By Mona K. Wood


My boyfriend, Max, is trying to get me into golf. He will pay for lessons, he says. He’ll even buy me clubs. We’ll be able to share something together that we’ll be able to do even into our senior years, he coaxes. I’ll love it because of my competitive spirit, he promises.

We were at dinner recently with a couple of his old friends and their wives, and both women are now avid golfers after having their arm twisted.” For Max, this was proof that I would love it, too.

I have never had an interest in golf. I know who Tiger Woods and Michelle Wie are, and therein lies my entire knowledge of and interest in golf. I notice the cute outfits Michelle is wearing more than her ranking, and admire her poise with the media more than her golf swing.

An old boyfriend also tried to get me interested in the sport because he was so addicted.

He would break dates with me if anyone called with an opening in their foursome. He swung at invisible golf balls all the time, holding an invisible club in his hands...and I swear he could see a ball flying over the greens to its planned destination because he was looking mighty content with his virtual performance. I was a “golf widow” and we weren’t even near getting married. That certainly didn’t endear me any more to the game – or to the relationship. Bub-bye.

It was a bit of a challenge when I was asked to do the publicity for a new golf course some years ago. I wrote a great press release and the job was successful, but I’ll admit to not understanding almost everything I wrote. I rode in the golf cart the whole time, smiling at people who might as well have been speaking a foreign language – birdies, eagles, albatrosses. What’s up with the bird obsession?

What is this power that golf seems to hold over its victims? How can any hobby that takes four to five hours a pop and costs major bucks. I like tennis, canoe paddling, bicycling and hiking – free to low-cost activities – active activities where you actually move around instead of chasing a little ball around in a cart.

Uh-oh, I can see the hate mail now from golf addicts everywhere. But before stabbing your pen into that paper, let’s wait awhile.

Max doesn’t like a lot of things I do – tennis, shopping, chick flicks, etc. – but he endures them all because I like them.

So, I guess I’m signing up for golf lessons soon. Only time will tell if I will be eating my words and swinging at invisible balls with that glazed look in my eye. But if I do, I know I will be dressed very cute, just like Michelle.



Mona K. Wood is a publicist and writer. Reach her at