Alright, so let me tell you about this “longest drive competition” I got myself into. It wasn’t some fancy club championship or anything, just a bit of fun that kind of escalated, you know?
It all started a few weeks back. Me and a couple of buddies were at the driving range, just trying to hit a few balls and, well, mostly complaining about our slices. Standard Saturday stuff. We were just whacking them, not really thinking too much, when one of the guys, let’s call him Mike, he suddenly goes, “Hey, why don’t we make this interesting? Next bucket, whoever hits it the furthest gets bragging rights until next time.” And just like that, the “competition” was on.
So, immediately, my mindset shifted. No more lazy swings. I started thinking, “Okay, gotta really give this one a rip.” My first few attempts after the “official” start were, frankly, terrible. I mean, I was trying to hit the skin off the ball. What happened?
- One topped so bad it probably went a whole 30 yards.
- Another was a slice so magnificent it nearly hit the guy in the bay two over from me. Awkward.
- I even managed a complete whiff on one. Yep, swung right through it. My mates had a good laugh at that.
I was getting a bit frustrated, to be honest. I bought another small bucket of balls, determined not to be the absolute chump. I tried to remember all those tips you see online: keep your head down, smooth tempo, transfer your weight. Easier said than done when you’re trying to out-drive your pals, let me tell you.
Then, after what felt like a hundred rubbish shots, I focused on just making good contact. I slowed things down, took a deep breath. And BOOM. I connected with one. It wasn’t perfect, had a little fade on it, but it just went. That sound, you know? The one that tells you you’ve actually hit it properly. It sailed out there, a good bit further than anything I’d hit all day. I watched it land, feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Was it the longest? Nah. Mike, the instigator, he uncorked one that was just a monster. It was like he’d been hiding his real swing all along. And another guy, Tom, who’s usually pretty quiet, he hit a really solid one too that just pipped mine. So, I didn’t win the bragging rights. Not even close to Mike’s, really.
But you know what? It was so much fun. That one good shot I hit? Made my day. And it actually made me think a bit more about my swing, instead of just mindlessly bashing balls. We ended up doing it again the week after. Still haven’t won, but I’m getting there. It’s a good laugh, and it definitely adds a bit of spice to a normal range session. It’s not about being a pro, it’s just about that one moment when you really connect and see that ball fly. That’s the good stuff.
