Buried deep in the memories of my childhood are recollections of reading a cartoon gorilla with an armful of watches.
The ape, and his story, now escapes me. But I had cause to remember it recently, with a nostalgic moment that brought a wry smile and a sudden craving for toffee apples.
You see, I’ve got issues – lots, as it turns out. But today’s realisation is I’m a hardcore gadget junkie.
It works like this: some propeller head comes up with an idea to make golf easier. They share it with someone else, spend millions of dollars in R&D and finally, it ends up in my golf bag.
Longer. Straighter. Faster. Higher. More spin. Less spin. In a game constantly evolving, there’s room for evolution.
And then there’s the technology side. Not to be too cute about it, if the pros get help, then why not us?
They’ve got those enormous books in their back pockets telling them what’s where on the course ahead. Those things must be like golf course bibles, and almost as thick.
What about the fancy, schmancy caddies? It’s like having a psychologist babysit you through your weakest moments; an on-demand positive reinforcement service. Especially when you nail a 2-iron 260 metres.
“I like that play for you, Jason.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, and you know what? I don’t just like it. I love it. I love you and this club, right now, Jason. This club and you, with your good swing, is what I’m lovin. I love to love it. I live to love. Go hit it, so I can love you living my love.”
It’s gadgetry.
Gadgetry is game-changing. From birthdays, Christmas Days, trade days and my own eagerness to part with cash in a golf shop, I’ve amassed my share of techno help. It’s amazing.
This was how I came to recall my childhood monkey mate with all those watches.
Now I’m the ape, albeit with less hair. I’ve got an S6 on my wrist, an Approach G10 on my bag and a voice coming out of my hat with a yardage as well.
I’m bloody ready, but I get out the Bushnell laser shooter for absolute certainty, but not with the red attachment giving gradient because that would be cheating in a comp round.
Then, (seriously, don’t laugh) I check my heart rate.
I got a heart rate monitor watch that counts steps and stuff. Now, my resting heart rate is around 90. Just kidding. My resting heart rate is 58, so I try to control myself and get down to mid 60s.
And it works. But only after triple-checking every gizmo. The first time I size things up, I’m usually hoping I look cool. The second time, when I take notice of the numbers before me, it’s about the green, the humps, the bunkers. And that’s when I hear my ‘caddie’.
That’s when the magic happens, after all the other magic.
And then I go through it again.
And again.
And again.
Maybe 80 times including putts. Maybe 90. Hopefully not 100.
When that’s done, I go to the range and pull out the TruSwing. Google it, that puppy’s going to change your life.
