Connie and I paid a visit to the PGA GOLF SUPERSTORE in north Naples today so that she could pick up tickets for the ACE golf tournament to be held at “The Quarry” next week ending 2-20-2011. I knew that I was in for a different experience before I even entered the store. There was a really worried looking fellow that got out of his BMW convertible, clutching 3 or 4 golf clubs under his arm. He hurried into the store looking as though he had lost his best friend.
On entering the store the first thing that struck my eye was a huge banner that stated, “ARE YOUR BALLS RIGHT FOR YOUR GAME”? Funny I thought, I had never considered that before. I was born with them. Then I realized they were talking about golf balls. I always thought if the ball was white and round it was O.K. Apparently, I was wrong. They had at least 25 different brands of golf balls. Right across from the ball display was a compartmented shelf that held 360 different golf hats. (Yes, I counted them). Ten racks high times 36 compartments wide equals, (cipher, cipher), 360.
Then I saw five or six guys playing miniature golf. Funny I thought, why on earth anyone would play miniature golf in a place like this. Then I realized that it was not Astroturf they were playing on. It was real grass. There were grow lights hanging above the players to keep the grass in shape.
There were at least half a dozen different kinds of golf clubs for sale. There were men’s, women’s, Boys, girls, (pink) left handed and, (gasp), used. There were new men’s drivers that started at $399. I resisted the temptation to buy five on the spot. I swear that some of those clubs were lighter than my glasses.
I figured that the store was owned by one family, the Pro family. Everywhere you went you saw men and women with the same clip-on name tag. It said, “Hello. I am a Pro”. People seemed genuinely awed by the Pro family members. A person would approach one of them, talk very seriously, in hushed tones, while making gestures with his/her hands. The Pro family member would laugh, pat the person on the back, and make a slightly different motion with his/her hands. This seemed to please the person greatly and they would walk away with a big smile on their face. Strange. I even saw the worried guy with the BMW. He was busy talking to one of the Pro brothers. Mr. Pro led him over to expensive club rack. I could see that Mr. Pro was very serious in his talking and Mr. BMW started to get a smile on his face. Maybe they were just dating.
There were about a dozen driving areas. A person would whack the bejabbers out of a ball. The intent was to hit a numbered spot on a tarp about 25 feet away. The number on the spot corresponded with the club number. I definitely would have had a problem with my first set of clubs 40 years ago. The irons didn’t have numbers; they had names like “brassie” and “niblick”. Connie sold them in a garage sale for 25 cents each
Then there were the shoes. Every kind of shoe that you can imagine was there for sale, except possibly flip-flops. Not only could you buy the shoes, you could buy any different number of spikes assembled to your new shoes in any pattern your heart desired. The spikes could even be color coordinated to match your shoes.
And the golf bags. You could buy a bag as small as a piece of 3” PVC pipe to as large as one modeled after an elephant leg, COMPLETE WITH TOENAILS, and an elephant trunk for a carrying strap. I was truly amazed. There was also quite an exhibit of club covers. The ones I liked best were designed to look like wigs of different colors. Problem was they could be mistaken for shrunken heads. Wait a minute, maybe they weren’t wigs after all. I will bet that you didn’t know that they manufactured designer golf tees. Calvin Kline seemed to have the biggest display.
The only thing I could really relate to was the grungy looking guy that replaced grips. He would clamp the club in a vise, strip off the old grip with a wood chisel, buff the handle, and apply soap. Then he would push on a new grip and pound the handle twice on his bench. There were guys there that stood in awe of his ability. Probably never saw a chisel before.
There were other departments that I did not venture into. Did you know there was such a thing as a golfing bra? Personally fitted golf gloves? Special socks with the logo of your choice or a logo designed just for you? There was row after row of golfing shirts and pants. Most of them were priced higher than the first car I ever owned.
The cashiers were a friendly bunch. They were not part of the Pro family because they had just plain old name tags like Shirley, and Nancy. They seemed to enjoy collecting all the money. They smiled a lot.
I could go on and on but Connie thought I had seen enough for one day so we went to Wal-Mart to view the other side of the coin.
With tongue firmly in cheek.
Dal
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