I Love Golf
While my passion for golf has waxed and waned throughout the years, my love for the game hasn’t wavered since the feeling of that first pure iron shot traveling back up the through my hands, straight into my soul. As we approach the new year, I have inevitably slipped into long periods of introspection with short intermissions for shoving handfuls of peanut butter m&m’s in my mouth, watching swing tip videos on my phone, and trying to convince my wife to use her vacation time to go to the US Open with me (give me a break, she was born and raised in Massachusetts). Fifteen years after my love affair with this stupid sport began, I’ve come to realize that my relationship with the game hasn’t changed much… which is a problem.
It’s a problem because rarely do I like to play golf. With the financial freedom that comes with being a young professional without children, I am now able to immerse myself in all the accoutrements of the game – playing nice courses, buying new equipment, taking the occasional lesson – to the point that I have hitched my wagon to golf as a core aspect of my identity. It’s my “thing”.
It’s curious then that the last two rounds I played this year were miserable, the final round being one of the least enjoyable experiences I’ve had on the course in a while. I didn’t even play poorly; I managed a 78 and an 83, which for me are decent days on the course. It’s hard to describe, but an overwhelming feeling of dread consumed me as I stood over every shot. Not a specific fear of a snap hook or hosel rocket, but the anticipation of a shot and result that wouldn’t live up to the religious like reverence I have appropriated the game… that no matter the effort, I would ultimately walk off the 18th green disappointed and entirely uninspired.
If it were as simple as a general disappointment with the swing or the strike, I could continue to gaslight myself into thinking that tomorrow will be better. The reality is that even my memory of the best round of the season (the last five years to be honest) - a 74 with an even par 36 on the tough back nine at my club – is fully consumed by a triple bogey on the 9th hole. That is literally all I remember about that round. Pumping it right into the shit off the tee, missing the green with the approach, and three-putting on the number one handicap hole on the course.
Conventional wisdom says “Forget the score, just go out there and hit the ball. You’ll find that spark again in no time!” The problem is that I’m either too smart (or more likely not smart enough) to trick myself into falling for that flavor of pseudo-reverse psychology. More importantly though, I really don’t want to forget the score. I’m sure golf can be a completely spiritual experience for some; the connection to oneself, nature, and the history of a centuries-old game allowing them to transcend par and ascend to a state of nirvana walking up the fairway. I want that, but I also want to hit bombs, stuff wedges, and brag about going low.
Herein lies my predicament: I feel that I either have to inhabit the grinding-down-to-scratch-or-better, winning-is-all-that-matters, clean-up-what-I’m-doing-in-P5-so-I-can-get-to-a-better-impact-position golf fraternity… or the Dead Head, still-plays-with-hickory-shafts, par-is-a-construct commune. I cannot seem to discern a middle ground. And while pledging Gamma Lambda Fi* is not my jam, I don’t particularly care for hemp milk and am not ready to give up hot showers. I need to bridge that gap.
I enjoy the process of grooving a new swing pattern on the practice range. I like collecting cool head covers, ball markers, and unique equipment so I can stage dope pictures and post them on Instagram. I also like reading about the history of old courses like The Lido, or listening to Rob Collins tell the story of Sweetens Cove. I love the comradery and competition of playing with friends. Unfortunately, I have compartmentalized those aspects of my relationship with the game, and I haven’t figured out how to combine them into a melting-pot just yet.
I so desperately want to fall in love with the game again. Not just the idea of playing golf or golf as an abstract experience, but actively participating in the game and coming away with a deep appreciation for what it is. I’m not 100% certain what that looks like, but I know that what I’m doing now isn’t working.
Now seems as appropriate a time as ever for a resolution to start that journey. Marrying the fire of competition and satisfaction of improvement with the appreciation for all that is golf is (and can be) be the end goal. Hopefully acknowledgment is the first step – and that means, what, 11 more to go?
* I’m aware that it’s spelled Phi, but I needed to employ some alternative facts for the sake of the punchline