Indoor golf is dangerous to your home

Finally, there's hope that spring is right around the corner. And it's just in time, before I completely dismantle my house by swinging a golf club indoors all winter.

I'm a golf addict, I can't help it. All winter, I swung the club indoors, imagining my ball sailing long and straight toward the summer sun. It kept me going as the snow and sleet dumped a mushy mess on us all winter.

OK, I know I should move south. I'm not bashing Mother Nature; it's supposed to be cold in New England. I get it. So instead of complaining, I swing a club around my house to stay sharp. I truly try to be careful. I clear the furniture away as much as possible to avoid any accidents. But stuff happens.

I recently pushed my couch aside and took some swings. I like swinging on the rug and just clipping the top of it which gives you the feeling of hitting off grass. A few more swings to loosen up with a 7 iron and I was feeling as if I'm ready to hit the course -- as soon as the weather permits.

Before you can say Fore, I took another swing and my club crashed into the back of the upholstered couch with a thwack. My son, who was sitting peacefully on it, absorbed in the TV and jumps as if he were catapulted out of the couch. "What the heck...You're going to kill someone with that club," he said. I apologized, saying I probably inched from the spot I had cleared.

We examine the couch, which showed a slight tear like a small divot. I'm sure the wood frame underneath took a hit, but, hey, it's a small price to perfect my golf swing. If I could drop my handicap by even a stroke I would bash my couch into splinters and cloth.

Actually, this was a mini-accident compared to my persistent pounding of the furniture and the walls throughout the winter. One evening as the sleet pelted the window of my den, I practiced my wrist hinge on my back swing. According to the article that I read, an early wrist hinge would give me more power and consistency. Offer those possibilities to a golfer and he will lay down naked on glowing hot coals.

So there I was practicing my wrist hinge with a wide circle cleared around me -- furniture backed off at a safe distance. I learned my lesson after thunking the couch. What I did overlook was the sloping ceiling behind me. I was fixated on my wrist hinge and drifted closer to the overhang. One more wrist hinge and blam, the 7 iron dented the dry wall overhang. A few crumbs of drywall trickled onto the floor.

I cringed and turned slowly, fearing what I might see -- the exact indentation of the toe of my club. It wasn't a gaping hole. I would compare it to a minor fender bender between a club and the ceiling. I vowed to patch it with some putty, sand it and paint it -- good as new. My 17-year-old son just stared at me, shaking his head in disapproval.

"What, accidents happen?" I said. "They happen to you a lot when you have a club in your hands," he answered. Smart aleck.

After a winter of swinging, I'm not sure if it will help my game at all.

Time will tell.

But I've kept myself amused. Recently, while watching the Golf Channel on TV, I grabbed my club to try what the golf pro was claiming gave him extra yards off the tee. Are you kidding, I would trade my house for more guaranteed yards?

The pro's tip felt excellent; I swore that I felt more power surging through my swing. I was going to amaze my friends this season, who would cringe as I unleashed my new powerful swing, honed over the winter by swinging indoors. A few more swats and I thought I would have it down. Of course, I didn't see my son's sweatshirt on the floor nearby.

One more swing, focusing on a delayed release of the wrists and thwack, I drove the sweatshirt high into the air that floated beautifully across the room, landing on a lamp on an end table that toppled over, knocking over my son's glass of Coke that spilled onto the rug. "You're dangerous," he blurted.

I didn't care what he said. I told him to chill. I was still admiring the flight of that sweatshirt. It had perfect trajectory that curved slightly to the left in a perfect pro draw. I told my son he should be more careful and not leave glasses full of soda hanging around; it was an accident waiting to happen.

I made great progress this winter on my swing; I can feel it. Maybe the house and furniture took a slight beating for it. But now that the weather is warming, I will be heading outdoors to swing my clubs. My son is certainly happy, and if my house could, it would probably breathe a sigh of relief, too.

Frank Szivos is a freelance writer poised to hit the links before he destroys his house. He can be reached at sziborg@aol.com.