Golf Has Lost It's Control Over Me

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There was a time when I was obsessed with golf.  These clubs were magical to me, the wand that I would use to create art.  They offered hope.  The chance for improvement.  They stood for freedom and if nothing else they symbolized a beautiful walk and hanging out with friends. Each new driver design promised to add 10 yards, or more loft, or a straighter flight, and maybe in some sense that was true.  Like anything else, the measurable strides came as a result of hard work, perseverance, and talent.  Nothing else.  The tools were the tools, but the artist had to use those tools to create magic.  Sometimes they make the job easier, but the hands holding them was the most crucial aspect.

I can remember receiving permission to go ahead and buy the clubs.  My game had progressed to the point where it made sense to have improved tools.  I was so anxious to get them I neglected to have them fitted, but I didn't care.  It may have made a slight difference, who knows? I just knew that I no longer had to carry a set of clubs from Sam's club.  I now had, in theory, the tools that the pros use.  I used them a lot and got even better (for an amateur).     But something changed, the obsession faded, and I set them down for long periods of time.

As I walked through my garage the other day to search for something, I glanced over at the clubs and it occurred to me that I hadn't used them in over a year, despite the fact that I can see the 13th fairway from my house.  I used to walk through the December Northern California downpour, by myself, so I could play.  I couldn't get it out of my mind in those days.  Now as I looked at them, all I could think about was how they would reflect light and how they might look against a blue background.  The obsession had changed.

I became obsessed with photography about 3 years ago when I got my first DSLR.  I suppose that coincides with the decline of the golf obsession.  I had never made the link before yesterday until I realized the tools of my old obsession were merely props for the tools of my new obsession.

I couldn't fight the urge, I never can, regardless of the obsession.  I quickly pulled out the background and all the required tools and began shooting the clubs.  The end result fit what I saw in my mind and I was happy.  The perseverance and the hard work has paid off in this pursuit as well.  I can typically create the end result from what I see in my head, but it's taken a lot of time and patience to get to that point, and I still have tons to learn.  When I first picked up the camera I never realized that development was the result of the same process as it is with sports.  I always thought the really good photographers just picked up a camera, were instantaneously good, and never took a bad shot.  Now I know the truth, and I hope this obsession lasts.

I hope I don't go in the garage in a year and see my camera bag propped up on my drums, next to the motorcycle that is leaking oil onto the golf bag....

Everything is a pain in the ass...

Everything is a pain in the ass (EIAPITA).  These flip-flops prove it.  They are one small thing out of millions of things that are a pain in the ass, but they are the most recent, so they have become the placeholder for now.  A material icon and representation of the concept of all that is a pain in the ass.

I'm pretty sure my dad taught me this concept, though I can't exactly pinpoint it to a day or a particular thing.   I only know that  over time what has always been a fact of his life, became a fact of mine.   At some point it became a running joke between us.  I would say "Dad, you know what this is...."  and he would reply "It's a pain in the ass!!!!!"  EIAPITA manifests itself in many forms.  It can be physical (I bang my head, I hit my elbow, I roll my ankle) and it can be mental (I just sat down, is the remote seriously 5 steps away).  It can be trivial ( I spilled all the coffee I just ground), or serious (I gave myself second degree burns using the iron to get ready for church).  Regardless of its form, EIAPITA permeates every pore of my being and makes me shout at the world and the creator for making everything so damn difficult!

Now then, back to the flip flops.  How in the world can EIAPITA have a role in a cheap pair flip-flops you ask?  It's not the flip flops themselves (their construction, design, quality,etc..), it's the way they came into my life that make them a PITA.

Nikki and I were getting ready to attend a wine club event (more on that in another post)  and I got ready in plenty of time.  It was hot, so I wore shorts, a white button down cubano type shirt, and sneakers.   I then sat down to catch a small part of the football game before we had to leave.  About 15 minutes before go time, Nikki walks in to have me attach her bracelet, glimpses at my shoes and declares, "Oh no, you can't wear those" (PITA #1).  I plead my case that we are going to a pig roast, in a barn, in 100 degree weather.  I'm quite sure these shoes will do.  Since you know about the flip-flops already, I'll skip the cursing and tantrum part about not having time to go to the store and move on.

We zip out the door, but realize we have to stop by my sister's house to drop off a birthday gift and bring back some borrowed items (PITA #2).  Sorry sis.   As we're leaving the neighborhood, Nikki uses her iphone to confirm there is a Kohl's in Napa on the way (that's actually an anti PITA).

We make it to the downtown area in good time, I take my usual route and make the usual turns and....are you freaking kidding me!!!!! Main Street is blocked for an event (PITA #3).  I navigate, get close, park, and jog over to the the store.  It's 100 degrees out, so I start sweating, not what you want when headed to an event (PITA #4).

I get in, make my selection, head to the counter and realize there are 6 people in the line ahead of me (PITA#5).  I run to the other side of the store, and there are no people in line (Anti PITA #2).   I smile, tell the clerk that's all I have, and she begins the search for the barcode.  And you know it right away, don't you?  There's no f*@%*$g barcode on this pair (PITA #6).  Now I have two options.  1. I can have her ask for a price check, or god forbid she go do it herself or 2. I can run back to the other side of the store myself because I know it will be quicker.  I opt for option 2 (PITA #6).  I pay quickly, run out of the store, back to the truck and we're on our way.  Damn, I'm still sweating (PITA#7).

So, you see, I now have a pair of flip flops, and they're fine.  I'll get good usage out of them enjoying what remains of the summer heat.  But every time I pick them up and put them on, I'll be reminded of the circumstances in which they were obtained, and I'll be reminded, once again the everything is a pain in the ass.

Hey everybody, you know what these flip flops are?

It's Gonna Be Painful....

It's gonna be painful.....

That's the warning I was given from my sister when Nikki and I agreed to take Jason to his soccer game.   Tammy had a wedding to go to so we gladly offered to help her out while she was gone.   The life of a sports mom, especially with two kids (one 16) is extremely hectic so we often end up helping with the logistics of the lifestyle.

A full year had passed since Jason last played soccer, his focus concentrated on baseball during that time. His baseball game knowledge had become very good, he understood where to throw the ball, how to back-up plays, the situation, and all the things necessary to be successful at baseball.  In addition, he swung the bat with some ferocity despite his long, skinny frame.   While others struggled, it was clear he had a strong grasp of the game.  Soccer, however, proved to be quite a different story.

The last time we watched Jason play soccer was his first year so it was understandable that the game might be a difficult thing to grasp.  Soccer tends to be much less structured, so the fluidity of the game often doesn't register until later on in the development process.  At this age the game is typically a cluster of chaos with the ball emerging periodically for a breath of air, then being immediately inundated by the hornets nest of cleats and socks.  Surely this go round would be different as Jason had another year of growth and development under his belt plus an understanding of team sports and what it means to be aggressive.

The early signs during warmups were ominous.  The ball was splaying off his foot at all angles and he seemed to be on the verge of falling down all the time.   His signature move was what I call the "guillotine".   The move can be performed while he is at rest or while on the move.  If on the move, the result is far more spectacular because then he is off balance and contorts and spins in the air.  Imagine Charlie Brown with long legs.  Much like Charlie Brown, he typically misses the ball while performing the move and his kicking leg cuts upward with enough force that I'm convinced it could cut another player's head off.  His brother, Jacob, had warned me about it a few weeks before, and then I saw it in the backyard a few days later.  I was certain a gratuitous shot to the package was inevitable so I kept a reasonable distance.  I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that it would happen in real time during the game.

Due to the ferocity and uniqueness of the move, I decided I would only take shots from the legs down to ensure I captured the beauty of it.  I only had to wait a short time into the game before he gave me what I came for.   In order to understand the move completely, we need to break down the evidence frame by frame a la the Zapruder film (if you don't know what that is you shouldn't be reading this anyway).

1.  In frame one we can see excellent technique just before impact.  Having played soccer most of my life, I can appreciate the power about to be unleashed here.  Everything is in perfect position for a pinpoint strike at the ball.

2.  Seemingly defying all laws of physics, he completely misses the ball.  We can see the force of the blow reflected in the hyperextension of the knee.  I'm not sure how his shin didn't fly off his leg and back over his head in a bloody stump.  This frame shows why the move is called the guillotine.  If somebody's head were in the arc of the leg path, it would surely be removed from the body (guys, imagine if you're package were in the path).

3.  In this frame we see the follow through motion along with the ball in its original position.  The force of the knee on the follow through could also do great damage to any innocent bystander.


Thank goodness he tends to float around the outside of the pack because it would be unfortunate so see a young 'un experience death by guillotine in the modern ages.

       

For the second half Jason played goalie and his knowledge of the game seemed to be about the same.  He wandered all over the place and was out of position, but he had a hell of a good time picking up the ball, sprinting, and punting it as far as he is able.  And that's when it dawned on me:  Who cares if he knows what he's doing or not, he's having a great time, he's interacting, he's part of a team, he's learning, he's active and he enjoys the social aspect and dynamics of team sports.

However, I would have liked to have seen the guillotine maneuver on one of those punts...