The whole point of the driving range is that it's a place where you can work on things. It's the time when a new golfer can work on their swing and use some serious swings experimenting with grip and mechanics until they feel like their swing is working just right. And, once that swing feels right, they can keep at it until the swing becomes natural enough that they will repeat it all the time. After all, inconsistency is the mark of someone new to the sport. At least, that's what can happen if you don't go to the range with me and my friends, when the only thing you're going to learn are new ways to make fun of each other.
Yesterday I got a call from Josh and we met up with each other at McGolf in Dedham to hit a couple of buckets of balls. I actually made some solid contact with my driver and don't hate it today nearly as much as I did Friday. Also, I was hitting my hybrid well, which almost never happens. Of course my 3 wood, which is usually old reliable, was the club I couldn't get consistent contact with. It's always something. I'm still finding that my biggest problem is that I hit every club the exact same length. I could pull driver, I could pull 9 iron - it's going the same damn distance. Honestly, next time I play I think I'm going to bring my 7 iron, a pitching wedge and a putter and that'll be it. My results will be the same and at least my back will thank me for not having to carry so many clubs. Also, I'm still getting under the ball too much in some instances, as I hit what would be perfect pitching shots... with my driver.
But, as is often the case, the real fun of the driving range was people watching. As you can imagine, on a picture-perfect Saturday in Massachusetts, the range was packed. Strangely enough, the only place we could find bays next to each other was under the covered bays. The guy next to Josh was a serious hitter. As we were off to one side, we were practically aiming at the mini-golf course. This guy was launching shots into the netting, which had to be 200+ yards away. And not bouncing into the netting - hitting high into the nets. We all get it, chief - you're a big hitter. Maybe you should switch to an iron before you kill someone. There were also the requisite number of men who had dragged their girlfriends along; most of whom looked liked they would rather get waxed below the belt than hit a bucket of golf balls. Lots of kids, too, which speaks well to the growth of golf in the future, as long as those parents don't try and force the game on their kids. But man or woman, young or old, we all had one thing that brought us together - we all tried really hard to hit the truck that was going along collecting the balls. Nothing turns people into idiots faster than the opportunity to hit a car with a golf ball and there be no repercussions.
The real interesting character was the guy who started hitting the bay that Josh was using when Josh went to buy a second bucket. I told him the bay was taken, but he pretended not to hear me. I wasn't sure of etiquette in this situation, but I hate it when people pretend they can't hear me when I know they can. And since I already had a weapon in my hand, many options flashed in my brain. Instead I opted to let Josh take my bay and I waited until the guy on the other side of me finished his last 15 shots. I'm a peacemaker that way.
