Nancy Hyde, 1975...only thirty years or so before she became Nancy Cross.
Nancy is now married and lives in Evanston with her husband Randall, her cat Millie, and her six-month old puppie Archie (who humped my leg the last time I saw him). After working in the advertising and media businesses for several years, she is now studying shiatsu and working on a screenplay. And oh yeah, she's also my sister-in-law.
Golf on TV? Brilliant!By Nancy Cross
I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I really love watching golf on television. I never used to; in fact I disliked the entire sport. I thought it was an elitist game that only rich, white men could afford to play. That seemed silly to me so I never gave golf a second thought…until I married my husband.
My husband, Randall, is a bit of a golf fanatic. He was a caddy when he was younger and has fond memories of playing golf with his friends growing up. He enjoys his free time by playing golf at least once a weekend if not more. He’s been known to get up at 5:00 on a Saturday morning just for a chance to hit a little, white ball. To me, this seemed highly unusual if not a bit cuckoo, but you know what they say, for better, for worse, blah, blah, blah.
Randall loves golf so much he watches it on TV. Now this seemed absolutely nuts. I was used to a guy who watched “regular sports” on TV like football or basketball, but golf? I once even had a boyfriend who loved to watch baseball on TV, which was painful enough because the game never ends, but golf seemed like a step down in the sports viewing food chain.
I remember early on in our dating relationship when it came up. Some lazy Sunday in July after eating a leisurely breakfast we were trying to figure out what to do. The heat was unbearable. It was the kind of summer day where you didn’t want to go outside for fear of melting in the blazing sun. We decided to go to his loft to watch a movie. It was an easy choice for me because my Chicago apartment didn’t have any air conditioning. When we got there though, instead of putting on a movie, he turned on golf. I dreaded the thought of going home to my horribly hot apartment so I feigned interest to stay as long as possible in his climate controlled house.
I watched a couple of holes, bored out of my skull. I knew the point was getting the ball into the hole but I never knew how much that entailed. I heard words like bogey, par and birdie. They also mentioned things like “that’s a slice to the right” or “there’s a fried egg” and “that’s on line.” After a couple more holes, I couldn’t help but start asking questions. What’s a double bogey? What does par 5 mean? What’s a wood? Randall started to patiently explain the game to me.
That day I learned all about irons and drivers and woods (oh my) but I also learned something even more valuable than all that golf speak. I learned after watching about 30 minutes of golf on TV that you can’t help but fall asleep. Golf was the perfect game to have on TV while taking a nap.
I was lulled by the announcer’s soft, soothing voice. Even when a player shot a hole in one, the announcers never shouted. They didn’t even raise their voices. They spoke in hushed tones usually reserved for the library. You could also hear birds chirping in the background and sometimes a splash of water if the player missed his shot and the ball went into drink as they say. The fans light, polite clapping would rhythmically rock me to the REM phase of sleeping. In fact, I never slept so well in my life.
Now when Randall puts on golf I never once nag him or scold him. In fact, I welcome it because I now know I have about a 5-hour window in which to nap. So I grab my pillow, and sit right down next to him. In about half an hour, I know I’ll be drifting off into Never Never Land without a care in the world.
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