Golf + guyness does not equal me

There are at least two activities enjoyed by millions of people that don't appeal to me, but I really wish they did.

One is drinking wine. We covered that here. My philosophy on wine is that it all tastes like vinegar or feet, or a combination of both. I've tried almost every kind of wine imaginable, and I have yet to encounter one that was even remotely palatable to me, let alone enjoyable.

And as I've said on numerous occasions, this is a shame because I want to like wine. People who are into it are really into it, and it always looks to me like they're having fun drinking it. But I just can't do it. I can't drink any wine without retching.

The other activity enjoyed by many but not by me is playing golf.

I can tell you, almost to the day, the last time I played golf.

It was October 1993, and we had a church golf outing. A bunch of guys from the congregation got together to play at a course out in Middlefield, Ohio, called Grandview.

My golf experience to that point was spotty. I actually took a golf class in college and got an "A" in it, but that didn't mean I really knew how to play golf.

So as we approached the first tee, I told the guys in my group that I was a pretty terrible golfer and would probably slow them down.

I then proceeded to launch a beautiful tee shot that stopped within 10 feet of the hole.

Everyone figured I was just sandbagging it and would tear up the course.

And I did tear up the course, in the sense that I created a series of huge divots every time I attempted to strike the ball and missed.

Incidentally, it took me five putts to get that ball into the first hole. Yes, from less than 10 feet away, it took me five strokes to finally sink it. And my putting just got worse from there.

Thus, I have abstained from golfing for nearly two decades now, with no plans to set foot on a course again any time soon.

And much like wine drinking, I also see this as kind of a shame. Golfers are very passionate about their sport and always seem to be having such a good time.

But I'm miserable on a golf course, and it's not just because I'm so terrible at it. I think the game is just too slow and requires too much concentration for my liking.

Of course, the athletic endeavor in which I most often engage is distance running, which in my case is also pretty slow. But it doesn't require much concentration at all, so I prefer it to golf.

Actually, I prefer almost anything to golf.

The other day in my post about amusement parks, I suggested that I would rather stick a hot poker in my eye than go to Cedar Point. The hot poker line is one I more often use in relationship to golf than anything else.

If you give me a red-hot poker and a set of golf clubs and suggest that I have to put one or the other to use, I will immediately set to shoving that poker into my eye socket if it means I don't have to embarrass myself on a golf course.

Golf is just the latest in a series of man-oriented activities that don't appeal to me. As I've mentioned before, I don't do well in any measure of Real Guy-ness.

I don't like (nor am I any good at) using tools. I've never driven a motorcycle, and I don't really want to. I've never had any form of facial hair.

By almost all accounts, I fail my gender miserably.

I do, however, like sports. I'm an intense hockey, football, baseball and soccer fan. Ironically, I actually enjoy watching golf on TV sometimes if it's the last few holes of a big tournament and the competition is good.

But the one thing I can absolutely guarantee is that you won't find me back at Grandview any time soon with a golf club in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

You can bet on that.

Vinegar and feet

I have more than 700 Facebook friends.

I don't say that to boast, because there's nothing really impressive about it. Anyone who wants a lot of Facebook friends can have them, either by throwing out friend requests left and right or accepting any request that comes their way.

I fall into the second group. I have Facebook friends with whom I'm only passingly familiar, but I really hate to reject anyone's friend request, so I always figure, "Well, I must know this person somehow. Though honestly, I can't remember the last time I was in Nigeria."

Anyway, I have a lot of Facebook friends, which means there's always a lot of activity in my FB news feed. And at least once day, one of those friends (usually female, usually about my age or a little older) will post something to the effect of, "Sitting on the couch drinking a glass of Chardonnay and relaxing. Wonderful!"

And I get jealous. Not necessarily of the "relaxing" part, though that would be nice. But of the Chardonnay part. I am envious of anyone who drinks and enjoys wine, because I cannot stand the taste of it. It's revolting to me. All of it.

But understand, I really, really WANT to like wine. I wish I enjoyed it, because it just sounds so much fun. To me, all wine -- and I mean ALL wine -- tastes like vinegar, or feet, or some combination of the two.

Interestingly, the same is true for Terry. Neither of us even much likes the smell of wine, let alone the taste. I realize we're in the minority here. And believe me, we've tried and tried, but neither of us has ever tasted any wine we've liked. Ever.

Some people seem genuinely offended when they hear that. They're convinced they can "fix" us. "Have you ever tried this wine or that one?" they'll ask. And we'll usually say yes and yes, and both made us want to throw up. "How about a sweet wine? A dry wine? Cabernet? Zinfandel? Merlot? Red wines? White wines? Dessert wines? Mad Dog?" Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YES! They're all terrible, do you hear me? VINEGAR AND FEET!

Our church serves Welch's grape juice for communion, so that's what we have every Sunday. But occasionally we'll visit a sister church that uses real wine, and we won't know about it. I'll take a hefty swig and then do that involuntary shutter thing you do when you've ingested something that disgusts you.

But again, I really wish this wasn't the case. I attend plenty of business events where people are walking around carrying their glasses of wine, looking all adult-like and sophisticated. I'll usually have a beer, because I like beer. But only one beer. More than one and the appeal drops away quickly for me.

Plus, I start to get woozy after more than one beer. Seriously. I'm a 42-year-old man and more than one beer starts sending me over the edge. You can't call me a lightweight drinker. I'm whatever is under lightweight. "Featherweight," maybe? So after that first beer I'll usually have water or something while everyone else is drinking their Bordeaux or Fauxfaux or HoHoHo or whatever it is that grown-ups drink.

If you have wine suggestions, I'll gladly accept them. But I'm telling you, my wife and I are wine-proof. It's sad, really.