RIGHT OF CENTER: NEW GOLFER GLIMPSES NIRVANA

A trace of fog hugged the valleys east of Jackson as I coaxed my cold-blooded Chrysler through the pitch and swell of the Cape Girardeau County terrain. It would have been much easier, I told myself, to have stayed in bed.

After all it was my day off. Yet there I was sucking down coffee in a vain attempt to trick my body into thinking it really didn't need more than four hours of sleep anyway. My watch told me I was going to be late and likely would just have to turn around and go home. So be it, I thought. At least I can say I made the effort.

But I reached my destination in time. There on the hill were three coworkers taking their practice swings. Eastlick was ready for his first golf game. I should have stayed in bed.

I'm all for trying new things. I've done hammerhead stalls and barrel rolls in an open-cockpit biplane. That was fun. I've bungee-jumped. I thrilled to ride in an F/A-18 Hornet when the Blue Angels came to town. I've even bowled a couple times.

But nothing prepared me for golf. I can remember as a kid watching the PGA with my dad and thinking golf was a pretty simple -- not to mention wimpy -- game. It's like T-ball, I thought. Granted, when those dudes pitch a shot out of the sand from 60 yards away and it two-hops into the hole, it's impressive. But those guys are pros. They should be able to make a few applause shots.

But I've known too many golfers who were anything but athletes. I was sure the game couldn't be that difficult. Granted, scoring par over 18 holes is tough. Blasting 300-yard drives and sinking 80-foot putts is tough.

What the hell was I thinking?

Teeing off is tough. Hitting any shot that goes more than 50 feet in the direction you intend is tough. Doing anything consistently in golf is nearly impossible, with the exception of lobbing balls -- four -- into the water. (How did they fit the Pacific Ocean on the Jaycee Golf Course anyway?)

In case you're wondering, on my first time out I shot an 80 ... on the front nine. The back nine was better, but not by much.

What is it with this game? In high school I played baseball all summer until the first two-a-day practices for football. The day football was finished I started practice for basketball and later wrestling. When the wrestling season was over, track practice was the next day. After a brief stint as a college football player, I discovered rugby, which I've been playing with unbridled zeal since.

Most people perceive rugby players are a little loopy. Who but a masochist would go out on a field in shorts, sans padding, and get the snot knocked out of them for 80 minutes at a time? But for masochism, rugby can't touch golf. At least in rugby you get to fight back. Not golf, though.

It's just you and that demonic white ball that has a mind of its own. My partners were good sports about it, and they usually refrained from laughing at the big boy with the pallid swing. They insisted they really were just average golfers. I don't believe it. They could actually hit their balls and stay out of water, and the trees, and the cow pastures.

The more frustrated I became, the more determined my swing, and the more disastrous the result. It is the antithesis to any sport I ever played. When you have a bad rugby game, you can always waylay some sorry sap and get thrown out of the game. In golf the humiliation only continues to flow like an eternal fountain of shame.

The really amazing thing was that I actually had one or two decent shots. That's all it took. I can't wait to go back. All I need is a couple of trips to the driving range and maybe my golfing partners won't have to set aside an entire afternoon to shoot 18 holes with me. And after shooting a 158 my first time out, I've got one heck of a handicap.

~Jay Eastlick is the news editor of the Southeast Missourian.