My Handicap

Okay: Golf.
I have spent most of my life working on my short game. In other words, I have played my share of Putt-Putt. I am strong on the windmills, which require timing, but not so much on the loop-the-loops that involve a degree of strength and agility I have yet to muster. I also enjoy the memory of the free order of french fries that you could win if you got at the course that was located behind our local McDonald's.
I will also confess to a certain amount of rage glee in whacking a ball off a tee. I once hit a whole bucket of balls into a net at a driving range and the feeling I got when I connected was very satisfying. The aforementioned net was the thing that kept me going. I knew that I would not be responsible for hunting down any of the errant slices or hooks I made. That poor soul in the cart covered in reinforced wire mesh would be getting minimum wage to pick those up. The six bucks I paid for the thirty shots at tension release seemed like a pretty good deal.
Then there was the time my friend from high school, who brought his clubs on the trip our marching band made to Mexico, asked if I wanted to tee one up from the balcony of our hotel. This is not something I am particularly proud of, and borders on the delinquent. But I did it. Sailing a dimpled projectile off into the Mexico City night had its appeal, a lot like shooting an arrow into the air. Where it came down was not my concern. Not way back then. Consequences in lieu of a chaperone catching us did not occur to us.
That said, I tend to see golf as an activity rather than a sport. Those ever-so-brief moments of exertion are interspersed by a meandering walk in the manicured lawns of the upper class. And if walking isn't your thing, you can always enjoy the electric cart ride. Most of your "good" golfers bring a caddy along to alleviate the concern of lugging all those heavy clubs around the country club. Yes, my attitudes toward this activity are derived almost exclusively from repeat viewings of Caddyshack. Sure, there was that element of Animal House to the story, but even the fondness I felt for the members of Delta House, I never felt the slightest urge to join a fraternity. Much in the same way I never felt compelled to join any of my friends on their trips out on the links. Whacking a ball and chasing it seemed like a poor excuse for returning to the clubhouse for a few drinks. Why not just start the day there and finish it?
Besides, I was really only in it for the free order of fries.