From my Whomping the Golf Ball series:

What is to Whomp?

Whomp is probably not a golfing term familiar to most. For the record, I am the original Whomper so who better to provide an explanation and Whomping lesson. You’ve all probably Whomped a time or two in your golfing career just didn’t know it. Let us begin by researching the origin of the Whomp.

            Spring of 73, as a young man just starting my tour of duty in the working world, I had never played or had even considered playing the game of golf. Working the third shift or midnight shift as most dub it, the boys were always looking for group activities to promote male bonding. Finishing our shift at 7:30 AM, we had tried tennis, bowling and trail bike riding to mention a few. Why not try golf?

            All of my associates owned a set of clubs. I didn’t. They encouraged me to tag along one morning after work at High Meadows Country Club, a nine hole local course. They offered me the use of their clubs. I learned the difference between a right hand and left hand set. I am a righty but funny, my ball goes left and right.  They even supplied the balls; expensive decision for them. Neither they nor I knew what evil lurked on the links that flowering spring morning.

            Lesson #1, you should never take your first golf lesson on the course. Lesson #2, go home, sleep first then play when refreshed. Lesson #3, stick with bowling where high scores are a good thing. Lesson #4, golf balls are purchased in multiple quantities because you’re not expected to play with the same ball for extended periods. Lesson #5, it isn’t  really that easy to hit a stationary object.

            First tee, I learned the term, whiff, and that it equated to side and back pain. They advised “Slow down your back swing.” They didn’t tell me what to do with my front swing? They encouraged me to keep my eye on the ball. That worked. Now I could see where the ball was after I whiffed.

Abandoning my wind mill technique I finally overcame the whiff on the first tee box after about five or six swings. I then realized my natural ability to worm burn after a few simple adjustments. Worm burners are a lot better than whiffs, especially if they go straight and there is no water ahead; mine didn’t and yes, I found every drop of water that day. I think I even hit the water cooler.

            For my first fairway shot, they handed me a three wood; whiff then Whomp! Second, third, forth, fifth and sixth fairway shots, Whomp, Whomp, Whomp, Whomp and Whomped it again. I recall they stopped counting my strokes on the Par Four somewhere after those whomps reached double digits. Same drill on next tee box, whiffing, worm burning then Whomping numerous times. I had found a tempo. That theme played out over the next several holes but the ball finally went places, a lot of places. Riding one of those electric carts would have been better than walking and pulling the bags on carts like we were doing. We were young and broke or maybe just cheap.

            Finally on number six, one of my cohorts, after consuming mass quantities of adult beverages (the breakfast of third shift champions), yelled, “Whomp it, come on Whomp it again!”

            Another cheerleader echoed the first, “Hit it, Whomp; you can do it, Whomp!”  Apparently evolution had kicked in as I no longer just whomped. I had acquired my new nick name, Whomp.   

            You’re still not with me are you? Let’s bring in Mister Webster. Maybe he can help. Definitions applicable to Whomp: (1) A loud, heavy blow or thud (2) To hit or strike (3) hit with something flat, like a paddle or the open hand (4) strike somebody or something. When I attempted to strike the ball, I whomped the ground first and I guess the club served as my paddle contributing to the distinctive sound. That covers definition one through three.

            I secured definition number four on the par four seventh fairway. One of my early morning playing partners, a rather big boned, healthy country boy, happened to be standing in the middle of the fairway with his pull cart about a hundred yards ahead of me. He motioned for me to go ahead and hit the ball figuring I had not hit a fairway all day. Bad decision as I nailed a straight as an arrow line drive that Whomped him in his left shoulder as he tried to duck behind his pull cart validating that last definition. He sure ruined my best shot. It careened out of the fairway into the trees, a familiar place for me.

Over the years I’ve managed to hold on to that name, Whomp or Whomper. Heck, I even founded the WGA (Whomper Golf Association). My previous work group dubbed the Wednesday Whompers still has an annual Whomper Classic. One member even provided a sleeve of balls and tees during our last outing with Wednesday Whompers printed on them. We’ve all gone our separate ways but still manage that annual Whomper reunion where we play a  nine hole par three course, a nine hole executive course, break for a cook out then finish on our regulation nine hole course. We do a lot of Whomping on those Saturdays.

            I live on the Grand Strand now. While the beach golfers I presently partner up with are much improved over my former companions, I still find myself referring to us as Whompers. Once a Whomper, always a Whomper as I proven this past year by shooting my all time low of 89 at Arrow Head golf course and followed that later with 124 at the same course. I convinced myself that I needed the 124 to re-qualify my WGA card before our next reunion. I still suck at the game but do enjoy Whomping that ball. I just try not to play with serious golfers because they don’t appreciate my natural abilities.

            “Yawl whomp’em good out there, you hear?”