After a recent sales education seminar we designated the last day as a team exercise, in case the exercise is a game of golf.

Golf and  I are not well-known partners, I don’t embarrass the Scot’s by bringing the game into ill repute and I only ask the evangelists of game not bother me with requests to “at least try it”. I did “just try it” some thirty years ago with me old mate Con. Con was a beginner sales guy in those days and he felt that if he learnt to play golf it would significantly enhance his ability to sell his fathers first aid kits and other really useful safety equipment he peddled around the building sites in Wellington. I did try to picture labourers six-foot tall and the same wide with black singles, ripped shorts and gumboots on the Golf Course having a round of golf with Con who wears a rather oversize suit with the flared trousers discussing the merits of a particular brand of antiseptic cream.  this total image just would not focus to any degree. We gave up the game after we realised that it took us away from our obsession with our hormones and the good ladies who helped keep those hormones in a healthy condition.

There was the little incident at the Petone Golf Club where we decided to take our respected other halves for a pleasant day smacking little white balls around a paddock. This unfortunately ended in a verbal battle between members of our group and members of some other group over whose balls were who’s, and we collectively got the hump and never returned to the ancient sport.

Never mind, those propagandist work mates of mine were back on their soapboxes again with a religious doggedness that resembled Moorman evangelists tenacity. I decided that it was a wonderful day and the only other options were to either; go into the office and try to work, or sit at the golf club and drink cold beers all afternoon.  I know the second option doesn’t sound like a bad option, however we had a BBQ at the bosses place that night and I new there would be a fair amount of the old arm bending at this. I thought oh well I will drive a buggy around the golf course and watch the rest.

We arrived at the first hole with my professional golfing mates, and I watch them trying to T-Off, by the time we got the third person I was in stitches. White balls were flying in all directions and some of them even in a forward direction. By the time the fifth guy took three swings to even hit the ball, I thought how hard can this be. I was pretty sure I knew all the fine detail of the stance, the swing, the follow through and important things like selecting the right club. I had seen miles of golf on the news. I had seen the best, so this was not really a big challenge given how hopeless my mates were.

I stepped up for my first drive down the course. I placed my little white ball on the T, stood correctly, stretched my shoulders back, adjusted my stance, flexed my elbows, lined up the green at the other end, pointed my shoulder at the target, positioned my three wood at the base of the ball, drew back to shoulder height with my club, let the club do the work, and followed through accurately at the flag some 400 yards away. The swing, the swoosh of the club, the clock sound of club hitting projectile all felt perfect. My internal satisfaction crept to my face with a large grin, how easy could this get. Oh wow, I watched the white object fly down the fairway. The faces of my friends reflected absolute amazement, this was a triumph of sportsman ship. The whole action, the swing, the adrenaline released and the feeling of satisfaction was terrific.

I looked down to pick up my T, and it wasn’t there, in its place was a little white ball. Exactly where the T and ball had been before, I didn’t understand this, who was messing with me, who pinched my T. The looks of amazement from my friends turned quickly into doubled up mirth, they could not contain themselves. My elation, now humiliation. It was carefully explained to me that I had executed a perfect drive down the fairway, and had extracted the “T” from under the ball and smacked it 50 yards without disturbing the golf ball at all.

Oh well, disgruntled, I hit the ball, got on the cart went to find it in the rough, where I had always expected find it, maybe better next time. The afternoon turned out to a great deal of fun, we had buggy races, we did wheelies in buggies, took buggies four-wheel driving and of course used buggies to play dodge’ems. This golf course has houses bordering both sides,  on one side established houses and on the other they’re building them.

Why would you hit balls into partly built houses, you cant extract maximum damage, it seems our subconscious selves targeted already built houses. One of our guys more than once sliced a ball that hit a house and came bouncing back onto the fairway. I have this vision of people rushing up to balls on one side of the course and whacking them to the other side, and so zig zagging up the Golf Course. One stage I was lining up a ball and waiting for the guy in front to hit his and all of a sudden his ball came flying backwards and I had to beat a hasty retreat behind the buggy.

Standing on the greens were groups of long-legged birds, who appeared to only be there for the sport of watching us. By their noises and there hopping around when a ball came rocketing their way, I assume they go to the golf course for an afternoons fun and games on a regular basis. A good time was had by all, and I decided I would not duck my responsibilities and  when asked I would play golf again, this was a lot of fun.