Stepping out of a car into the car park of a golf course, wielding my £15 Driver surrounded by middle-aged golfers with their full golf bags and year-old Mercedes, is a daunting experience.
As a child, I often went to the local Driving Range with my dad and my brother. I was by far the youngest and having to use over-sized golf clubs didn’t help my already bad golfing ability.
I doubt I made it much further than the net placed 50 yards out. One highlight of those occasions was the time I hit a ball into the ceiling and got it stuck in the metal guttering above my head.
That being said, I was in good stead as I walked into Sherdons Golf Driving Range. I collected 66 balls and rolled them out in the groove next to the tee.
I lined up the centre of my Driver with the ball, brought it backwards and swung. My head was facing forward towards the range. The only movement in sight was the armoured golf buggy.
Looking down, the ball hadn’t moved. It hadn’t been knocked off its tee. The wind of my Driver soaring past wasn’t even close enough to create a slight wobble of the rubber tee.
The only solace was that the person I was with was equally useless. 65 more to go.
A few more air shots and I was already frustrated, the palm of my left hand already felt that rubbing soreness that hands feel after an hour on a rowing machine.
My first contact dribbled the ball a yard from my feet. Close enough that I could still touch it with an outstretched golf club.
I squared up to the ball. Bent my knees. Moved my body as a pendulum and…
…and I whiffed the ball yet again. But at least my form was coming back slightly.
After ten balls, I had actually hit the ball 50 yards. Possibly a new personal best.
Wade Goldberg holds the record for longest drive by a teenager. He was 17-years-old at the time and hit a 411 yard drive.
I am 20.
For context. The furthest marker at the range was 300. I set a personal goal of hitting 125 yards, which I hit within 30 balls. Along the ground, with poor form, but it went 125 yards, stopping neatly near the marker.
The only consistent thing about my golfing was the right curl it had. We were stood at the right end of the range. Away from people I didn’t want to put in harm’s way.
Half of my shots curled around a particular tree and out of sight. Probably never to be seen again. Then my penultimate ball came. My friend lined up the camera to embarrass me with another whiff.
I squared up to the ball. Bent my knees. Moved my body as a pendulum and…
I HIT THE BALL!
Not only did I hit the ball. It flew. It landed at 150 yards and rolled even further. It was the purest shot either of us made that day and it is unrepeatable.
I’ll rephrase. I could not repeat it. Most competent golfers could.
So that was my first experience at a Driving Range for a long while.
Did I enjoy it? No. I’m far too competitive to sit next to someone chipping the ball further than my average and not take that to heart.
Will I go again? Definitely.
