Written by guest blogger Shane Quarles
It’s Saturday morning, 6 o’clock. My 17-year-old son, me and two of my buddies have an 7:54 tee time at Eagle Hills Golf Course. Excited, you bet, our first round of the season.
To prepare for our champion style day, my son and I have a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon and potatoes with a big glass of OJ. We put on our golfing attire, which has definitely improved over the past couple of years – very fashionable if I might say so. With Bermuda shorts and a collared shirt slightly tucked in – we are ready to rock the course.
We load up the clubs and we’re off. We arrive at the golf course just after 7 o’clock. Time to hit a bucket of balls and spend some time on the practice green. It is a beautiful morning. The sound of birds singing, the smell of freshly cut grass and that unmistakable sound that a driver makes when it cracks the ball. We spend the next half hour warming up on the driving range. The swing feels pretty good for being this early in the season. Next stop, the putting green. It’s a busy morning, a lot of golfers are out. It’s going to be a great day here in Idaho.
We perform the ceremonial tee toss to see who gets to hit first; my son is the unlucky winner. He, who has played little golf, is up. He pulls out the driver and makes a couple of practice swings. Then, whack, straight down the middle about 230 yards. He smiles as if he has done that a thousand times.
Now, it’s my turn. I opt for the 4 iron. I know that if I hit it well, I will only have about 140 yards left to the green. I make a couple of the greatest practice swings known to man, and then I step up for the shot. All of the things I was taught by my father are racing through my head. Stay down, keep your eye on the ball, keep your left arm straight, nice easy back swing and then “Whack”. The brilliant white, brand new golf ball screams across the grass, aka “the worm burner” about 50 yards off the tee box. Barely making it past the women’s tee box, thank goodness. We all know what happens if you don’t. For those of you who don’t know, just ask any seasoned golfer. I’m sure they will happily fill you in. Now it’s Justin’s turn. He stripes his 5 iron up next to my sons ball. After a short walk, it’s my turn again. My friends offer up some words of encouragement as only friends can do. Stuff like, “Did you hit that one with your purse?”
Whack, what a feeling, the ball is actually in the air, flying straight at the pin. The ball lands on the green and stops about 15 feet from the hole. “Nice shot” Justin exclaims. We battled back and forth all day. Enjoying each others company and the perfect weather as well as Bloody Mary at the turn, except for my son, he had a pop and hotdog. We referred to the cocktail as aiming oil.
I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a Saturday. Mark Twain said, “Golf is a good walk spoiled”. I beg to differ. We all finished the day with rounds in the low 90’s and even my son broke 100. I reminded him that 80% of the people who play golf never break 100. That brought a smile to his face. The skins were almost even with only one sandy that my son won on the 17th hole. We are looking forward to a great summer in Idaho and many more rounds. These memories I will have forever.