(Warning! We from Fred and Fred might be nerds, but this post is still about sports. If you dislike sports intensely, please keep in mind that golf might be the nerdiest sport out there. Or perhaps a close second to curling. So do read on, dearest of readers. Thank you!)
This summer I was introduced into the fascinating game of golf. The boyish spark in my eye probably gave me away when I watched K. and G., both experienced players, hit some balls in the stretched out domain of a French castle. My friend T. pointed out to them that I was dying to try it myself and they were all too pleased to give me an introduction. So K. showed me the basics that day (stance, grip, swing) and over the next few days G. refined my technique. He even gave me an iron 7 as a training club, which I broke out at every possible occasion. Hitting pinecones, wine corks, balls of tin foil - whatever would fly into the air and allow me to practise - much to the amusement of everyone else and the annoyance of people passing by. And I must say, I had a ball (pardon the pun). When I returned to Belgium I quickly suffered from golf deprivation. Fortunately, G. invited T. and myself over to his local club in Hasselt for a serious initiation and a round of golf on a splendid nine-hole course. After that, it got from bad to worse. My hands burned with enthusiasm whenever I saw that iron 7 resting idly against my bedroom wall…
Now I know, most of you are probably wondering what all the fuss is about. Isn’t golf a prime example of what I myself recently described as accurately hitting small balls with awkward equipment in awkward poses? Indeed, the ball is really small, the course is really big with rivers and sand bunkers, and the hole is really tiny. Moreover, the club is quite short, so you have to bend over and stick out your ass like a retarded king penguin.
And still! After my first hour I immediately understood why people play golf and why it’s good for you. First of all, it’s impossible to play if you’re not relaxed. When your shoulders are tense, when your fingers grip the club too tightly, when your head is not perfectly still during a shot - in short, when any kind of stress is in your body -, the attempt will result in either a giant hole in the air or a giant hole in the ground. So when players step onto a golf course, they need to relax and enjoy themselves. And consequently, they do. Secondly, it’s a fabulous feeling when you do hit the ball correctly. (Here's how to do it). When you launch that thing into the air in a perfect arch, glistening in the sun, and landing a hell of a long way further down the fairway, it’s a thing of absolute beauty. And then you want to do it again. And again. And again…
So last Sunday, when a shaft of sunlight pierced my window and put a glint in the eye of my iron 7, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore, I was going to play some golf no matter what. So I put on a polo shirt (I know, it’s ridiculous) and drove fifteen minutes to the nearest golf course. But, there was a little problem. The vast majority of golf courses only allow licensed players on their course. The one in Hasselt I mentioned is the only exception in Belgium, I think. Indeed, you need to be a certified player with a handicap (a standardized rating of your ability to play), to be allowed on the course. But surely, I thought, the practice range (actually driving range) would be open for anyone, wouldn’t it?
Well yes and no. The lady at the reception, after eyeing my crappy irons suspiciously, did reluctantly allow me access to the driving range only, but it would only be this once, she said. ‘You know, Sir, you need a license to use the driving range too’, she added. ‘Well, suppose I wanted to take up golf?’, I asked, ‘How does one go about getting a license and handicap?’. Upon which she handed me a luxuriously edited leaflet, at which I got a bit angry just a while ago.
To get a golf license (golfvaardigheidsbewijs in Dutch) and a handicap 36 which allows you access to most European golf courses, here’s what you need to do:
I can understand you can’t just go to a sports centre, buy a bag of golf club and hit the course. Pretty quickly it would look like landmines had gone off all over the place. But it shouldn’t be that difficult to get permission just to play a sport either! Compare it to swimming. The analogy isn’t too far off, I think. Indeed, you need to take a few lessons before you go swimming. You really do, otherwise you’d die. But suppose someone then told you ‘Hang on there, cowboy. You may be able to swim, but now you have to swim competitively for a while before you can get into the pool!’.
I think I’ve played about ten hours of golf by now. I can hit a ball from the tee, from the fairway, and from the bunker without much difficulty. Sure, I can’t send it a full 150 meters with my iron 7 in a dead straight line, but I’m getting there. I know the basic rules both of play and of conduct. I won’t ruin the course and I won’t kill anyone by playing out of turn.
So how about letting me play then, would you? Or at least let me go to the driving range. And ease up on those rules. I thought golf was about being relaxed?
This summer I was introduced into the fascinating game of golf. The boyish spark in my eye probably gave me away when I watched K. and G., both experienced players, hit some balls in the stretched out domain of a French castle. My friend T. pointed out to them that I was dying to try it myself and they were all too pleased to give me an introduction. So K. showed me the basics that day (stance, grip, swing) and over the next few days G. refined my technique. He even gave me an iron 7 as a training club, which I broke out at every possible occasion. Hitting pinecones, wine corks, balls of tin foil - whatever would fly into the air and allow me to practise - much to the amusement of everyone else and the annoyance of people passing by. And I must say, I had a ball (pardon the pun). When I returned to Belgium I quickly suffered from golf deprivation. Fortunately, G. invited T. and myself over to his local club in Hasselt for a serious initiation and a round of golf on a splendid nine-hole course. After that, it got from bad to worse. My hands burned with enthusiasm whenever I saw that iron 7 resting idly against my bedroom wall…
Now I know, most of you are probably wondering what all the fuss is about. Isn’t golf a prime example of what I myself recently described as accurately hitting small balls with awkward equipment in awkward poses? Indeed, the ball is really small, the course is really big with rivers and sand bunkers, and the hole is really tiny. Moreover, the club is quite short, so you have to bend over and stick out your ass like a retarded king penguin.
And still! After my first hour I immediately understood why people play golf and why it’s good for you. First of all, it’s impossible to play if you’re not relaxed. When your shoulders are tense, when your fingers grip the club too tightly, when your head is not perfectly still during a shot - in short, when any kind of stress is in your body -, the attempt will result in either a giant hole in the air or a giant hole in the ground. So when players step onto a golf course, they need to relax and enjoy themselves. And consequently, they do. Secondly, it’s a fabulous feeling when you do hit the ball correctly. (Here's how to do it). When you launch that thing into the air in a perfect arch, glistening in the sun, and landing a hell of a long way further down the fairway, it’s a thing of absolute beauty. And then you want to do it again. And again. And again…
So last Sunday, when a shaft of sunlight pierced my window and put a glint in the eye of my iron 7, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore, I was going to play some golf no matter what. So I put on a polo shirt (I know, it’s ridiculous) and drove fifteen minutes to the nearest golf course. But, there was a little problem. The vast majority of golf courses only allow licensed players on their course. The one in Hasselt I mentioned is the only exception in Belgium, I think. Indeed, you need to be a certified player with a handicap (a standardized rating of your ability to play), to be allowed on the course. But surely, I thought, the practice range (actually driving range) would be open for anyone, wouldn’t it?
Well yes and no. The lady at the reception, after eyeing my crappy irons suspiciously, did reluctantly allow me access to the driving range only, but it would only be this once, she said. ‘You know, Sir, you need a license to use the driving range too’, she added. ‘Well, suppose I wanted to take up golf?’, I asked, ‘How does one go about getting a license and handicap?’. Upon which she handed me a luxuriously edited leaflet, at which I got a bit angry just a while ago.
To get a golf license (golfvaardigheidsbewijs in Dutch) and a handicap 36 which allows you access to most European golf courses, here’s what you need to do:
- Take a theoretical exam on etiquette and game rules.
- Take a technical test.
- Play a certain amount of points under the guidance of licensed player.
- Take a license test (to get to handicap 45).
- Play in at least three competitive games within twelve months and get a certain score (to get to handicap 36).
I can understand you can’t just go to a sports centre, buy a bag of golf club and hit the course. Pretty quickly it would look like landmines had gone off all over the place. But it shouldn’t be that difficult to get permission just to play a sport either! Compare it to swimming. The analogy isn’t too far off, I think. Indeed, you need to take a few lessons before you go swimming. You really do, otherwise you’d die. But suppose someone then told you ‘Hang on there, cowboy. You may be able to swim, but now you have to swim competitively for a while before you can get into the pool!’.
I think I’ve played about ten hours of golf by now. I can hit a ball from the tee, from the fairway, and from the bunker without much difficulty. Sure, I can’t send it a full 150 meters with my iron 7 in a dead straight line, but I’m getting there. I know the basic rules both of play and of conduct. I won’t ruin the course and I won’t kill anyone by playing out of turn.
So how about letting me play then, would you? Or at least let me go to the driving range. And ease up on those rules. I thought golf was about being relaxed?
Thanks, Annie, for our very first spam comment! You make us proud to write on the internet!
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