Shandielly Harshy

It's good to be bad, if it's bet
2003-05-04 01:31:38 (UTC)

*sigh* golf

Golf is going okay. My school’s team is the worst of the
worst…how depressing! I’m #5 in rank on my team. That
doesn’t bother me because I’m the newest and least
experienced. We had a 6th girl, and I was better than her
after my 2nd time, but she quit.
At least once a week, I miss a full day of school
for a Jamboree—9 hours of golfing on 18 holes, plus the 45
minutes to 2 hours that it takes to get to the golf
course. I don’t like doing that much golf in one day,
because not only is it boring and gay, it’s strenuous.
You’d think that golf is an easy sport. I mean, COME ON.
How hard could it possibly be? You hit a ball with a stick
until it goes into a little whole. But once I joined the
team, cruel reality hit me like a 2x4 to the back of the
head: GOLF IS HARD. You’re feet hurt after all the
walking that you have to do. Your arms hurt from
swinging. Your abs hurt because you have to twist at the
stomach and try not to move your whole body. Your fingers
go numb from hitting so hard. Your back hurts from
hunching over so much. And your head hurts from all the
counting that you have to do. But anyways, back to the
Jamboree. The judges only count the top 4 scores on each
team. So when the 4 girls on my team who have been golfing
all their life score better than me by about 30 points
(newsflash: that’s a lot), my score isn’t counted. It just
pisses me off that I have to work so hard at something that
I don’t even like, and it’s ALL FOR NOTHING! When we go, I
miss an entire day of school. Why, you may ask, am I
complaining about missing school? Because I don’t know
what’s going on in any of my classes. Therefore, I can’t
do the homework because I missed the notes. Also, I don’t
get out much. School is the only place I can see my
friends.
So I should just quit, right? Wrong-o. My grandma won’t
let me. Plus, I feel morally obligated to stay on this
team. Tri-county can’t play at any matches or jamborees if
they have less than 5 people on a team. And my grampa is
making bets on how long I’ll stick with this. It hurts my
feelings that he thinks I’m just going to give up. I
thought he would be proud of me for trying something new.
But I guess this whole experience has taught me something:
don’t try something new unless you know exactly what you’re
getting yourself into.
On Thursday I played a home match. There’s this big hill
that you have to walk down on hole 9, and a girl I was
playing against joked that she should roll down the hill so
that she wouldn’t have to walk all that way. When I told
her to do it, she pussed out. I thought, “Hey, if she
won’t do it, somebody else should.” So that’s exactly what
I did. I rolled down the hill. The weather was horrible,
we had heavy rain, and so my khaki pants were already
trashed. It didn’t make a difference if I had a few more
mud stains on my ass. Later, after we had finished our
game, we were walking towards the clubhouse. The girls I
had played against told me I was crazy, and I gladly took
that as a compliment. Then they dared me to jump in the
pond 20 feet away—bad idea. I ran down the hill and jumped
into the pond, in front of a bunch of rich yuppies and
their snotty business associates. It didn’t occur to me
that jumping into a golf course pond probably wasn’t a good
idea, until after I had taken a running jump and was
sailing over the duck poop-infested liquid. So I figured
this pond wouldn’t be too deep, and I’d only be in up to my
ankles or so. I was dead wrong. I landed in water that
was higher than my knees. My jump was padded by about 2
feet of dead, wet, rotting leaves in to bottom of the
pond. I lost my balance and fell all the way in—and the
water went over my head. Oh gawd it was so nasty! When I
finally crawled out, the girls could not stop laughing.
One of them actually pissed themselves! I asked them not
to tell anybody what I had done, because my coach would
kick my ass. So I go into the bathroom and change my
clothes, and while I’m gone the girls tell EVERYBODY what
happened. I come out and hear everybody talking about it,
and I expected my coach to be PISSED! But guess what? She
was laughing to hard to say anything.
So in the end, every girl that went to that meet thought I
was absolutely crazy, and wanted to play against me next
time. On girl actually dropped her rank from #1 to #3, and
she’s trying to drop to #5 so that we can play in the same
group. Isn’t that the greatest? I figure that if I can’t
make people remember me for my wonderful golfing skills, I
should make them remember me because I made the atmosphere
that much more fun.
Okay, I’m all done…peace out nuggas!
~Shandielle