Cowgirl Sass & Savvy

Golf is not my game

by Julie Carter

There are a few sports I’ve not ever learned much about nor have I spent a lot of time honing my writing or photography skills involving them.

Usually it is simply a geographical issue or a difference in social circles. Car racing, shuffleboard, chess, martial arts to name a few. However, golf is another and not because there aren’t golfers and golf courses around.

One time when I worked for a small newspaper, I had to fill in for the sports editor and shoot photos of a golf tournament.  With a willing nature, I stepped up for a quick lesson and thought perhaps it would add to my sports photography resume that covered basketball, football, volleyball, track, roping, rodeo and even a few stick horse events.

The sports guy gave me a crash course in the nuances of photographing golf and truly, it was almost a literal crash as he herded our golf cart down the path like a NASCAR driver. He rattled off the particulars at warp speed, quite confident I was going to remember it all as well as recall how to find 4-5 particular local golfers in a “pasture” stocked with 75 guys in kakis and polo shirts.

He pointed at the green spots between little hills, peering right, left and back to find a certain golfer. All this while waving a little golf course map in my face assuring me it was not a hard assignment.

I was holding on to the cart, my camera and my concern for my safety as trees flashed by, we met other carts and the rapid U-turns indicated we were headed the wrong direction. Not that I’d have known. I assure you I was in a foreign land.

If you are a golfer, you love the sport. If you are not a golfer, you yawn. But if you do, do it very quietly. Even TV golf teaches you part of the protocol is to be very quiet, as indicated by the wimpy little “golf clap” that is allowed eventually.

I’m a rowdy sport kind of girl. I like sports where, as a spectator, you can cheer, yell and holler a little to release some exuberance for what is happening on the field, track, floor or arena. If I spent very much time on the golf greens, I’d undoubtedly be asked to leave.

Bogeys, birdies, putts, tees, par, chip shots, in the rough, on the green, fairway –all a foreign language to me. I was just happy I only had to photograph it, not write it. I did, however, have some concern I’d end up on the news end of a camera while being escorted from the course for forgetting I wasn’t supposed to cheer.

There are some similarities to this sport and my cowboy world of roping and rodeo. Both use handicaps to give the less skilled competitors a better chance. It brings in more entry fees for the really good guys to win a bigger pot. It just isn’t polite to call it what it really is –“Sucker, come donate your money.”

Both have tours, pro’s and am’s, champions and hot shots with big egos. Even the name of one of the tournaments that annually came to town, the Tight Lies Tour, could just as easily been the name of a team-roping event.

I know where to stand, sit or hide when I’m taking pictures at a rodeo, roping or on the ranch. It is basic instinct for me to not get hurt by the livestock, the action of the event or an irritated competitor.

I’ve never been whipped with a rope and so far, I can also say the same about a golf club.

Julie, who now enjoys the pace of stick horse rodeos, can be reached for comment at jcarternm@gmail.com