I was meandering about the web a week ago trying to find games for my kid. I fell upon a golf program that I thought might be fun, not knowing in 24 hours I would be ‘like’ totally addicted. Wow, this started out as an exercise to feel like a good parent and it turned into a free for all Dad golf fest. I installed the program quickly and continued to play it, and play it and you know. That’s the definition of a bad father and I didn’t care.
So after a week climbing the levels from ‘hack’, to ‘amateur’ and finally to ‘pro’ golfer I can resolutely say I am sick for this game. And for the ‘only the lonely’ its a great way to meet people from around the world who also have nothing better to do but ‘self-serve’ their insane appetite for hitting a virtual ball around a virtual course for a couple of hours. I’m glad this game wasn’t available 20 years ago when my own father a golfing enthusiast may have also fell under the same spell. I have made more friends in one week than I have made in my life. What’s great about that, is I wasn’t doing it to make friends. I was doing it to sink a put. They may not be real attachments in the sense of being at a party getting shit-faced, but they are people who exist and enjoy playing golf on digitally fabricated courses against similarly fucked-up individuals.
Louis CK about facebook
Every game I have played is with a male avatar of the golfer. Golfing is a heavily male dominant sport and based on my experience in the virtual version it has been mostly played by crappy dads such as myself. Then suddenly, out of the clear blue heaven skies, a digital God smiled upon us and a woman golfer appeared in our online golf group. Our game leader said ‘Nice to have a woman in our group’. ‘Don’t try to be so nice cause it’s the first time you have seen a virtual woman golfer avatar’, I said. But there she was – in that skimpy, slick, tight as a virgin’s arse golfers two piece. It was, to all of us – a revelation. And you know what happened? She kicked our backsides! She told us she lived in Ireland and loved the World Golf Tour Program. And us ‘crappy dads’ were in seventh heaven responding to her like those eager kids vying for a willy wonker bar. That’s how old most of us are – we can remember that shit.
So there she was beating us into the ground, outplaying us at every hole and for the first time in history we didn’t care for being beaten. A few of us had dropped well behind the Irish lass, but naaa we didn’t pay it any mind. We were playing with a woman! And as we got further onwards from small talk, the strangest thing happened.
She wrote, ‘I live with my wife in Ireland and our two kids’. ……And you couldn’t hear a pin drop. Then after a long pause one golfer forfeited, another turned about 180 degrees hit his pitching shot into a bunker…forfeited and I dribbled beer down my top.
What do you say after that?
‘I’m a lesbian’ she said. I couldn’t think of anything to write. The only thing I could come up with was ‘My father was a lesbian’. A George Constanza moment I call it.
‘If your father was a lesbian, how were you conceived?’ ‘My point is sexual orientation isn’t important’ I replied.
‘It’s a long story’. She wrote. ‘Probably too long for 9 holes of golf? I snapped.
I unintentionally hit my ball out of bounds twice and eventually forfeited my game. I wish in hindsight I did hear the long story.