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Ryan Walsh had come to America from England on a golf scholarship when he was eighteen years old. At the time golf was something he loved. He’d been playing it since he was very young. And he showed enormous potential. Completely self-taught, he’d never had a golf lesson until he came to America. Four years of being told how to swing the club and how to play the game proved to be a very un enjoyable and stifling experience for him. Amazingly to him, golf became a chore, something to be worked at and treated as work, as a profession not as an enjoyable game. The fact that he was away from home in a strange land didn’t help his enjoyment levels. He managed to stick out the full college course and earned a degree in History – leading to work as a free lance researcher helping to write History text books. It wasn’t a job he was thrilled with, but certainly not a desperately un enjoyable one. Since he left college he’d be trying to find a job researching for sport history books. Then he really would like his job. The college experience had put him off the game he once loved. But gradually he was building bridges with his relationship with the game. He’d occasionally go to a driving range and hit a bucket or two of balls – usually with the person in the nearest bay unable to stop themselves from casting and admiring eye in Ryan’s direction, as he struck the ball the way it was meant to be struck, and the way so few people could. He even ventured out onto a golf course every now and again, usually at dawn and always playing on his own. He hadn’t completely ruled out rekindling his love affair with the honorable game that was such a test of character as well as skill. Just needed to get back to playing like he was a kid again.
Ryan hadn’t made masses of friends whilst in America – except for a handful of good ones. Generally he liked his own company and wasn’t particularly fond of socializing in large groups. Now in his mid-twenties he felt he did have a settled place in the world but also had a feeling he was destined to do a lot more with his life.
One morning Ryan was on the phone to his best friend Joe, one of those few good friends Ryan had made since moving to America.
“Definitely it is worth getting up at five o’clock in the morning for a very sweet win.” Ryan enthused about the football match he had been watching earlier that day.
“How pleased did Beckham look when he scored that penalty?” Joe said.
“Four years of pent up frustration released right there after that ridiculously harsh sending off in the last World Cup.” Ryan spoke with the pride in his team.
“Hang on a minute Joe, there’s some young lady at the door. Stay on the line. I’m sure I’ll be able to get rid of her quickly enough.”
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