When I was in Year 11 at school, for PE, we were able to do whichever sport we wanted to. We had to choose two subjects and so every term I did Golf and Gym (Gym being where we were allowed to actually just use the local gym for free!) we were told at the start of the year that we wouldn’t be allowed to do the same ones every term, so there was no point in choosing them, but I guess they were wrong, since I chose the same ones every time and then was allowed to do them. There was actually a trip to a driving range that happened at the end of every term which I always looked forward to, but unfortunately, every single time I was unavailable. Anywho, today I’m going to tell you a sad little story about one of my golf lessons.
There I was swinging away with my club, knocking the ball no further than it would have gone if I’d only tapped it with my foot, when my teacher, Mr. Holden, approached me.
“I’ll show you exactly how to swing so that you do can hit it further, watch me,” he hit the ball pretty far. “Now you try.”
I got into position and prepared to take my swing.
“Wait a second,” he said, “I think that water bottle in your pocket is probably throwing your balance off, take it out and put it down here.”
So I took out my Trusty Water Bottle and put it safely on the floor a meter or two behind me. I took my swing and, sure enough, it was a lot better than it had been before.
“Well done, Adam,” he said.
I walked out to collect my ball, and once I had it, headed back to where I had been swinging from. Unfortunately, it seemed that some cleaner was walking across the field with a large bag of rubbish and a litter picking claw (the kind I would become familiar with later during my time as an MDSA). I stared helplessly from the distance as my water bottle was grabbed and placed into the bag like a common discarded bottle of coke. There was nothing I could do; it was gone, if only I had collected it before the ball. Alas, that was the end for my trusted companion.
There I was swinging away with my club, knocking the ball no further than it would have gone if I’d only tapped it with my foot, when my teacher, Mr. Holden, approached me.
“I’ll show you exactly how to swing so that you do can hit it further, watch me,” he hit the ball pretty far. “Now you try.”
I got into position and prepared to take my swing.
“Wait a second,” he said, “I think that water bottle in your pocket is probably throwing your balance off, take it out and put it down here.”
So I took out my Trusty Water Bottle and put it safely on the floor a meter or two behind me. I took my swing and, sure enough, it was a lot better than it had been before.
“Well done, Adam,” he said.
I walked out to collect my ball, and once I had it, headed back to where I had been swinging from. Unfortunately, it seemed that some cleaner was walking across the field with a large bag of rubbish and a litter picking claw (the kind I would become familiar with later during my time as an MDSA). I stared helplessly from the distance as my water bottle was grabbed and placed into the bag like a common discarded bottle of coke. There was nothing I could do; it was gone, if only I had collected it before the ball. Alas, that was the end for my trusted companion.
