Mendoza: The hardest to perfect

All Write
Al Mendoza.
Al Mendoza.Al Mendoza.

GOLF is for both kids and adults. A gospel truth long before the invention of the lawn mower.

From age five to a hundred and five, one can play golf. That can’t apply in basketball, football, volleyball, tennis, squash, badminton or any other sport for that matter, where maximum physical activity is absolutely required.

For as long as you have legs and knees that are as healthy as your phlegm-free lungs—meaning, you can walk unimpeded, minus coughs—golf will always be there for you.

Chess is the exception, of course. You can sit all day and all night playing this sport for all the world to care. All you need is basically a chair to sit on to indulge in this brain-flexing game that even the mercurial genius Einstein has failed to master.

But golf is like that, too: It is the hardest to perfect.That’s why I agree with Davao’s Chito Malabanan, the multi-talented civil engineer, when he recently wrote in his widely-read “Jabong” column at Mindanao Edge that “golf is a game we all love to hate.”

Chito’s a bit too harsh?

Maybe. It’s because golf being basically a game of miscues, we can hate it when we commit multiple mistakes during a round.

Mastery of the game is as elusive as utopia.

For example, you just scored a hole-in-one. I bet you ten thousand bucks to your hundred bucks you can’t repeat that even with 1,000 balls at your disposal.

So, how can you not hate the game?

Still, you yearn to go back to the course the very next day—in keeping with the saying, “It’s better to have a bad day at the golf course than having a good day at the office.”

Smell the flowers.

Sniff the early morning breeze.

Meet the rising sun.

I had just come home from the two-day PAL Interclub Media tournament in Cagayan de Oro.

Nothing beats the experience, even if I lost—very badly even.

I was just three shots behind the leader going into the final round. But in my first three holes, I was 18-over. Bye, tournament.

“Never thought of quitting, bro?” said Jake P. Ayson, my good neighbor.

“That’s not golf, bro,” I said. “You only stop after the last putt is dropped.”

My 141 at CDO’s Pueblo de Oro on February 27 was my worst ever.

I finished without coughing.


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