Sunday, April 14, 2013

Adam Sandler Has Ruined Golf Ranges, Or Why Teenagers Suck

Tomorrow, or, well, later today, I'll get to step on a golf course with three good friends and, in the words of Lewis Black, remember why I hate myself. Do yourself a favor and listen; it's excellent and spot on. Now, in a vain attempt to make the day go better, I've been trying to get the rust off my swing at my local range. The other day when I did this, it was perfect: 50 degrees, cold and wet and isolated. Which meant that I got to hit my bucket in peace and quiet, it went fairly well, and it seemed like I was able to make some adjustments and, you know, get ready to play a round of golf. As opposed to a round of Hate Myself And Lose My Mind, Balls and Sense Of Goodwill. It's why you go to the range in the first place. Today, I wanted to duplicate that, maybe see if something new had happened with the driver (I don't tend to hit it further than the 3-wood, because, well, I Am A Terrible Golfer), and just get in a bucket in time so that I could also squeeze in some running. Since it was 65 and beautiful outside, the range was filled, so I went upstairs where there was space and started my work. At which point, The Worst People In The World came by, and decided to hit alongside me. Who are, you might wonder, the Worst People In The World? Well, they are teenaged boys, without a single thought in their heads, who have decided that the single best use of their limitless time on the planet would be to try to replicate the Adam Sandler / Happy Gilmour trick of running up to the tee and swinging away, because Gosh, That's Original. And just plain hilarious, especially when you spray the area with your crap shots and do all kinds of good to my limited powers of concentration when I'm just trying to, you know, swing the goddamned club. Once Happy Time was over, it was time to move on to Try To Hit The Ballpicker Cart Driver (as if they could have hit the guy if he was 10 feet away and mooning them), Instagraming each other in mid-swing, throwing the balls to see which one could make it the farthest, and narrating the whole thing as if the entire world was their studio audience. Loudly. In an echo-friendly environment that made every banality ring out. Honestly, I've seen less self-involved 5-year-olds. And as they were leaving, they read (I know, I was shocked) the rules of the place, and expressed disappointment that they did not have a child with them, so that they could have broken all of them, rather than leaving one behind. I would up taking 3X as long in the vain hope that they'd get bored and leave, and I could go back to working on my swing, rather than trying to explode them with my mind. Like so. Here's a little piece of wisdom that you only start to really understand n your '40s... teenagers suck, and teenage boys suck harder. I'm certain that I did when I was one, and I'm certain that they do, right now. And yes, I guess I could have complained to the management and made a scene, but please keep in mind that I'm 5'-4", 140, with a wife and kids, and a bucket of balls is $8. It's just not worth making enemies with people who have no self-control, class or judgment skills. i just wish that, when I saw them coming, I had just left the range. I'd have gotten back the half hour of my life, had enough time to finish all goals at my gym trip, and been as ready to hit the links as I was before I met them. Only with slightly less desire to see the entire world destroyed by nuclear annihilation...

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