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The Master

I took a lesson with Mr. William Rose, emeritus golf professional of Wakonda Club. He is a walking treasury of golf. He once spent two hours at Bobby Jones' residence where they had a fascinating conversation about everything but golf. Mr. Rose has that knack for distilling golf knowledge into the simple facts. Thirty minutes on the range with him resulted in untwisting of that nasty duck hook and introduction to a controlled power fade, which I always thought was the better shot to have if you plan on trying to pinpoint your shots. With a slight adjustment, I still had my draw which I hammered out against the far fence on Fleur Drive. What I enjoyed immensely was the time spent with Mr. Rose who is a one degree separation from the deep roots of golf. Through him, I am only two degrees of separation from Harry Vardon, Francis Ouimet, and Gene Sarazen (through Bobby Jones). He personally trained club pros that went on to staff many of the elite clubs throughout the nation. And above all, he is a great human being.

The Mysterious Montague

John Montague was for a time the most talked about golfer in America, despite never having competed outside of his club championship. He was a member of a club in L.A. during the Great Depression where he hobnobbed with the likes of Howard Hughes, Oliver Hardy, and Bing Crosby. It was said he rarely shot above 70, and drove the ball over 300 yards using the equipment of his time. He could lift Oliver Hardy over the club's bar with one hand, and he defeated Bing Crosby who was scratch using a baseball bat, a shovel, and a garden rake. The first hole at Lakeside was a par four which Bing reached in two and two putted using golf clubs. Montague tossed the ball and batted it over 340 yards to the greenside bunker, shoveled on, and using the garden rake as a pool cue, curled in a 12 footer for birdie, whereupon Bing cried uncle. Turns out, Montague was hiding a secret past that erupted when a member at his club, a prominent sports writer, broke the news of this phenom that avoided publicity, who on the verge of breaking the course record at Pebble Beach, picked up the ball to avoid the ensuing publicity. You can read about him in the book The Mysterious Montague by Leigh Montville (Random House).

The overwhelming conclusion that I reach from reading the book is that Montague was a golfist who reveled in the pure joy of being on the links, of the fellowship it afforded him, and the ecstasy of tracing that perfected hit ball.

The Society of Darwin

My first dream in the Voice cycle occurred over 23 years ago. I cannot publish the particulars of that dream in this blog, and I find it painful and frightening to remember, but the declaration of the voice was "We are the society of Darwin, and we will get you." Needless to say, the world at large is this society, our society, that bustles about with no knowledge of the truths in golf. It is industrialized grazing and predation, where the machines take over the role of natural forces and cycles. It bloats people and finds many ways to keep them away from golf. There is no more nature unbound and we must now find it within whether on a private fairway or in a virtual golf pavilion. The paths I carve, on the fair ways I tread, I see a perfect circle, and nothing do I dread. 

The beast and the five towers

We all come to face the beast at some point in our lives, whether figurative or literal. There is the Blue Monster at Doral. Every course has a long par five to tempt the lengthy. My second dream from 18 years ago starts as a struggle to climb a cliff to reach a vista over a vasty plain. I am aided in this struggle by several able companions. We reach the plateau, and climbing up, we see a giant beast, four-legged with a slug-like sheen, corpulent and supported by timbers which restrain it. It had a stout neck and a maw that was wide like a hammerhead but rounded and meatier. It's mouth gaped passively. There were towers, numbering five, each ending in a diving platform. Thousands if not millions of men and women queued in valley below, each rising up one of the towers and jumping into the mouth of the beast. One of my companions turned to me and said in that otherworldly voice, "who can resist the beast?" My other companions made the decision to descend and join those endless lines. Small mobs dressed like Roman soldiers roved the valley finding people who hadn't made up their minds and dragging them into one of the lines. I stood on the precipice with a choice.

This is the question when faced with a seemingly insuperable opposing force. To join the crowd, to resist, or to flee (to fight another day). Golf offers an infinite variety of responses to this question. Pride, desire for glory, these trick you into one of the lines.

There are five golfing towers of misfortune: lying to yourself, lying on your scorecard, lying about your handicap, rolling the ball to improve your lie, and giving yourself putts. Given 600 yards to the green, you can hit four 7-irons and good putt. Two putt it or miss the green and chip it close, and leave with a bogey, you can live to fight another day (or another hole).

Golf is about leaving the golf course with your integrity intact. It's about being honest about your daily labors. It's about giving yourself to the process knowing that the process is an enlightening one.

Three tempests

I had a dream several weeks ago. It was the third in a series of dreams I have had since sophomore year in college. The second one occurred in the year after graduating from college, and an 18 year interval has passed. This most recent dream placed me in a beach-side resort. I was helping my mother down to the beach from the tower we were at, and my family was on the beach already. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of people on that beach. Then a cry came up and people started running. Some ran away from the water, others ran to the water. Three waterspouts arose, sucking up the people. I could clearly see their bodies and faces spinning like dust in one of those fancy cyclonic vacuums. I wondered if they could breath if their heads broke the water. A great sadness came over me. I heard a voice, not of this world, asking me a question, but I can't remember it now. The first time I heard that voice over twenty years ago, it said "We are the society of Darwin (a firm declaration)." The second time it said, "Who can resist the beast? (asked rhetorically?)" This third time, it said something that left me sad, I woke weeping, and in those moments after I woke, when I remembered what was said, I wanted to do something, but now I can't remember, because I fell back to sleep.

Looking back, I think that the three tempests represent the three things that trap people: desire or want, addiction or attachment, and finally pride or narcissism. These are the hazards that we face everyday.

What's up for today? Life being a metaphor for golf, today is a 348 yard par 4 with a drive over water that edges the whole right side of the fairway, dogleg right with trees and sand on top of the turn's knuckle, the whole outer curve being OB, being bounded by ancient temple ruins. Approach protected by a thousand year old baobab tree that will block anything lower than fifty feet. If you're big enough, you can drive the green, but anything less than perfect, you're taking a stroke.

Hype from tips

Opened with 2 over par over 5 holes, then ended up with some doubles. Law of averages left me with a 43 for the nine. Met and played with a Hyperion member, Mr. L.T., who was a fine golfer. I mostly found it a luxury to be able to find the balls, and to have a reasonable chance at rolling it on. The great thing was my irons were on, and after going back to my R7 after struggling with Sasquatch, it was able to shape my drives better -not perfect but better. Overall, am happy leaving the 3 wood out and putting my 60 degree wedge back in the bag. Finding that the hybrid three is a reliable 180-200 yard weapon, and may try to find a suitable small headed 4 wood. From the tips, Hyperion is a course of a different color. And the greens do drain toward the train tracks. 

Golf is a cruel mistress

As bad as I played yesterday, I went out to our practice facilities and chipped and putted, and hit a few balls. More than once, actually 6 times, my flops, chips, and sand shots hit the pin. My 30 footers lagged to inches. My drives faded on command, and drew on command, and there was even a straight shot on command. My seven iron hit the 150 yard target 6 out of 6 times. Makes me want to take up tennis. 

Wakonda gets facelift

Pictured here is Wakonda#1 with her fairways stripped. The rough we will keep, but the fairways and greens are going to be seeded with A1/A4 hybrid bent grass. Trees have been cut down to open a 8 hour window of sunshine to the grass. Can't wait for May 2009. Googling A1/A4 hybrid bent grass, it comes up time again in relation to clubs renewing their greens because of encroaching old growth trees and climate change. 

Wakonda Club #1

#1 is a par 4, but it really plays like a par 5. It doglegs to the left, but topography serves to effectively lengthen the hole -if you land in the center of the the flat landing area, you end up with a 170 yard approach. If you fade right, you are looking at 190 to 200 yards. Slice it, and you now have a downhill lie effectively eliminating long woods. The perfect drive is a draw over the tree on the left that pitches you forward into the flat that is about 120 yards out. Anything less than perfect leaves you in the woods, tangled in the tree and into a sidehill lie out of dense rough, or you stop on the upslope. The upslope leaves you with a 150 yards to the pin, but because the green in elevated by 30 feet, you will land short if you sky it, but will run it through if you land too hot as the green is canted front to back and left to right. You need to hit a high shot with backspin that will go about 160 yards from a steep uphill lie. If you pitch it right, you end up in a wooded pit that requires a blind pitch up 20 feet around and under trees. If you draw it, you end up on the space between #1 and #4 with a tree that guards the right front of the green. And the green tilts away from you. When I get a par here, I feel like I've birdied the hole. A bogey is a good score. But at no point on the course does it seem unfair, except when the leaves fall making your balls difficult to find (even on the green). 

HAC played - blech

HAC played today at Legacy which is a great layout for a neighborhood function. Unfortunately, I stunk up the course with my miserable play -couldn't get a rhythm going and left everything going left. Congratulations to the victors. Pictured is Mr. C who played excellently. 

Back at Hyperion

On returning to Hyperion, I have to wonder if the members feel like they are being overrun. Looking at the start times, I saw more than a few Wakondites. DH and I played from the yellow tees and had a grand old time -he shot 88, I took 90 -my best score in Des Moines despite three double bogeys and a few near pars and birdies. It's all about the putting. Here DH lines up on a dogleg right, fading the ball away from the trees to the left. The whole course is built into a hill that faces the south, and the sun sets about 10 minutes later than in the flatter parts of Des Moines. Being on a hill, many of the greens have confounding breaks, until you realize like on Wakonda #3, that the overall terrain (big hill) determines the break more than the shape of the green (which may look like it is pitched forward). Or as DH says, the break is toward the train tracks. 

HAC -what kind of man are you?

HAC coming up. Neighborly competition? I think not. In a different era, men from various burgs and shires would practice at archery, throw rocks at targets, hunt together, and sometimes to war together to fight bandits or some invader. Through this they got to know the measure of each other. Today, we live among strangers, driving to work like faceless cod schooling along the currents, and try to figure out who exactly it is our wives are talking about. Golf is all about getting the ball in the hole and not about that at all. Your scores will say one thing, but your behavior in the face of tribulation, your resilience, your resourcefulness, your truthiness, all will say other things that your wives have not a single clue about. See you at Legacy.

Hyperion, the substitute teacher

Wakonda Club is being revised. The old growth oak trees were shading too much of the greens for too long and had a tendency to fall after a bad storm. Climate change had rendered the summers too hot for grass seed laid down in 1930. So this past spring, the membership, which I believe has an extraordinary high number of golfists, decided to remake the club with the mission of making one of the toughest golf experiences I have ever had even more challenging. Trees would be felled (and double more planted) to allow for sunlight to hit the greens. The trial greens on Wakonda upper #2 and #10 showed that the new putting surface could equal what I experienced at Bethpage Black the week after the Open and the TPC in Jacksonville the week before the Player's for the entire season. Wakonda shut down last weekend.

So where do I go? We were given a list of courses that would offer discounts, but the one club that welcomed us with open arms was the Hyperion Field Club, no green fee, just pay for the cart. I got to play the front nine yesterday. The pro shop was welcoming and got me situated on their excellent practice facilities. Getting out on the nine, I google-mapped myself on my new iPhone, located via GPS, changed to satellite view, and got to see the entire layout from space -try it next time you're on a new course -a great reason to get the iPhone.

If Wakonda is the beautiful, mysterious, raven-haired forty year old socialite that you began an affair with out of college, Hyperion is the tall summery blond next door that invites you in when your demanding paramour is off to Rio for a facelift and whatever else. While Wakonda demanded your constant and utmost attention and slapped you fiercely for transgressions, Hyperion doesn't mind so much -she scrunches her pretty face, goes "oh no" and gives you a peck on the forehead. Number 8, which turns to the left and goes up a hill like a tanned leg stepping up a diving board ladder, didn't mind so much when I hit my drive off the toe into the trees to the right. 

First of all, I found my ball. 

The approach was 160 yards up hill to an elevated green with tree limbs blocking a high iron. I chose to punch with my hybrid 3, keep it low and run it up. Did I say run it up? Wakonda would shriek, "that's for peasants and Texans!" and throw her sherry glass at your head. My ball ran up the slope like a rabbit, Evel-Knieveled and rolled up the tier to rest 6 feet from the hole. 

But fellow Wakondans before you celebrate, there are mousetraps in that dress. I took a triple on number 9, slapped silly for thinking the hole was easy. 

Hyperion is a different experience, and in the end demands no less attention or imagination than Wakonda. It is in great shape. The facilities are top-notch and the staff are professionals. 

I ended up shooting my handicap, but I lost no balls. 

Golf Lit

I have been reading The Greatest Game Ever Played (by Mark Frost, link here), which I find entertaining. The real find from reading this is Harry Vardon's work, How to Play Golf (link here)." The words ring true from over a century ago. Golfism lives in his words. 

The natural swing is...natural.

Children understand golf in a way that is ideal -effortless, thoughtless, and fun. My son, age 6, launches a ball about 100 yards, but doesn't overly scrutinize it or think much of it at all. A miss doesn't phase him. The only pressure comes from the parents. 

No. 11, the carnival hole -hey you, with the face!

The tree on the right of the frame blocks the approach to a green which is sunken and hidden from view. It is just taller than a 60 degree wedge's ball flight, and snags and deflects balls into a pit below and to the right which is about 10 feet lower than the green. The green tilts away from the fairway making it very hard to stop a low shot. The best shot from the right is a fade with a mid iron which lands at the end of the fairway and rolls onto the green. Needless to say, you'd rather be left, but there is a long bunker and then a row of oaks. I love this hole because success is rare. 

Truth or consequence

If life is a metaphor for golf, then all the pitfalls of adulthood are just bad lies, water hazards, and traps. To move forward, we have to get out of the trap, put the ball in the hole, and move on. Our golf score is the sum of the choices that we make on the course. Our life score is no different, and when it comes to life, most of us play with handicaps, and very precious few of us are scratch. 

Tiger's win and my brain chemistry -too much of a good thing

You always hear people talking about great sporting events they witnessed on TV. I remember Reggie Jackson's 3 home runs in the 1977 World Series, 1980 miracle on ice Olympics Hockey final, Nicklaus' 1986 Masters victory, and Tiger's 1997 Master's, and last year's Super Bowl. In fact, Tiger leads the list of things that have inspired me -his Pebble Beach Open, his first tournament win, his Hoylake win, and on and on. The funny thing is that I have become a bit numb to Tiger's otherworldly greatness. Maybe it is because I am in medicine and can understand his pain and pathology. 

Bottom line is that we've seen Tiger do it too many times. It's like having a regular table at the best restaurant in Manhattan -the extraordinary when it is too frequent, becomes ordinary. Tiger will now have to shoot consistently below 60 per round to impress me. Rocco, now that is impressive. That he could keep pace with a phenomena like Tiger is something that he'll keep forever, but losing will stand out most in his mind, because he had too many chances to close it out. Even so, how could he?

A thoughtless round

I played today -with Dr. Lee who lives here in my parents' development. Concentrating hard not to think -to empty myself of wants and desires, to be situationally aware and in the moment, I played 18 holes and notched an 88. I had one 3 putt. It would have been lower had it not been for a quadruple bogey on #3 where I perseverated on trying to smack a fading 6 iron. Even so, I had 6 pars including a sand up and down, and I missed 3 or four more pars by inches. 

I focussed on the process of picturing a shot or putt shape, club selection, wind direction, grip, address, stance, and a mindless swing (which is in there). I also picked up on the importance of rhythm. The ball contact was pure, the putts ended up closer to the hole, and the three putss were fewer. 

Now, to watch the playoff. 

"Thinking instead of acting is the number-one golf disease."

Sam Snead is the source of this quote. I played 18 today on my parent's course, Summit Green, shot a 96. I hit 12 out of 18 in regulation, and 4 more were chip-ons. I was without any extraneous thoughts tee to green, but putting gets on my brain. I three putted just about everything, and even had a 5 putt! My conclusion is that putting is the one activity that challenges the brain, and the thinking interferes with execution. With the drive and approach, I choose a target line, choose a club, set up a draw or fade, and swing away. I've got to stop thinking...

You are the One, Neo

I just saw Tiger's performance on prime time. He is injured, grimacing in pain with each stroke. Despite this, he makes eagle on 13, chips in for birdie on 17, and then eagles 18. We saw history, particularly if Tiger wins the Open and then retires because of a bum knee. This was like watching a Rocky movie, only without Tiger bellowing "Elin!!!" Maybe tomorrow...

It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing

I have put my 6 year old into golf camp. Not because I want him to play on the tour, which would be nice, but rather to get that good swing going at a young age. A sweet, fully rotated, classic golf swing is a beautiful thing to watch. I just finished watching Tiger, Phil, and Adam Scott finish their round, but the players I enjoy watching are the ball strikers. The sound golf swing is an efficient mechanism for launching the golf ball, and Trevor Immelman (youtube video) is one of the best. As a kid, I read Sam Snead's golf primer which reduced the swing to very simple, basic elements, and I copied Fred Couple's swing. What appealed to me was the appearance of minimal effort for maximal energy. After high school, I stopped playing and I took up the game again only three years ago after a nearly 20 year layoff. The swing was still there -unfortunately the pitching and putting wasn't and I've been working on that.

Golfism dictates that the golfist bring new players to the game, and the most important thing to learn first is a sound, good looking swing, and this is easiest when you learn it as a kid.

Virtual fairways in the R.O.K.

In South Korea, there are too many golfers and not enough golf courses. A NY Times article (link here) shows the lengths that people are taking to get swing time. The vitual reality simulators are reportedly in high definition, which is generations beyond what I have seen in my town. Their surfaces tilt to the terrain of the course. There are birds and blades of grass. I saw a simulator at a PGA store in the Detroit airport, and the graphics were primitive compared to playing Tiger Woods 2008 on my Mac. 

I think what the article missed is how Koreans get into fads and how they love all things high tech. They have professional video game leagues which are televised and the top pro's have rock star status. A top Warcraft pro makes 6 to 7 figures. 

Also, they are fanatical about golf. Most of them will take lessons and practice at a range (usually a lot with a high net visible for blocks around) until their form is perfect. I saw a fellow hitting perfect three irons off the range and when I chatted, he told me he had yet to play "on the field." The usual reason is limited access to golf courses and unusually high costs. 

A golf outing in Korea involves someone who knows someone who can get a tee time at one of the publicly accessible courses. You have to show up with a foursome. There are no carts -they have crews of uniformed female caddies who size you up from the first tee and basically find the ball nearly all the time, and hand you the right club -no discussion. Rounds take about 5 hours and you end up at the clubhouse where you then take a schvitz in the sauna, hot tub, get a spa rub down, and then go and have a heavy meal with drinks. This all costs around 300 to 1000 per person. 

Here in the US, I can get on a course without calling ahead and basically have the course to myself, I am happy but also a bit distressed in that golf courses should be a little more crowded, and the players a bit younger. 

Wie back!

Michelle Wie is working towards a come back. I thought she was overpressured by her folks and the media and above all herself. I can understand that. It would be great to have her back in play. 

see NYTimes article here.

see PGA.com article here.

Golf is good for you!

America's DNA rejects elitism. If you watched the animated feature, Ratatouille, it's market appeal is through its anti-elitist stance. "Anyone can cook," is the motto of Chef Gusteau. But look closely, and you see that it's message is still elitist in its original sense: that the best qualities are in fact rare qualities that deserve to be celebrated. 

 

America's political tapestry is fraught with this uneasy relationship with elitism. It walks hand in hand with America's uneasiness with class. American political figures sublimate their blue blood and ivory tower schooling to avoid looking "out of touch." George H.W. Bush looked titanically out of touch when he marvelled at grocery store bar code scanners -this was likely a generation gap issue, but out of touch with the common man (and woman) he looked. George W. Bush, despite the ichor and Yale/Harvard background, talks like an assistant manager at the Wal Mart in Plano and got a second term where his father failed. Both, by the way, are golfers. I don't know if they are golfists. 

 

Golf is in siege mode because it is viewed as the sport of the elite, particularly when it applies to politics. In some corners, it fits the same bill as polo, fox hunting, and oil drilling. The fact remains, it is costly to maintain 18 verdant holes, to buy good equipment, and to get lessons during childhood (to get that good swing). The time it takes to play a round on a busy East Coast public course runs up to 5 hours, taking up a whole day. 

 

Golf is like whiskey -you mostly drink it in private, you don't talk about it, and your moderate your consumption. The good stuff is basically out of reach of the average bloke, but there is plenty of cheap stuff to make it attainable. Bottom line though, it is a luxury, and fie on the fellow who imbibes daily. As a luxury, it is morally suspect to enjoy it too much. 

 

Golfism changes that. Read the USGA rules of golf and you see the New England Primer, the U.S. Constitution, and the Rule of St. Benedict: words that bring structure and order to a stochastic universe. Playing golf, then, is a celebration of a way of life. How can you live without it. If you can't live without it, how can it be a luxury? Any way you look at it, a year of golf is cheaper than a year of Prozac and counseling, and better for you. How is that a luxury? Playing golf means you aren't flirting with women who aren't your wife, it means taking the time to think about the meaning of your life and your place in the world, and being a better person. 

 

On the course, you are a better man than you are off of it. You let people through. You report your sins and assign your own punishment. You keep a respectful silence as other people go about their business. You offer to share your cigars. If all of the world adhered to golf ettiquette, we would have none of the current mess we are in.

At my folk's place, in Florida

I am taking care of my folks who have both fallen ill. I had to move some of their stuff from the hospital to their home yesterday. They live on a golf development, and I spent the night. That afternoon, I played nine holes. 

It is an interesting course. The developer declared bankruptcy, but fortunately not before selling enough homes to not leave large sections barren. The course itself has changed owners, and despite the drought, it keeps its character. Enough so that a recent Ladies British Open champion calls it her home course. The usual westerly winds were blowing at around 5-10mph. The course had cooled off from the heat that part of Florida suffers from during the day -my wife likens it to being under a magnifying glass. 

I played alone, as is my preference, and a kind couple (husband was teaching wife) let me pass. The golfist appreciates good golf ettiquette and new golfers. The course was empty for a while. I hit from the tips. I used my dad's spare set. The driver was a King Cobra Speed Pro D 9 degree.  The wind was at my back. I set up for a draw -there was out of bounds to the left and right. The hole was a 350 yard dogleg right with a drop in elevation from the fairway to the green of about 50 feet. The inner corner is protected by cypress trees. The ball went farther right and started to float back. I lost site of it as it passed over the trees, about 250 yards out. I hit a provisional which was a low roller that ended up 150 yards out, but I saw the first ball in a bunker about 90 yards out from the hole on the lower tier. I took a 9 iron and opened it up and I hit it too hard, it landed on the back of the green and rolled off. I took 4 more strokes to get back in the hole. It illustrates the majority of strokes are greenside-in. 

Number 12 is a 580 yard par five from the tips. My drive ended up in the fairway bunker leaving about 230 yards to the green. The ball was sitting flat on hard sand. I opened up my stance and set up a fade. It cleared the lip and made a beautiful arc. The wind took it and it landed just short of the green and rolled to the fringe! I four putted for a bogey while I planned for first an eagle, then a birdie, then a par. 

My first par came on number 14, a 178 yard par 3 that was playing 189 yards from pin placement. The wind was now in my face. I choose a 3-iron -I usually am dicey with these, but the Ping Eye-2 3 iron always feels just right in my hands. I put the ball further back in my stance and take a full swing. It clicks and takes the correct line. It fades slightly, and at the tail, the wind takes it almost straight up. The green is hidden by a hump on the hill, and I drive up to the green -it had landed and taken backspin and bit leaving an 8 foot putt straight uphill. Birdie time. I push it leaving a 5 incher -no surety with my ham hands on the scruffy Bermuda greens that haven't been watered all week. Tapped in.

At the final hole, I reached the last group of a clot of late afternoon golfers. More beginners which make me happy as golf needs new converts. I wait, and an older gentleman rolls up and asks if he could hit with me. I said fine. He hits a long gentle draw that rolls to the 150 marker about 270 yards out into a now stiff wind. I am now competing and I smack my ball about the same distance out and also the same distance to the right out of bounds. I had committed the grave sin of pride -of wanting to showup this silver haired man. Sheepishly, I put down my second ball and hit my second drive with no thought or effort this time. It was dead straight and landed next to that man's. We chat. It turns out he plays on the senior mini-tour and was headed to Canada for a tournament. He complimented me on my swing -which was nice for someone who played with Seve Ballesteros only a few years before in Sao Paolo. Feeling charged, I took out my 3 iron to hit the approach which was to an elevated green into the wind. I wanted to recreate the shot from 14, a high fade with intense back spin. I could see it and felt it in my bones -it was going to happen. I missed the ball completely and dug into the grass behind the ball with a terrible thud. 

Greed and pride, anticipation of future gain, the desire to show off and show up, fear of poor execution, and and fear of failure, these thoughts are ruinous and come up particularly around the green where you have to close the deal. The best shots occurred when I stuck to the process of aiming, gripping, aligning and having faith my swing to do the job. 

Get golf swag at JohnMcCain.com

This is strange. I am working on an entry that discusses how golf is used against politicians who happen to golf, and McCain goes ahead and sells golf related swag! Really cool or incredibly out of touch?

link

Obama plays golf today

Obama played golf today while Hilary suspended her campaign. Immediately it is being judged as something wrong. Again, if he had gone running, no one would raise an eyebrow, but golf is something that is viewed as "elite," time wasting, and selfish. Check it out. I think that it is telling that the one thing politicians don't want to be associated with are prostitutes, bribes, and golf club memberships. 

http://hillaryclintonnews.blogspot.com/2008/06/obama-skips-hillarys-speech-plays-golf.html

For article on best politicians in DC, 

http://www.golfdigest.com/rankings/2008/politicalranking

Perfect

As a middle aged man, there are very few things that we can learn to do well, aside from degenerating in the usual ways. Golf offers the potential of perfectibility. I can't walk onto Yankee stadium and expect to hit a home run, but put me on a par three at Pebble Beach or Pinehurst #2, both of which I can get on way easier than Yankee stadium, and there is a calculable probability of an ace, a birdie, a par. The more I play, the more perfect I can become, like this sunset in Puerto Vallarta. 

The green grass grows all around

Green grass off into the horizon clicks a genetic switch in our brain -it is the peace of the African savanna ape seeing the lush green after the rainy season. Time of prosperity and fecundity. The sap rises from the roots, and it is the spring of our days. 

Hunting and gathering is in our bones and sinews, and this is replicated by the tracking and seeking of the white ball. Smell the grass. Root along the leaf litter for the prized nut. Club that small prey animal with your 3 iron. Signal to your fellow ape with your call "Fore!!!"

Like what?

A golfer believes that golf is a metaphor for life. A golfist believes that life is a metaphor for golf. 

The rules

A conversation overheard before a goatherd's wedding night on the steppes of Kazakhstan.

My son, unlike the Americans, you won't see your wife until the wedding night. Romantic love is viewed with suspicion because it cannot be given an economic value, while fifty goats can. So on your wedding night, you are seated next to some woman covered in wool and silk, draped in coins, and all you can see are her eyes which occasionally dart over to yours. They might be pretty. Its hard to tell, but then again, all of your cousins have pretty eyes, so its a safe assumption that she too would have those dark eyes. There is much feasting -too much, because there can only be too much. Not enough would be an insult, a cause for feuding. The laughing and shouting of the the men is broken up by the occasional report of automatic gunfire -your brothers are celebrating by emptying their AK47's up into the stars -a glorious night! As the party goes on, you and your bride are escorted to your wedding tent. It's hot inside. You ask her name, but she doesn't speak. Both of you are terrified. Your mother is waiting outside. Your new wife lies back as she has been instructed to by her mother, and you do your duty. You've had practice -so much practice, that it doesn't take very long. You reach under your bride and pull out the white sheet stained with her hymenal blood and hand it over to your mother. She ululates her joy and holds up the flag of Japan to all the waiting wedding guests. More gunshots and a return to feasting. The years pass, and you have many children. You have many opportunities to marry again, as you are a wealthy man, but curiously, you pass. You are content, after all. Then your eldest son is ready to marry and as his wedding day approached, he asks you about the truths about marriage and why you have stayed with one wife. You now lean back and stroke your beard and give your son this wisdom.

Rule #1: Over the course of any relationship, you can only have about a hundred meaningful conversations before something truly awful happens.

In fact, you tell your son, you rarely have more than 10 with anyone, and this conversation is number 3 between you two. The first one was about him practicing too much and too loudly. The second was about the superiority of boxer shorts. The more you talk, the less you have to say. You are on conversation number 6 with your wife, and that's only because several years back she found some magazines under the rug. The important thing is listening, you tell your boy. Women will talk incessantly if given the opportunity, but the trick is to divine their meaning. This takes practice. You tell your son you can buy time by scrunching up the eyebrows and making a constipated noise, but to keep the peace, you have to dig through the words and understand. It can be like predicting the weather, you warn him. Women want to be understood, but not by words do you divine their thoughts. And that is the key. Divination. The better you get at divination, the less the need for those conversations which suck the life force out of you. Telepathy is what they call it in the decadent west.

And keep track of those meaningful conversations, because when you pass one hundred, something bad happens. Usually you die. You can ward off that evil day by much furrowing of the eyebrows -but avoid using that too much because eventually you will be cornered into a meaningful conversation. 

Rule #2 -Human interest and passion in any subject or person lasts about two years. Human life lasts about 50. Do the math.

You remind your son the time he decided to dabble in homing pigeons. Everything was pigeon this and pigeon that. Silly messages about runaway goats sent in from over the hills, for a year this went on. Then one day, the pigeons were, in his words, too boring. Then it was roast pigeon for a month. It takes two years for your passion fades into routine. In the west, they call it the sophomore slump. Never let something take away your reason. You can get to the next watering hole by keeping a steady pace, but if you rush, you will lose goats. Passion is like small bag of salt you carry out to pasture the goats for a month. You only need a pinch of salt to make a roasted goat tasty, but use all the salt in one day, and the rest of the month is tasteless and bland. Remember too that your woman is subject to this two year rule. Renew her interest in keeping you comfortable and sated by keeping yourself unpredictable. Like anything else, inscrutability takes practice. Be aware of your routines and mix things up. Keep a mental chart of your routine and change some aspect of it every year. For example, if you change your underwear once a week, after a year, make it once every two weeks! That will keep her off balance. Never let things go for two years. If you feel yourself reaching that two year point, you may have to have a meaningful conversation, but remember rule number 1! Having children is also a good distraction. Remodeling the yurt is another. 

Rule #3 -In all that you do, reduce it to simple, silent acts of nature.

Man is cursed by thought. A chicken without its head will run well. When you learn something, learn it with your heart and your bones. Don't let thinking get in the way. This is the best way to manage rules #1 and #2. 

I have talked too much and used up one of my meaningful conversations. 

Golf's black heart

The HAC is my neighborhood society of gentlemen devoted to golf mostly for the opportunity to get together and:

1. avoid wives, children, and lawncare duties

2. drink beer and consume artery-clogging foods that accompany beer and fellowship

3. connive, lie, steal, revel in a fellow's misfortune, and cheat

Yes, cheat, because within the heart of all golfers beats a small fifth chamber that pumps black bile, that motivates sin, and drives competition. No way around it, golf competition is a zero sum game of winners, cheaters, losers, and those who failed to cheat effectively. 

Golfism seeks to cleanse the black heart of golf. It should be played from the tips with no handicap. You get what you get and you can't throw a fit, to paraphrase my 6 year old. 

Golfism's numerology

Golfists are keenly aware of the mystery of the numbers that form the tapestry of a round of golf. 434454453 is instantly recognizable to the golfists at my club as the par sequence of the front nine -each number brings the image and the feel of walking up to each tee. 444535434 is the back nine. Each golfist can recite their courses numerical map by visualizing each hole from memory. These numbers add up to 36 a side, 72 for the whole. My course from childhood (Baymeadows, Jacksonville, FL): 543443454 435344544. The first number, the 5, brings to mind my first tee off on a Saturday morning at 12 years of age -a train of carts full of old impatient men looking up at me. The inability to swallow my spit, the terrible awareness of about thiry eyes, and the need for me to get out of the way. 

I top my drive, refuse a mulligan (always thought mulligans were the worst kind of lie -the lie you tell to yourself), walk the twenty feet to the ball which happily is perched on the rough, and I smash a 4 wood (remember those) 200 yards to applause. That first par five is burned into my memory. These numbers are pregnant with as much meaning as cosmological constants.

The golfist is more than a golfer.

The golfist is a follower of golfism. A golfer will play occasionally for company, to avoid yard work, and to hide from the wife. A golfer plays for money, for competition, and for status. 

A golfist, on the other hand, goes to worship in the greeny cathedral of his passion. He labors for that pure moment that affirms the presence of perfection in his otherwise imperfect world, no matter how evanescent. The turn of his swing is like the turn of a prayer wheel. His sufferings, his achy joints, his deep pain the mortifications and deprivations of a monk. 

What is Golfism or Why am I a Golfist?

I was at work the other day, when someone brought it to my attention that some people thought I was playing too much golf. Ever since the season started, I have been focusing on tuning my game. The time spent, usually in the early evening, runs about an hour and a half -the time it takes to play a “speed nine.”

In response, I thought about taking my golf underground, to deny my involvement, and evade the scrutiny. But then I realized it would be caving in to a basic prejudice people have about golf and golfers. There are two sides to this coin: ignorance by non-golfers and failure by golfers to defend themselves.

If I was taking that time at the end of the day to run in preparation for a marathon, it would be considered laudable, but practicing sand shots and putting for an hour is viewed as dilettantism.

It was while I contemplated the approach shot on #1, that it was revealed to me that I was no longer just playing a game but also living completely and fully. My drive had drawn partially up the hill, landed, then rolled back. I was 165 yards from the middle where the pin was. It was an uphill stance. I set up for a fade, framed my stance at the large oak on the left, aimed my clubface at the pin, and felt completely comfortable in that moment, aware of myself, my thoughts, my body, my club, and the tiny white ball.

The fading sunlight on the ball brings different things into focus, and I was no longer just there on Wakonda #1, but nowhere and everywhere. I remember swinging and striking the ball which arced to the left, peaked on line with the oak tree, then gently arced right like a promise fulfilled. It landed on the upslope slightly left of the pin, taking a flopping bounce out of sight over the fringe. It was only a few feet from the hole. This moment was not only satisfying, it was transcendant.

Golfism is the set of beliefs centered around this moment. No, that's not right. There are no beliefs. Does a rabbit have a set of beliefs set around the transcendance of running fast? It just is "rabbit." Words clog the flow of this "my presence emphatic."