This blog has not exactly been a hotbed of golf spirit and enthusiasm lately.
Summer shithole season in the tri-state is officially on. The countdown to winter has officially begun. This has always been the worst time to play golf around here, but in past years I must've had enough enthusiasm in the tank to push myself through. Plus summer is simply the time you're supposed to enjoy golf. For years I just went along with it, not daring to question it.
No more. A threshold has been crossed. No longer is it morally acceptable to pay money for an experience that drags on way longer than it needs to, and then leaves me feeling miserable and worn-out at the end. Enough is enough.
Plus I don't like what it does to my worldview. During the last round, this dumb hipster beardo dude, dressed head to toe according to the hipster handbook, actually stood and tended the flag while some slow-witted Chinese kid was trying to chip on to the green. Internally I prayed that the Chinese kid, a hopeless hacker, would skull it into the hipster kid's crotch.
I had hit rock bottom. This is no way to live, wishing crotch trauma onto others. Sure that hipster kid was annoying as fuck, but what'd he do to me that was so bad? Yeah, he was clueless about etiquette, and basic rules, but wake the fuck up man. This is Dyker Beach, Brooklyn. What in God's name was I expecting?
I wasn't raised to be this way. I scolded myself for the evil thought, and then realized that my folly could be traced back even further: what am I even doing here in the first place, attempting to have a good time playing golf at Dyker Beach Golf Course in 2015, at the peak of the peak season? I searched my soul and discovered that the real hipster doofus here is me, in a spiritual sense.
For the moment I am adrift, my golf-life in shambles. To make my predicament even more pitiful recently I lost a 3-iron in a rental car. Then a couple weeks ago my favorite local course Silver Lake got pinched by the comptroller for evading taxes for the last five years. Probably not by coincidence the wonderful tee-time deals I enjoyed going back to late '13 have now completely vanished.
So I've been laying low, avoiding golf courses and taking advantage of this remission to tear down and rebuild my swing. Yet again. Sometime last week Ms. L took a video of a couple my swings at the range. I really didn't like what I saw. Something that was always there, and I just chose to ignore it. Again, enough is enough. There is an epidemic among amateur golfers. I have read that it afflicts around two-thirds of them. And now I am here to say, that I am one of them, I suffer from early extension. That's why I look like such a douchebag when I swing a golf club.
According to the internet, about two-thirds of amateurs are jackasses who for whatever reason, at impact, hump their loins in towards the ball rather than maintaining the position set at address, forcing all sorts of last-second compensations just to get clubface to make contact with ball. Early extension makes golf hard. It makes one's arms feel trapped with nowhere to go at impact. It keeps well-intended people mired in mediocrity. Early extension shatters dreams basically.
It was a painful decision but I am going to seek the path of the properly sequenced extension. So I am in rehabilitation. Lots of drills and mental reprogramming. Playing golf on a golf course is not advisable right now. With a swing in this half-broken down, half-rebuilt state let's face it, I am probably a danger to others.
All is not hopeless though. I'll be better soon. I decided that, if I am going to be miserable and spend way too long on a golf course, it might as well be a nice one. So a trip to Bethpage is on the docket. (Soon as I get my swing into a usable state.) I've been there a few times over the years, but it's never been featured here on Legitimategolf.com, so there's that.
Thanks for your patience.