True Life: I Have the Shanks

by TheRealAC

One of the things I hate most about the game of golf is when getting paired with terrible players makes me play terrible. I don’t know if it’s the additional time spent waiting for my playing partners to make it past the ladies tees or just the general frustration of not being able to play your game, but regardless it sucks. And now I need some penicillin because I have caught the shanks. 

Fuckin’ Shanks. Backstory: I just relocated from the greatest city in the union, Cleveland, OH to another mistake on the lake, Chicago, IL for work. And… The price of golf in Chicago is a fucking joke. A nice public track in Cleveland would run me $40-$50 with a cart. Here in Chitown, a course of the same quality is $70-$80. So needless to say, I’m still searching for a golf nook that is a good middle ground between price and quality. Suggestions are welcome.

So there’s a nice, little executive track on the old Walter Payton Hill I tried. It’s two minutes from my place and I like hitting the executive sometimes instead of hitting the range. It gives me a little more real life practice instead of mentally simulated situations.

Enter last Sunday. It’s never a good sign when the guys introduce themselves on the first tee and say “Are you good? I suck and haven’t played all year.” These were some nice guys and all, but Jesus tap-dancing Christ, nine holes at the executive shouldn’t take much more than 90 minutes, max. I was out there for like 2 hrs 15 min. I almost walked off and went to the putting green at one point.

Anyway, I started of ok with a couple of pars on the first two holes, which took 45 fucking minutes. And… Enter the shanks, the yips, the chili dippers… I morphed from a slightly above average golfer to a total hack that plays twice a year, just for fun. I couldn’t get the ball in the air. I was hitting it off of the hozzle, blading it, hitting it fat, hitting it thin, you name it, I was doing it. The only thing I could do right was putt. So I got that goin for me, which is nice.

There’s also the other side of the coin: Playing with good players seems to make me play better. Now I just need to find some decent players in the area to kick my ass back into shape. Any takers? Mr. 096? McMaster? Mr. Tips?

Generally speaking, if I can’t find a time with people I know, I prefer to play alone. I know that is less than ideal for the course and the the crusty,  geriatric starter, but it’s always worth a try. I’d prefer to avoid a round of forced awkwardness. But I digress.

I’ll leave you with the the 10 worse cases of the yips. Enjoy and here’s to me not being a total puss on the tee box any more. Fuckin’ Shanks.

Fuckin' Shanks

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