This Breakdown Of How Weekend Golfers Hit Every Club In Their Bag Is Incredibly Accurate, Depressing
Do you golf? I golf. I’m golfing tomorrow, in fact. It will be the first time I swing a club since mid-June, so I’m predicting a bloodbath. I usually try to play two to three times a month, but for the last 40 days, life got in the way. Fucking life, right? I hate it. Well, I don’t hate life, but sometimes it can be a genuine shitdick if ya know what I mean. Always refusing to jive with my preferred daily schedule of coffee, poop-sesh, breakfast, golf, lunch, shower, nap, TV, dinner, more TV, sex (if my exhausting day hasn’t depleted my energy levels — I’m only human), bed.
I know, I know. That sounds like a nice little Saturday. But I want that every day. No work. No kids. No unforeseen circumstances. No redeemable reason to continue living. Just mere existence. And golf. Lots of mediocre golf.
That’s the ideal life for me. Don’t need anything else. Plus, if I had that life, maybe then I wouldn’t have to endure a long hiatus or worry that my game becomes a pathetic shell of itself, resulting in the photo above being how I address the ball and the photo below being my approach to every club in the bag. Because golf, my friends, is not like riding a bicycle. It’s also not fun for me if I play like shit. I can’t subscribe to the “I’m just happy to be out here” mentality. Can’t do it, won’t do it. But tomorrow I’ll probably do it once my round falls apart and I have to make embellished excuses as to why. “Ah, it’s been a busy couple months. Haven’t picked up a club since like May. Got a lot on my mind. I’m just happy to be out here, ya know?”
By the way, the guy standing in the shape of a perfect “S” in the photo at the top isn’t me. He just looks like the perfect representation of a shitty golfer. I will gladly apologize to him if that is not the case, but I seriously suspect it is.
[H/T Golf Club Wankers]