest jungles of the Amazon. Blokes with pith helmets and Khaki shorts with long socks used to risk their lives to extract the magic substance while angry Pygmy tribesmen would be shooting poison darts around their ears in the hope of creating a nice wall decoration out of their shrunken heads.
Whenever I bladed a wedge shot straight across the green and left a slice in my ball roughly the size of Kim Kardashian’s bot bot, I would feel terrible. Not only for the impending double bogey but also for the poor guy who sacrificed his noggin so I could eventually stop my ball on a Royal Melbourne green.
I don’t understand why, for the life of me, I can’t hit a shot without a glove on my left hand. I mean, what is the glove actually achieving? Is there s nerve under the wrist which is squeezed by the band that allows me to play without having a nervous breakdown or something? If that’s the case, I think I’m wearing the wrong size.
I don’t understand why tour players can’t use range finders but are allowed to carry a book in their back pockets that maps out every single horizontal variation to the surface of all 18 greens. SEN Radio Host Mark Allen showed me one of these books on the eve of the Australian Masters a couple of years ago. It was nothing short of mind blowing. It cost about $200 which would have barely covered the cost of input from the physicist, geologist, surveyor, podiatrist and Daniel Boone’s mate Mingo who could track an ant over 10 miles of wild frontier.
I don’t understand how I could have ever found the first fairway at Huntingdale with a wooden headed Cleveland Classic driver. The other day, I was having a hit with my old mate Brooksy and I was actually playing half decently. On the 13th, I caught one right out of the screws of my new Srixon Z765 driver and stood there in my follow through position for the best part of 25 seconds. As always, Brooksy’s first reaction was to take the proverbial out of me by suggesting anyone could hit one of those 460 headed Srixon drivers because they were so easy to hit. While still in follow through mode, I turned and showed him the mark left on the face from my perfect drive.
The problem was I hadn’t wiped off all the mishits I’d hit prior to that. Even though I hadn’t missed a fairway all day it was pretty clear he was right. My driver was on a rescue mission that would have rivalled Bruce Willis and all the Die Hard movies put together. There was one mark that would have completely missed the face of my 1987 Cleveland Classic driver. Imagine being introduced on the tee of the Australian Masters all those years ago with – “On the tee from NSW – Larry Canning!”…. then… “Still on the tee from NSW – Larry Canning”
Finally, I don’t understand how we finished up with terms like birdies, eagles, albatrosses and even bogeys for that matter. Why don’t we use names more appropriate to the country you’re playing in? More patriotic names like – “I hit it to 2 feet on the 4th and completely missed the hole for my Willy Wagtail and was actually lucky to make my Drongo” Or – “Then on the 7th I holed my second shot for a Pelican” What about – “I had the monthly medal in the bag until I snapped hooked it out of bounds on 16 and took a Triple Bustard”.
As always, if anyone can help me with my “perplexions” (Yes it’s a word…. now), you can comment below.
See you next month… Larry