Teeing Off

The article in Time magazine that accused me of exploiting child labor is just the kind of thing that pisses me off.  The kids work on the golf course because they want to.  It’s their course and they play on it too.  They love it and that’s the truth.  

For crying out loud, I took the money I won with that lottery ticket and built an orphanage in Kyrgyzstan.  I didn’t have to do that.  The golf course came with the deal.  The kids are learning some serious life skills.  They are running a business.  

They know how to drive a tractor and work a cash register, and the thousand other things that are required to operate a course.  And some of them are getting pretty good at golf.  Good things are going on at the Golfanage.

So what if I did all this just to have a place to play golf, that wasn’t too crowded?  Is that wrong?

Building an orphanage and a golf course in the Kyrgyz Alatau mountains was a daunting task.  But I had money, and the rest of my life.  One thing we never had any problem with was labor.  People lined up for the jobs.

I didn’t actually start the orphanage.  I wouldn’t have a clue how to do that.  I found one that was struggling financially, and bought them out.  I kept the staff the way it was and let them run the orphanage.

The farm next door wasn’t making much money.  I bought out Mr. Taalay and hired him to be the property manager.  His knowledge of agriculture made him a natural fit.

I hired a construction company from Germany.  My goal was to build a facility as good as any orphanage in America.  I could tell, the staff and the children alike were in awe as they watched their new home being built.

Once the kids and the staff got settled in, I started scouting for my marks.

Getting Kyrgyz orphans addicted to golf was easy.

All I had to do was knock some balls around the playground with my pitching wedge.  Curious children surrounded me within minutes.  Of course, they wanted to try it.  Turns out golf isn’t as easy as it looks.  

I had a bag of shiny new balls.  Each kid got a Titleist Pro V1.  I pulled out some Sharpies and explained to them about marking their ball.

We took turns with the club. In a few minutes, we’d come up with a chipping course on the playground. The kids were officially golfers.

They were amazed at how good I am.  That’s what happens when you’re addicted.  I lived on the golf course when I was their age.  I knew all of these kids wouldn’t turn out like me.  But some would.  I only needed a few hard core kids to start my posse.

The golf clubs were an instant hit at recess.  The next step was the lessons.  Mr. Taalay’s farm bordered the playground.  Just so happened that was a perfect spot for a driving range.

As with the pitching wedge, when they saw me pounding out 300 yard shots with the driver, the kids wanted to try.  They were unable to reproduce my results.  It wasn’t just that I was bigger than they were.  I’d spent a long time mastering a complex technique.   

They gasped at the cracking sound the clubhead made when it hit the ball.  Then there is the whooshing sound the ball makes as it moves through the air away from you.  The arc of a well hit shot is pleasing to the eye of the golfer and spectator alike.

I told them, “All of you can learn to hit shots like that.  You don’t have to be big or be able to run fast.  Anyone can become good at this game.  But first, you have to know what you are doing.  Starting tomorrow, I’ll be giving lessons during recess.”

That first day, 20 kids showed up.  At an average lesson, there would be a dozen kids on the range.  By the end of the first day, I’d found the core of my team.

Daniar was an obvious choice.  He had the look of a natural athlete, and the most fluent swing of any of the kids.  When I realized he was posing after his shots, I knew he was in.

Half of the golfers were girls.  Macha was as athletic as Daniar and from the questions she asked I could tell she was paying attention.  The monkey was already on her back.  No further effort required on my part.

Then there was Aijan.  The smallest kid on the driving range.  There was something wrong with his leg.  I found out later he’d had polio.  I wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to play 18 holes, but I admired his spunk.

Aijan asked me, “Will I be able to hit the ball as far as you when I grow up?”

I smiled. I like this kid.  I’m 6’2” and weigh 180 pounds.  I couldn’t imagine him ever tipping the scales much over 110.  

I said, “No, I don’t think that is realistic.  But, I meant what I said.  Anyone, including you, can become a good golfer.  More than half of the game is chipping and putting, and those skills do not require big muscles.  There is no reason you can’t have a better short game than me.  It is possible to outplay someone who hits the ball farther than you.  I’ve done it.”

Little did I know that a few years later, I would look him in the eye and say, “Aijan, you son of a b***h, you fucked everything up for me.”