Golf Fore the Good

I had a lesson the other day and my PGA professional suggested my short game would really develop if I learned to hit a lob wedge.

“Have you ever had a lob wedge?” he questioned. I answered sheepishly, “once, but not for a long time.” I have tried to suppress the memory, but it haunts me.

Just a few years into my golfing experience I fancied myself fairly competent on the course and counted a lob wedge among my fourteen clubs. This was the same year I finagled my way into the Spaghetti Open, which until that time had been a “men’s only” event.

The Spaghetti Open was a raucous affair, lots of male (and now female) bonding, with everybody out for a good time. I happened to be playing with my former teacher and golf pro and thought I’d show him how my game had advanced in the months since I’d moved to a new course. Ha! Not to be!

The 9th was a tiny little hole, but not short enough for a mid-handicapper of questionable skill to drop a lob wedge onto the green. Zing! I swung with all my might and pulled the ball into the left woods. My companion - my former pro - moved deftly to my golf bag, and no sooner had I replaced the offending club than he snatched it from my bag and flung it into the same woods. “You’ve no business hitting that club,” he stated.

I retrieved the club only to banish it to my trunk for the season. It is probably still rusting away somewhere in my garage.

Now, more than I decade later, a golf professional wants me to hit a lob wedge? I really can’t figure this game out. What I do know is that the more things change, the more they remain the same.

Ode to My Lob Wedge

Its bronze head is quite pretty,
though I find it oh, so tricky;
I am often filled with dread
when it’s time to hit my lob wedge.

Lying buried in the rough,
it’s really very tough
to take a big huge swing
with that sixty degree thing.

When you are on in regulation
it saves so much frustration;
I’d rather putt that pitch it;
unless, of course, I chip in.

I may pray and close my eyes,
wishing for a better lie.
May I please get up and down,
saving par and thus my round?

Will it come out low and hot?
Or will it chunk and plop?
Please let me hit it clean
And loft my ball upon the green.

In the golf gods I must trust
To pop it from the rough
And snuggle near the pin
Where I can safely tap it in.