Essay on Golf Ball Is The Greatest Shot Of My Young Life

701 Words Oct 30th, 2015 3 Pages
A tremendously small ball is placed a great distance from one’s face, and a silver wand oddly warped at one end is positioned in one’s hands. Furthermore, one’s head is set buzzing with a plethora of “tips”: Lead with your right hand; push with your right foot; keep your head down; don’t lift your left heel. But the funny thing about golf is that it translates almost too well into words. What people don’t tell you about golf is that the mess of anatomical information you’re bombarded with in the beginning is useless, unless you have an idea of what you need. You have to hit a golf ball for yourself, without any preconceived notions of how you’re supposed to do it to really learn- just stop thinking, and take a whack at it. I’m going to tell you a story about the greatest shot of my young life. It was this year, on a strange-looking dog-leg left, uphill. It was eighty degrees out, and the bees were buzzing, though it might have been flies; I forget which. My drive was horribly smashed, and after a couple prayed-for bounces, came to rest in the shaggy rough at the corner of the dog-leg. My second shot, a tightly-gripped 8-iron, moved an abundance of dirt. Utterly frustrated, and still two hundred yards from the green, I swung at the ball as if the 3-wood were a crowbar with which I was reducing cement into dust, like I had when I built houses in Peru. The stupefied ball soared the length of the fairway, releasing a sucking sound, and leaned towards the green with the most…

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