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Flying grass on the golf course
by Michelle Minnoch

Those who know me know two very important things about me; don't bug me on a Monday night between January and May because of my addiction (24 or Kiefer Sutherland - they're one in the same); the second well known fact about me is that I can't play sports. The latter is not only extremely accurate, but painfully obvious.

I was asked to take part in a foursome over the weekend for a round of golf at Innisbrook for their Parkinson's tournament. Now here's the catch;

1) I have never golfed before (okay, I have if you include Nintendo)

2) I have not mini-putted in 16 years

That said, a co-worker of mine took me to a driving range the day before. Well, you would have thought we were playing polo with all of the grass flying. I got the jest of the rules of swinging a club; knees bent slightly, butt out, keep your feet on the ground, move your body, but keep your eye on the ball.

After a bucket of balls had been emptied out of the basket, I was sent home with a set of clubs, not a clue, and my dignity still in tact.

Did I mention I am not athletic? I informed my brother of my upcoming game. You know, the athletic sibling, the one who was born skating straight, who could catch a ball, and who can play golf with a TV and a controller. He had a good laugh, reminding me that I missed the ball on the tee in T-ball, and told me to call him when I was done.

The day of the tournament, well, I looked good in my new golf shirt.

Good thing it was 'best ball'.

As I teed up at every hole, the butt was out, the knees were bent, and my eye sometimes stayed on the ball. After one or two practice swings (alright, I was trying to hit the ball but claimed them as practice swings), I made contact with the ball. Unfortunately for me, the contact only allowed the ball to go a few feet or two. On the ground. Like a hockey puck. Hit by a two year old (my apologies for insulting any two year olds out there).

Halfway through our game I finally got a ball in the air. My teammates, Lou, Lauren and Tim, hollered and yelled "way to go" to the poor girl who finally saw her ball fly through the air. Mind you, it didn't go too far, but it got off of the ground. That was the highlight (so far, I do have another).

As the game went on, I saw my team-mates drive the ball. I heard that sound that only comes when your club makes contact to the ball, and it is driven father then you ever thought.

The sounds my team-mates heard coming from me were quite different. It was the sound of grass coming out of the ground upon club contact, the sound of a grunt (and a few other choice words), and the sound of a beer can opening as soon as the beverage cart drove by (that sound was heard a few more times).

I should probably head over to the course, and apologize to the groundskeeper for my unfortunate mess. I should probably thank the Lord for keeping the rain away until our last hole. And my team-mates - well they should probably thank me for making them look so good, and for getting to the prize table second, for 'Most Honest Golfer'. (FYI - I found out after the fact that means we did the worst).

The other highlight? On our last hole, I got par.