(PRWEB) September 23, 2004
FT. LAUDERDALE, FL(PRWEB)September 23, 2004 ― When Air Force doctors in 1960 told my friend, Bob Miller, that they would have to amputate his leg if they couldnÂt get the blood poisoning under control, he slipped out of the hospital and returned to his unit. It had nothing to do with him being a patriot. It was because it would have affected his golf handicap.
In 1969, he was shot down in Vietnam and suffered a back injury. If he were to play golf again, it would mean back surgery. He climbed onto the operating table five times in order to get the pain reduced to a level that would allow him to establish a single-digit handicap.
In 2004, at the age of 63 and just finishing chemo and radiation therapy for cancer, my friend is working hard to earn a golf teaching card so he can hold free classes for golfers who dream of breaking ninety.
IÂm not a golfer, but I can understand one wanting to play the game well. But to spend oneÂs last days teaching others to do so seems ridiculous to meÂand even dumb if heÂs not going to make any money doing it.
After hearing, "YouÂve got inoperable cancer," no way would golf, or any other game for that matter, be one of my priorities.
Frankly, I believe that the golf equipment companies, and possibly golf clubs, are using an addictive chemical that gradually works its way into the bloodstream of golfers and causes this obsession.
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