GOLF:

The words danced in my head as I stared down, hoping to make a successful pitch.

A vision of Renee Zellweger rummaging through a London refrigerator appeared on the surface of the golf ball.

“This is Bridget Jones, for Sit-Up Britain, searching for tuna,” the British accent said.

I looked up, then to my left, at the green.

“This is Soraya McDonald, for the Daily Pilot, attempting to pitch.” The British accent persisted.

My shoulders stiffened as my feet pointed in an odd sort of angle.

I swung.

The ball did not skip. It didn’t even become airborne. Instead, it rolled to the opposite side of the green, and back into the rough.

Evidently, neither pitching nor chipping were my strong points.

I looked at my instructors, two members of the Newport Harbor girls’ golf team, which finished No. 2 in the Sunset League and 13th at the CIF Southern Section team championships, for advice.

“You advanced the ball,” senior Kendall Horn offered, graciously.

Junior Tiffany Kim nodded in agreement.

I winced.

Horn and Kim accompanied me through about six holes (that was all we had time for) of golf at Newport Beach Country Club so I could glean some pointers for this column.

Upon waking up the day after Halloween, I looked out my window to see a sky that was gray and overcast, and part of me was hoping by the time I pulled into the parking lot, the same sky would open up and wash away the day’s obligations.

I hadn’t set foot on a driving range since June.

I knew there was a 99.9% chance Horn and Kim were going to kick my neophyte booty all across the fairway anyway, but this seemed like a particularly unfair fight, which is why I was ready to give up by the time we reached the first tee box.

I sat out the first hole, only to be reminded by our trusty photographer that I was there to learn, and to learn on videotape.

Some background:

My initial first-hand experience with golf took place in the back yard of my grandmother’s home in Holly Springs, N.C., literally attempting to hit the side of a barn. I was about 9 years old.

I saw one of my uncles practicing his swing, and I joined him outside.

“Here,” he said, handing me an iron. “Just swing.”

I missed the ball entirely.

So Uncle Jerry showed me how to point my feet, although he neglected to mention that I should bend my knees.

“Try to hit the barn,” he said, stepping away.

I swung as hard as I could, and the ball made a thwack against the graying, rain-battered clapboard of the building, before bouncing back and resting on the grass.

“Not bad!”

I did not pick up another golf club until my junior year of college, when I signed up for a golf class to fulfill one of my physical education requirements.

Numerous trips to the driving range at Langston Golf Course in Washington, D.C., proved that, while I could improve, it would probably be at a glacial pace.

My best shot with Horn and Kim was on the fourth hole with my hybrid club.

I kept my head down, and my eye on the ball, I didn’t bring my left shoulder up too quickly, and voila!

The ball magically soared into the air and a respectable distance down the fairway. And it was straight.

My inability to shut my mouth was evidence that I couldn’t believe what I’d just witnessed, and all I could think was, “OK, what’d I do? And how do I repeat that?”

I was struck by the unpretentious approach both Kim and Horn have for golf, which is a sport that for many people, still evokes images of good-ole-boy exclusion.

After all, it was only four years ago that Vijay’s Singh’s sexist remarks about Annika Sörenstam playing in the Colonial generated a stinker of a brouhaha about women competing with men in golf.

“I hope she misses the cut,” Singh told the Associated Press. “Why? Because she doesn’t belong here.”

Singh subsequently apologized for his inflammatory remarks, but he exposed something else: that perhaps golf, nor its top male athletes, had come along as far along as everyone thought.

Those sentiments might lie dormant, but they don’t disappear in four years.

Kim and Horn are aware of etiquette and tradition, but they don’t obsess over the PGA or LPGA, and they almost never watch golf on television, they said. Somehow, they’ve managed to separate it from some of its more — let’s face it — snobbish characteristics, and simply embrace the sport. That would explain the cute, half-blind plush whale Horn was using to cover one her drivers (One of the whale’s plastic eyes had fallen off).

And they both felt bad for Michelle Wie and her rather precipitous downfall as a talented and attractive athlete who was pushed too far, too soon, they said.

Wie, 18, lost her manager, Greg Nared, when he quit after her disastrous 2007 season. Wie, who has yet to win an LPGA event, most recently withdrew from the Casio World Open, and she’s been battling wrist injuries all year.

Women’s golf is still looking for another recognizable hero, like Sörenstam, which logically should be Lorena Ochoa, the LPGA’s top-ranked golfer. Try holding up a picture of her face next to Wie’s and see which one people recognize.

But Horn and Kim don’t worry about that. They go forth, advance the ball, and try to laugh at themselves, too.

A few things I learned from Horn and Kim:

 To find out your yardage for each club, go to a driving range and hit with each one at least 10 times. Write down the yards for each club, 7-iron, 3-wood, hybrid, etc., and use it as a guide until your memory ceases to fail. Both Horn and Kim started out this way.

 Unless you’re Michelle Wie, don’t get all gussied up to go hit a ball a bunch of long distances — or, if you’re me, a bunch of short distances — through the grass. After all, golf is a sport, and Bobbi Brown (the makeup, not Whitney Houston’s washed-up ex-husband), dangly earrings, and 3-woods just don’t mix.

 If you’re not using a cart, single-strap shoulder bags will inevitably give you a case of the grumps, and this will affect you psychologically, which will in turn, affect your game. It’s a wonder more professional golfers aren’t completely inarticulate, or Buddhists, considering that success seems to come when your head is empty. Either way, buy a bag you feel comfortable toting around a lot.

 If you’re like me, and swinging a driver makes you look like you share more than a little DNA with Larry, Curly, or Moe, keep doing it anyway. Just try not to take anyone out. Eventually — and by eventually I mean anywhere from a few weeks to several decades — you’ll look more like Horn or Kim and less like a Stooge. Plus, when you get things right, you’ll get that warm fuzzy feeling you thought only accompanied visions of Labrador puppies or Knut the polar bear cub.

 If you’re a golf widow (see: Red Sox widow, NFL widow, or hockey widow, natch), suck it up. Just like all the other variations of sports widows, your partner’s married to the game.

 When you’re just starting, especially if you’re just starting as an adult, there is really no need to spend a boatload on a set of clubs. Wait until you get better. Besides, if you get bored, and decide to take up something else, like ballroom dancing or base jumping, or shuffleboard, you won’t be kicking yourself over the wasted dough.

SORAYA NADIA McDONALD may be reached at (714) 966-4613 or at soraya.mcdonald@latimes.com.