The world is in absolute turmoil at the moment. But the main worry on my mind is that I keep pulling my drives left.
The UK has voted for Brexit, which has left the economy and our lives in limbo. The Conservatives have been playing a game of musical Prime Minister, while the Labour Party is slowly but surely destroying itself.
Across the pond in America Donald Trump has a chance of becoming President, which would be like voting Skeletor in to be Captain of Eternia Golf Club. And the Police over there shoot on sight if they see a black man sneezing in the street.
Yet here I am standing on the seventh tee far more concerned about the fact that I’ve just hooked my drive into the car park than I am about the possible collapse of our economy, or a nuclear holocaust.
There is death and suffering on an incomprehensible scale each and every day. The rate of terrorist attacks across the world is dramatically increasing. Big Brother is on to its hundredth series - yet they still keep churning it out, year after year. It’s like T-1000 from the original Terminator... No matter how many times you think it’s dead, it just keeps coming back.
The problems in this world are vast in number and grand in scale.
And I find it wonderful that I can escape the world’s problems, just for a short while, as I get irritated beyond belief at the fact that I’ve just four-putted on the tenth.
As my putter goes hurtling into the woods aside the tenth green, followed closely by a tirade of abuse from me about how useless the putter is, my head is completely switched off from all other problems. I focus solely on how useless that fucking putter is.
The world is turning to rat shit in front of our very eyes.
Work is a constant drain, the wife wants me to paint the fence, I can’t look my dog in the eye after he caught me masturbating; none of it matters when you’ve just blown the chance of taking a fiver off your tight mate in match-play because you thinned a wedge through the green.
Golf, and particularly bad golf, is a wonderful distraction to have in your life.
Hitting yourself in the ankle because you missed a two foot put can release frustration that’s been building from all manner of things, not necessarily just from a bad golf shot.
Say for example your dog’s just caught you masturbating – a round of golf will help you to forget about it and move on.
The release of pent up frustration, and the distraction this creates from your other problems, makes bad golf good.
Bad golf is a form of therapy and should be embraced, not feared.
So next time you shank one out of bounds, top the ball thirty yards with half the club watching, or lose a ball that you definitely saw land in the fairway, just smile.
What you’re experiencing is exceptionally good for your mental wellbeing, and will doubtless make you a better person.
I’m a terrible amateur golfer with a nice looking swing