I have found a new appreciation for golf.
The picturesque fields and tranquility of the game make me swell with emotion that reminds me of how bad I miss. . . naps.
Seriously, who watches golf on TV?
This conversation came up Father’s Day and it reminded me of watching golf with my Great-Uncle Ray who had come to visit my family when I was about 11 years old and living in Lilburn, Ga.
Uncle Ray, who lived close during my years near Detroit, was a great guy. He was one of my favorite relatives. He was good to me, except for that time that he fed me eggnog that was incredibly too hot for a small child.
So it may sound odd hearing that he was a wonderful person when the man gave me some hot-liquefied, almost baby chickens that I burned my impressionable tongue drinking.
I guess that is better than buying eggnog in the store. The only thing worse than the above-mentioned hot Christmastime drink is a glass of cold eggs fresh from the grocer’s cooler.
I am pretty certain that whomever thought of the idea of serving eggs in a glass was pulling a prank on someone.
Other than the great eggnog incident of ’82, Uncle Ray was a stand-up guy.
During his visit to Lilburn, I was left alone with Uncle Ray as the rest of my family, and Ray’s traveling companions (probably his wife) had all gone shopping, or run out for a glass of hot eggs.
Uncle Ray and I were left to watch some television. He was the elder, so he decided what to watch. Much to my dismay, it was golf.
I am a sports fan. I could watch most baseball games, almost any NFL game, and many college basketball games. While I stay away from the NBA, I may check out a game or two in finals.
But what I detest watching, what I refuse to watch, is golf. The game is boring. I don’t have the desire to play the game, let alone watch millionaires walk (or ride) on a golf course while someone else carries their bags.
And these dudes are called athletes? That is just like calling NASCAR drivers athletes — just kidding! Please don’t throw Tide, Busch beer and Mountain Dew at my house, racing fans.
Golfers don’t really have to watch their weight or focus too much on cardio. I’m talking to you, John Daly.
Anyway, Uncle Ray flipped on the US Open, the Scotland Yards or the Augusta something — and one of those events may actually be a tennis event.
Regardless, he began to watch golf, and within minutes he was asleep.
Naturally, I took the remote and turned it to MTV to see the new Guns ‘n Roses video, or I may have switched the channel to an “A-Team” rerun.
Apparently the shrieking of Axl Rose, or the grumbling of BA Baracus after he awoke following a flight, were too much for Uncle Ray. Within seconds of my sneaky channel change, the man was awake and asking that the channel be returned to the rich white dudes puttering around.
This happened several times. We would watch golf, Uncle Ray would snooze, I would change the channel, he would make me switch it back. Rinse and repeat.
In the end, he won.
Uncle Ray is no longer with us, but when I look back, there were some lessons he taught me that will live on.
The first is to stay away from eggnog. The stuff has no place near my mouth, hot or cold. He also taught me that golf is a terrific cure for insomnia.