Senior Tour Swing & a Miss

Bob Morrissey

It was my usual awful round of golf — too many wayward shots, too many putts and too many excuses.

Still, I put on a brave face for our post-round handshakes, then dashed off to the snack bar just behind the 9th hole.

I’ve gotten to know the various young girls who alternate behind the cash — in fact, it’s reached a point where we kid and even tease each other during our exchanges. Unfortunately, sometimes I go overboard trying for a big laugh, and all I get is silence, which is what happened recently when I was about to give my order.

The young woman cheerfully greeted me with a smile and said, “The usual all-dressed hot dog, Diet Pepsi and Mars bar, Mr. Morrissey?”

“No Mars bar,” I said with a straight face. “I’d prefer something from another planet. Something a little closer to home.”

At this point I’d expect the girl to play along and say something like: “What about Uranus?” I’d feign shock, wag a finger and bark: “Watch your language, young lady!” much like Oscar on Corner Gas.

But none of that happened. Not a laugh; not even a smile.

Embarrassed, I turned around to gauge the reaction of the two fellows waiting in line behind me. They weren’t amused.

“You should do standup,” one said sarcastically.

“You think that’s funny?” I shot back. “You should see my golf swing.”

My self-deprecating quip didn’t exactly save the day, but it did squelch our awkward moment. After all, how can you be annoyed with someone who doesn’t take himself too seriously? Especially a duffer who’s 83.

It wasn’t always that way, but with old age comes fragility, and with fragility comes humility — not to mention numerous falls. The reason I ridiculed my swing is because it no longer is a work in progress. No amount of practice or lessons will help. Pointe finale.

Of course, our bodies all age differently, and many people can still play golf and remain active into their 90s. They’re the ones blessed with wonderful genes; often they’re more mobile and have fewer wrinkles than those in their late 60s.

Others aren’t as lucky. For many,  problems start to pile up as you get into your high 70s.

Suddenly, it takes more effort to rise from any sort of seat that’s lower than what the younger you was used to. At first it’s a bit discouraging, but then you realize that even much younger people share that problem.

Take athletes in their 20s. Watch football players on TV. When a halfback — or any player for that matter — goes down, a teammate usually extends a hand to help that player up.

I’ve fallen twice on the golf course this month, both times in a muddy patch following a deluge. And, yes, I needed help — not to mention a change of clothing. At least the electric carts are easy to get in and out of.

Also, by your late 70s, your body becomes less predictable, which can affect you mentally. Your legs still hurt, but you’ve learned to deal with it, often with medication.

Then one day, when you’re not expecting it, a knee buckles. Yikes, that’s new; another thing to worry about. It happens so suddenly; you just hope there’s something nearby to latch onto.

But back to the young lady tending the snack bar at my golf club. The one who was struck dumb by my Mars bar comment.

Maybe I’ll get more of a response if I ask for a Mr. Big. It’s a crunchy delight and it’s on our planet.

Hmm. I can hardly wait.