Golf course closer to home than the couch

When I had to undergo surgery to repair a dodgy shoulder, I’m convinced my missus inwardly cheered the news. The surgeon told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be playing golf for at least three months after going under the knife, or, in my case, the probe as it was done arthroscopically, where instead of slicing me open to fix the troubled joint they reverted to “keyhole surgery” and I was left with just a few puncture marks on my upper right arm.

The reason for my missus’ happiness was the fact that she would no longer be left alone every second Saturday morning and I would be there to do important things around the house like repairs or painting or, worse still, accompany her to the shops.

Shopping is one of my pet hates and I would rather undergo shoulder surgery with a rusty garden fork than “do groceries”.

My regular golf mates – Joe, Paul and Janneman – were all shattered at the news that I would be sidelined for so long and although my missus did offer some sympathy, I have known her long enough to recognise the fact that it wasn’t heartfelt.

“Shame love,” she said, “now you will have to spend time with me, working around the house and shopping”.

I’m sure those of you with golf-playing husbands/partners can relate.

I have often heard the term “golf widow” and although I never put my missus in that category – it was only once every two weeks that I played – I’ve been told by female friends and family that that’s exactly what she was. Also, the fact that I spent as many hours at the 19th hole as on the course probably didn’t help my cause.

So, I told my missus I was going to try to cut down on the amount of golf I play once my shoulder has healed sufficiently (the doc says I should be good to go by next month).

Once every four or six weeks, I suggested.

But we have encountered another problem, and again it’s one I’m sure many of you are familiar with.

The English Premier League has resumed and because DStv have live coverage of every minute of every match in the season, I spend a great deal of my time over weekends on the couch in the lounge, watching TV with an adult beverage in hand.

My missus despises football – “a bunch of overpaid wussies who spend more time rolling around on the ground than kicking the ball,” is how she describes it – and so she NEVER joins me to watch a live match.

And because there is football on Saturdays and Sundays, she now gets to see even less of me than she did when I was hacking around Huddle Park with Joe and Co.

So, my message to all of you who consider yourselves golf widows is this: be careful what you wish for.