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Pro 2 You

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Expert advice with guaranteed results . . . that is my promise


WELL . . .

It's about time you showed up.


I've been waiting forever to tee off with you. Let's go. . . . Let's go !  


Your friendly PGA Golf Professional, Andrew Preston.




Whoa! Hold on a minute. I really have to apologize for that display of anger, it is very important to keep a cool head if you want to excel at anything.


Give me a few minutes to tell you about myself.


Before you tee off, come with me and . . .maybe you'll see a kinder, gentler me.


A long, long time ago, an avid golfer was born in MacPreston Glen, a small village in the Cheshire Highlands. It appears that i was the last of a long line of clumsy, inept golfers and judging from this legend, i raised lack of grace on the golf course to new lows but life soon took a turn for the better.



As I grew into a man I stood well over six feet tall. As a youth, my wiry hair had been red but it was said the game caused it to turn white prematurely. I was a proud, stubborn man with a merry countenance but a steely facade could descend whenever my hazel-eyed gaze seemed fixed on some next distant hole.


I was not a mean man but the word in the glen was:


" Leave him alone when he finishes a round ! "


Every day, regardless of the weather, from the time I was just a wee lad and became obsessed by the game, I hacked and swung, cursed and battled both myself and each hole of golf. History doesn't deem my golf scores worthy of note so it seems safe to assume they were neither exceptionally good nor abysmally bad. However, both my scores and antics were a constant source of discussion at the local pubs and golf club. Golfers with exciting games tended to get ridiculed:


" Och man, aren't you just the Joker ! "



As i wended my way home after each depressing day at the links, my golf bag nearly empty because i'd broken my driver and hurled my putter, i was a fearsome sight to behold. Children and dogs ran from me. The good wives of MacCheshire Glen would not even deign to greet me; so fearful were they that their menfolk would emulate my behavior. Of course, my behavior did not go unnoticed by the golfing gods. In fact, they finally wearied of hearing my complaints and cries and pleas and, above all, the blaspheming.


One night these gods visited me. They told me that they would not tolerate any more curses and oaths. They also encouraged me to relax, to enjoy the game, saying,


"Change your attitude and your scores will improve!"




The next morning so determined was i to give the gods' advice a try that even the ominously stormy weather did not deter me from the links.

Well, lo and behold--it worked! I played a perfect game for the first seventeen holes. But alas and alack, on the eighteenth, undoubtedly overwhelmed by the implications of my improbable situation, i lost focus, I choked and i reverted to form, cursing and blaspheming, blaming the golfing gods!




As i furiously broke my driver, i incurred the ruthless wrath of the angry gods. In the spirit of "Let the punishment fit the crime," they took me dooming me to try forever to improve my golf scores but never succeed and to be constantly interrupted at my efforts by the prayers and complaints of mortal golfers. This arrangement suited the gods quite nicely because they were now free to go about improving their own games.



But you go now and know only the joy of golf! By defying the gods i took on all of your pain. It's okay, interrupt my game! I am there for you, i am the one who directs the flight of your little white balls . . . and the orange ones and the yellow ones, whatever melts your butter and yes, i have an eye for the talented so i keenly watch over all latent potential.


If you want to improve, to become more consistent and to excel then let me teach you a thing or two that will benefit your game for the future, guaranteed.


Your friendly PGA Golf Professional, Andrew Preston.

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