Love Among the Chickens by P. G. Wodehouse

People are continually writing to the papers -- or it may be one solitary enthusiast who writes under a number of pseudonyms -- on the subject of sport, and the overdoing of the same by the modern young man. I recall one letter in which "Efficiency" gave it as his opinion that if the Young Man played less golf and did more drill, he would be all the better for it. I propose to report my doings with the professor on the links at some length, in order to refute this absurd view. Everybody ought to play golf, and nobody can begin it too soon. There ought not to be a single able-bodied infant in the British Isles who has not foozled a drive. To take my case. Suppose I had employed in drilling the hours I had spent in learning to handle my clubs. I might have drilled before the professor by the week without softening his heart. I might have ported arms and grounded arms and presented arms, and generally behaved in the manner advocated by "Efficiency," and what would have been the result?

Indifference on his part, or -- and if I overdid the thing -- irritation. Whereas, by devoting a reasonable portion of my youth to learning the intricacies of golf I was enabled.