South City Confessions: The infinite game of golf

There's a reason it's the one sport I've never tried to play.

They say life is a journey, but it’s nothing compared to a round of golf.

Think about it. Eighteen holes could take forever. It could go on and on, especially if the player doesn’t have a clue and lacks the commitment. You take a bag of scrap metal sticks to a large field of grass and sand, and attempt to put a tiny ball into a small hole. You’re given a few shots to make it happen, and then there’s a handicap for the crowds who play yet aren’t as good as the rest.

Nine holes of golf once took me a few hours, more than any human ever should take to finish half of a round. While others are hitting shot #4, I’m planning on double digits. While they’re smacking a smooth shot onto the green, my ball is nowhere to be found. They’re finding the finely cut grass shores for their next shot, while my shoes are being smothered in sand. They are counting their clubs like a samurai with a plan of attack, while I am a first-time home chef trying to boil water without even thinking about the noodles.

It’s an agonizing practice to even think about, even if every actor on a television show makes the shots look easy. Watching Jon Hamm or Owen Wilson swing a club made me feel that I could do it for at least a few holes, but eighteen seems like an endless walk through a desert with no method of madness to erase the despair.

Golf is the one game that could go on forever. You have to get the tiny, white ball to the hole within a certain number of shots before the thing retracts from your clubs. There’s no clock. Baseball is similar, but it has defined boundaries and additional rules. There are also teammates to help with the endeavor. Basketball, hockey, football, and soccer have clocks—a fixed time to get the job done, or lose it altogether. Golf is played on a giant field of open grass, trees, and sand. Too many mistakes to make.

Patience? I don’t have any left. Time to learn at this point? No thanks. I’d rather take up hunting, where I can wait for my prey to walk in front of me.

If they put up borders like they do in bowling for the beginners or kids. A large concrete wall for the shot to bounce off, closer to the hole or green. That could make the game more attractive to someone terrified of being out there for seven hours with a handful of balls, trying to finish in the least worst fashion possible.

I can hang around adequately or without embarrassing myself in every other sport, except for golf. There’s enough laughter in the world without me doing anything more than slapping a few balls off a tee at the driving range. If that were the primary job, I could do that all day. The first shot is mine, but someone else needs to do the rest of the work.

Golf is the infinite game. A horror film in real life that announcers have to whisper over to avoid disturbing the scariness at work.