The other day, I decided to play nine holes at the executive course near my home. If you're unfamiliar with that term, an executive course is shorter, cheaper, and usually in worse shape than a regulation golf course. To help you remember this, just remember what a shitty job our nation's executives have done. By the way, that was business joke, not a political one, lest you think Barak isn't still my dog. Because he is.
After getting an awesome parking spot, I realized I forgot my wallet at home. Giving up a money spot is bad enough, but it was made more painful when I saw mustachioed douche in a red Boxter waiting to claim what was mine. Each blink of his turn signal, dagger of light cutting through my soul. To be fair, it was my fault. To be even more fair, it was actually a Carrera convertible. I decided I wasn't meant to play golf that day, so I made a sandwich instead.
About 20 hours later, wallet in hand, I drove back to the course and, you're not going to believe this, scored the same parking spot I was forced to give up a day earlier. A sign! My first hole-in-one was only minutes away, I was sure of it. Now, I usually play the back nine at this course but today I decided to hit the putting green first, and play the front nine instead since it looked less crowded. And for the first three holes, it was.
I think I started bogey-bogey-par. I think.
I definitely made par on the challenging 92 yard 3rd and that's when I realized the player I'd been staying ahead of was going to catch me. The log jam ahead allowed me to hit a few extra putts before it was my turn to wait at the fourth, a robust 291 yard par 4. As I sat, contemplating my place in the universe, a black woman with kind eyes walked over the hill, looking a little unsure of herself.
"It looks like we're going to be waiting a while. You're welcome to join me. I'm Scott."
"I'm Nita."
We shook hands and I was surprised by the firmness of her grip. As I learned a little about Nita over the next few hours, it made sense. I only could imagine how many handshakes she's exchanged over the years.
"I'm not very good." she said.
"Neither am I. I just have nice golf shoes." (Which I do, thanks Matt and Annie.)
"How long have you been playing?"
"Off and on since I was a kid."
"Well then, you're good. I've only been playing for about nine months."
She told me that she picked up the game just for the challenge of it. "I feel like if I focus on something, I can do it. Plus it's good for business. Customers want to play golf, so I figure I should try to at least be respectable at it."
Finally, we were able to tee off. The pressure was on, since Nita was convinced I was a young Sam Snead. Predictably, I hit a low hook that went nowhere.
"I told you I wasn't any good, Nita."
"Hit another one. We're out here for practice."
Love this woman. I accepted her offer, and hit it off the toe a bit, but it went straightish, just barely into the right rough.
"Woah! I didn't even see that one, it went so far!" God bless her, I only hit it 200 yards. Again, I love this woman.
She hooked her first tee shot, just like I did, but she was able to poke her second attempt into the fairway. My second shot went over the green, leaving me with a tough down hill chip shot, that ran well past the hole. Two putts for bogey. I forget how Nita did. She was actually pretty handy with the putter even though she seems to aim right and putts across her body. She also holds the putter below the grip. Later, I would try to get her to take a more conventional stance, but she found it uncomfortable.
The next hole was a fun little down hill par 3 with a bunker protecting the front right, 114 yards or something.
We had another wait, so I asked her what kind of business she's in that made her want to pick up golf. "Well I retired as VP of Volvo last year, now I run a consulting firm." Woah. The round took on a new complexion. At least for a bum like me. She wasn't a player, but she was a player. Ya dig? She was with Volvo for 30 years and worked her way up the ranks to VP of Human Resources, reporting directly to the CEO. Growing up in Virginia, she was a child of the civil rights movement and thinking about the obstacles she had to overcome to get where she was absolutely blew my mind.
"What club do you hit here?" she asked. "Uh, I've got this 54 degree wedge, it's more lofted than a pitching wedge. It's like a sand wedge."
"Now what do you mean by lofted? Does that mean it's heavier?" Wow, she really was new to the game.
"Well it is a bit heavier by nature, but loft refers to the angle of the club face."
"Wow, you can hit a sand wedge that far? Go for it."
Now, Nita hits driver on every hole, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that she was surprised by my length. Anyway, I hit a nice high one to within 10 feet.
"Oh my gosh, that was beautiful!" Nita exclaimed. "It looks so pretty when you get it way up in the air like that!" I liked impressing her. Even more so, now that I knew she was somebody.
"Thanks, Nita. I hit that one pretty well." Yes, she pulled driver and hit a pretty good one just left of the green. I'd already established that she was ok with me offering tips here and there, but there was no way I could begin to explain the intricacies of the short game. She was on her own. And so, she skulled it across the green. I just missed my birdie putt and tapped in for par. Nita was into me for a Finski. Easy money. Just kidding.
After another par 3, we got to another driving hole. But again, they're all driving holes for Nita. I hit one solid, but a little left. Nita was in awe. Her drive was ok. She hit a few duffers and it looked like she was getting discouraged.
"Nita, you looked up on that last one. This time, keep your head down, and I'll watch where it goes. Deal?"
"Deal."
What does she do, but hit a nice high fade, landing it about 12 feet past the cup, then spins it back, leaving herself with a gimmie and yells, "Yeah motherfucker! That's what I'm talking about! King Kong ain't got shit on me!"
Ok, that's not what happened. BUT, she did get it up in the air nicely for her most solid shot so far. Landed just short of the green.
"Good deal, Nita?"
"Good deal!"
We bumped knuckles. I really enjoyed helping her, but my best tip was yet to come. I'd noticed earlier that she was playing her driver and longer clubs too far back in her stance and I explained to her why it's necessary when hitting driver to play the ball of the inside of your left foot. Once she made this adjustment, she drove the shit out of the ball. Ok, not the shit, but much, much better. She said that her $175/hr lessons didn't help her as much as that little tip did. I joked that I'd start charging her on the back 9. Hilarious, I know. Golf humor.
So we had fun the rest of the day. I mostly played bad. I learned that her husband's uncle is the late Larry Doby. Blew my mind for at least the second time that day. Juanita Doby has led an incredible life and it was a true pleasure to spend a few hours with her. Where else but on the golf course would I have felt comfortable talking to such an accomplished woman? Where else but on the golf course would our paths have even crossed?
