Video games are a funny thing. Not funny “ha ha” but funny in the way that they can set you up for a big, fat dose of reality if you’re not careful.
I love golf. Used to play a lot in my teens and picked it up again after college before my kids were born. I don’t get out much any more, but I still long for the game. In fact, after watching Tiger breeze through that final round of the Buick on Sunday, I tried to convince myself to get back out there.
Instead, I challenged my son to a round of golf on the Wii. I felt like I could dominate. Find my game. Pay attention to wind speeds and slopes on the greens. This is where video games mess with your mind. I try to apply the physics I know are important to the game (the real game) and end up over thinking every, stinking shot I take! Meanwhile, my son simply smashes the ball off the tee. Chips it up onto the greens. And sinks his putts.
I was lucky to walk away from the final hole last night with a double bogey. Frustrated with myself for hitting it into the water, he looks and me says: “That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Now you know for next time.” It is the gentleman’s game.
