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I used to collect bag tags with the passion of an art collector, if not of someone chasing his Mona Lisa with the zeal of one who has lost his mind in the name of love.
Why I am not like that anymore, it’s because, maybe, I have outgrown it?
I do not have a reason for it.
But, maybe, just maybe, I have found other interests more fascinating than golf? Like the guitar that had been my love since grade school?
Don’t get me wrong, fellers.
I love golf. Without it, I’d be lost. Forever.
It is a game that has shaped my life for years ever since I dumped basketball and tennis. And I am not about to drop it like a hot thong. Nah.
Well, we have to switch games with the passing of time. Golf was the quickest way to get away from basketball, and tennis.
Basketball makes us run, if not do spurts, but as we age, that just can’t be sustained. The mind is willing, but not the knees.
Tennis makes us run, too, if not also do spurts, but as we age, that just can’t be sustained. The mind is willing, but not the knees.
When golf got into my system—was I 35 years old then?—I knew it was the game for me the rest of my life.
I willingly tossed my Yonex and Wilson rackets to my younger brother living in the country. My Air Jordan shoes went to my nephews in a flash.
Golf is in. Indeed, it is a game from age 5 to a 105.
Golf even equalizes everything with this system called handicap, which balances skills to make competition even-steven for all ages.
It is talent, not to mention strategy and tactics, that should make the really good golfers win in the end.
But it is only mostly in tournaments now that send me to a golf course on winged feet. Raffles? Maybe. Some kindhearted capitalists have made it a habit to dangle cars as raffle prizes. Who doesn’t want to win one?
Weeks back, I skipped playing two courses in Sydney, one of which regularly hosts the Australian Open.
It stunned friends of mine.
“How could you not play these beautiful courses by the sea, Sir?” said a startled Sydney-mate Karl Magsuci of BMW.
I had no explanation.
Last week I did not play the Queen’s Island, also a seaside course built by Korean money (again?) in faraway Daanbantayan town in the northernmost tip of Cebu. As I sipped melon juice at its massive clubhouse during a break of the Toyota Road Trek 11, I had a glance at the fairways; they looked impressive.
“How could you not play this totally strange golf course?” said Danny “Sir John” Isla, the Lexus Manila president. “If only for curiosity’s sake, let’s do it!”
I did not. I had no explanation. Again.
After nine holes, Sir John quit.
“Photogenic lang pala,” he said.
Just as I thought.