I get it. It’s a piping hot take from a guy who loves to write in hyperbole. Factor in that this very same dude just broke 80 for the first time on the links today, undoubtedly a prisoner in the moment, and this column seems as objective as the judges in a North Korean talent show with Kim Jong Un bringing the house down with his rendition of “I’m A Little Tea Pot.”
Is this article serving as a bit of a humblebrag? 1000 percent yes. But at the core of stroking myself off to the sight of my scorecard, there’s a legitimate inquiry to be had. That of course being “What’s a more monumental step into manhood, losing your v-card or shooting in the seventies for the very first time?”
I believe it’s a fair question, though I immediately see the problems with comparing the two. Not much of the population of this planet has done both. Fair enough. But now that I’m apart of the #Under80 club, let’s not concern ourselves with those peasants.
The fact that only a select group of individuals have accomplished this feat should be more than enough reason that firing a 79 is the bigger and more important accomplishment in a man’s life. End of story.
Not sold? Fine, let’s delve deeper.
Any schmuck can eventually stumble into a vag so long as he’s not some socially awkward, zero-limbed nugget with elephantiasis. And even then, I’m sure there’s people out there that want to fuck a freakishly large tree stump. Different strokes for different folks.
Do you recall the night you finally convinced some poor girl to let you pork her with that needledick of yours? I bet it was some storybook shit, huh? Perhaps the laundry room? In the back of your mid-sized sedan? Maybe her parents’ bed (that naughty little minx)?
How long was it? Were you sober? Did you finish? Do you even remember her last name? Sorry Trish, I was more distracted with your first name sounding like a middle-aged, overweight Exxon Mobile gas station clerk than some fiery, fit redhead. If you’re not married with three kids like the rest of Delco, call me.
Losing your v-card isn’t so much a celebration as it is a sense of relief. You finally got it done. The monkey is lifted off your back and your boys can no longer bust your balls about being a virgin bitch.
Breaking 80, on the other hand, for an amateur golfer, is the creme de la creme. The pinnacle. It’s fucking Mt. Everest. Now, I can see the smug, “It’s not that big of a deal” look on all of you single handicap assholes. But this column isn’t for you. You just won’t understand — and you never will.
I’m talking to those of us that grind it out every weekend, showing up hungover from the night prior, five minutes before our tee times, sweating out the bad decisions and 151 in the blistering heat, not warming up and just playing our way loose. We’re the guys that will be playing this game our entire lives and only occasionally flirt with such triumph. And man, was that first time extraordinary. Seeing putts that wouldn’t normally roll in sink to the bottom of the cup, bad shots miraculously getting good bounces, and being in a zone I can only describe as otherworldly, it was just simply phenomenal.
— Dan Regester (@Dan_Regester) September 6, 2015
Now, every time I go out to swing the wrenches, I fully expect to shoot in the 70s. I’m just a 70s guy in my own mind from here on out. That unwarranted confidence is exactly why #Breaking80 is a vastly superior feeling than getting your D wet for the first time. Just because you threw down some pipe once, doesn’t suddenly make you a cock laying casanova, but shooting a career low round of golf does. My balls are now dragging on the ground as my own sense of self worth is at an all time high. I can’t wait to hit the links tomorrow..