Post by Rhonda on Jun 11, 2009 3:36:07 GMT -5
Nine Holes in Eighteen Years
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Golf Book
By Todd Kersting
The greatest good you can do for another is not just to share your riches but to reveal to him his own.
~Benjamin Disraeli
"I hit those Pings Eye 2's great," said my brother-in-law Chris as I walked through the door of my house. He was sitting at the kitchen table, beaming. I'd just finished giving a few lessons at the course. Chris had mentioned the possibility of ducking out for a few holes in my absence. I bit my tongue. I contemplated whether to tell him the history behind those eighteen-year-old Pings he was so excited about. A set that had never, ever been hit. Until now.
Chris had just flown in from Chicago for the Thanksgiving holidays. Like a lot of northerners would be, he was happy to be in sunny New Mexico with a golf course across the street. Smiling for his good fortune and industriousness, he told me how he'd discovered the Pings in the corner of my garage, strapped them onto my golf cart and squeezed in a quick nine, all in the little space of time I'd been gone.
I smiled, asked him to give me a play by play of each hole. Secretly cringing behind a curious expression, I listened as the shots were recounted, which included one notably successful approach from a scrappy lie in the dirt.
As Chris progressed through his round, my thoughts floated to the special journey the Ping Eye 2's with Serial #34066A had taken in finally making it to the golf course.
Back in 1988, the favorite hobby of a man named Joe H. was the game of golf. That year, he suffered a heart attack on a commuter plane and was left in terrible condition. It was hard for him to walk, and even talk. At the beginning of his rehabilitation, Mrs. H. bought a set of brand new Pings; a full set of irons 3-SW and the wooden pear-shaped 1-, 3-, 5-woods with the famous black lacquer finish. She set them purposefully in clear sight, in the corner of perhaps the cleanest garage I have ever seen, to serve as an inspiration for Joe to make it back to the golf course. For eighteen years, the clubs were only touched when the garage was swept on a weekly basis. Believe me when I say there was zero clutter in this garage. Only a lawnmower and car were ever in the company of Joe's Pings.
Then in 2006, Mrs. H. and their son decided to walk across the street to where I lived. Since I teach golf for a living, they wanted to know if I could find a home for the Pings. Joe's condition had only become worse through the years and he was now wheelchair bound.
As soon as I saw the Pings I realized how special they were, as would any golf pro with modest historical knowledge of equipment. Their condition was perfect. The stickers were even still on the face of the woods. But more amazing than the condition were the years of hope invested in these Pings. To think they had been sitting for nearly two decades calling out the name of a man in a wheelchair so that recovery might come sooner.
Chris sat on my sofa, beaming as he recounted his nine holes, as most golfers tend to do when their love of the game has been rekindled through good play. He must have been somewhat curious as to why I was inquiring so specifically about each and every club he hit, wondering why I was so suddenly showing such keen interest in his game that I had never really shown before. But oblivious, he kept on. In the end, I ascertained that the 3- and 4- irons and 1-wood had not been hit.
I didn't tell Chris the real story that afternoon, and nor have I since. Figured there was no point in making him feel badly for devaluing the set. But I think Joe and his family will be happy to know that my brother-in-law became excited again about the game after his nine holes of magic that sunny day in November.
In January 2010, I plan to post the Pings on eBay. The last I heard from a collector, the near-mint set should still fetch a remarkable bid, perhaps as much as $4,000. Half will go to Joe to add comfort to his last years. The other half I will use to buy clubs for aspiring juniors. So in the end, even though the Pings didn't successfully get Joe back to golf, their redirected value might introduce dozens of others to the game. And I will make sure the seeds of growth occur in Joe's namesake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Golf Book
By Todd Kersting
The greatest good you can do for another is not just to share your riches but to reveal to him his own.
~Benjamin Disraeli
"I hit those Pings Eye 2's great," said my brother-in-law Chris as I walked through the door of my house. He was sitting at the kitchen table, beaming. I'd just finished giving a few lessons at the course. Chris had mentioned the possibility of ducking out for a few holes in my absence. I bit my tongue. I contemplated whether to tell him the history behind those eighteen-year-old Pings he was so excited about. A set that had never, ever been hit. Until now.
Chris had just flown in from Chicago for the Thanksgiving holidays. Like a lot of northerners would be, he was happy to be in sunny New Mexico with a golf course across the street. Smiling for his good fortune and industriousness, he told me how he'd discovered the Pings in the corner of my garage, strapped them onto my golf cart and squeezed in a quick nine, all in the little space of time I'd been gone.
I smiled, asked him to give me a play by play of each hole. Secretly cringing behind a curious expression, I listened as the shots were recounted, which included one notably successful approach from a scrappy lie in the dirt.
As Chris progressed through his round, my thoughts floated to the special journey the Ping Eye 2's with Serial #34066A had taken in finally making it to the golf course.
Back in 1988, the favorite hobby of a man named Joe H. was the game of golf. That year, he suffered a heart attack on a commuter plane and was left in terrible condition. It was hard for him to walk, and even talk. At the beginning of his rehabilitation, Mrs. H. bought a set of brand new Pings; a full set of irons 3-SW and the wooden pear-shaped 1-, 3-, 5-woods with the famous black lacquer finish. She set them purposefully in clear sight, in the corner of perhaps the cleanest garage I have ever seen, to serve as an inspiration for Joe to make it back to the golf course. For eighteen years, the clubs were only touched when the garage was swept on a weekly basis. Believe me when I say there was zero clutter in this garage. Only a lawnmower and car were ever in the company of Joe's Pings.
Then in 2006, Mrs. H. and their son decided to walk across the street to where I lived. Since I teach golf for a living, they wanted to know if I could find a home for the Pings. Joe's condition had only become worse through the years and he was now wheelchair bound.
As soon as I saw the Pings I realized how special they were, as would any golf pro with modest historical knowledge of equipment. Their condition was perfect. The stickers were even still on the face of the woods. But more amazing than the condition were the years of hope invested in these Pings. To think they had been sitting for nearly two decades calling out the name of a man in a wheelchair so that recovery might come sooner.
Chris sat on my sofa, beaming as he recounted his nine holes, as most golfers tend to do when their love of the game has been rekindled through good play. He must have been somewhat curious as to why I was inquiring so specifically about each and every club he hit, wondering why I was so suddenly showing such keen interest in his game that I had never really shown before. But oblivious, he kept on. In the end, I ascertained that the 3- and 4- irons and 1-wood had not been hit.
I didn't tell Chris the real story that afternoon, and nor have I since. Figured there was no point in making him feel badly for devaluing the set. But I think Joe and his family will be happy to know that my brother-in-law became excited again about the game after his nine holes of magic that sunny day in November.
In January 2010, I plan to post the Pings on eBay. The last I heard from a collector, the near-mint set should still fetch a remarkable bid, perhaps as much as $4,000. Half will go to Joe to add comfort to his last years. The other half I will use to buy clubs for aspiring juniors. So in the end, even though the Pings didn't successfully get Joe back to golf, their redirected value might introduce dozens of others to the game. And I will make sure the seeds of growth occur in Joe's namesake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~