Driving Range Wa...

Last night I came upon a new breed of golfer... The Driving Range Wa... Oh I don't know if I'm meant to say that anymore!

Anyway I’d headed down to the driving range on a cool late summer evening in South Wales, a friend of mine wants to get into golf and so asked me for a lesson or two to get him going. Foolish on his part, he should ask someone who knows what they're talking about rather than just pretends to.

We made our way down to the far end of the driving range – that way less people would be at risk of getting hit by a stray ball from a first timer and hearing my awful advice. Listening to my advice could raise your handicap quicker than Team USA can lose a lead on the Sunday of a Ryder Cup. Hell, just reading my articles could make you a worse golfer!

From our perch in the corner I could see the whole range and in my new role as a writer for this establishment I can’t help but people watch and start writing articles in my mind.

The first thing I saw was a hefty looking fellow in boat shoes, shorts and a white cotton shirt. He stood behind his drive, picked out a target and then approached the ball... 

He waggled more than Jason Dufner but then backed off. He checked his set up, picked out the same target and approached again. He waggled like a puppy’s tail...

Still, something didn’t feel right, he set up again – for the third time, first left foot and then right. By this point I knew what was next, the waggles – damn it I hate waggles - thankfully he pulled the trigger because if he hadn’t I was about to run over there and hit the ball myself. He must’ve taken close to three minutes to hit that ball.

Who knew the #GETONWITHIT campaign needed to be spread to our driving ranges? For the record his drive disappeared into the next postcode and was as straight as a frozen rope, the only one he hit that was. But honestly, if you practise being slow then you’ll play slow. Grip it and rip it... this isn’t making love to your wife, you don’t need foreplay!

Unbelievably he wasn’t the worst I saw that night. Two other gentlemen stole that crown from him in spectacular fashion. To be clear, this driving range isn’t attached to a course, it’s a stand-alone entity. You wouldn’t be there to hit a basket of balls after a round or before, yet somehow and for some reason unknown to me there were two guys in full golf gear.

At first I thought one of them might’ve been a pro giving lessons but two chunks and a slice later that was dispelled. Perfectly pressed polo shirts matched up with their best pair of golf trousers as seen in this years’ majors by their favourite player and a white belt thrown in for effect.

Maybe these guys are mistakenly thinking that it isn’t golf clubs that enforce a dress code but somehow unless you’re wearing a polo shirt and the right cut of trousers your golf clubs refuse to swing.

More worryingly, maybe they thought they looked good? 

I go to the driving range because it gives my wife some peace and because the nights are getting darker so I can’t get on the course, please don’t ruin my sanctuary with this nonsense.

Wear jeans, hit balls like you’re a golfing machine gun and go home.

I'm a writer for #GCW. I like to pretend I'm good at golf and writing because I'm not ready to accept the truth about either...