I saw an ad online for a T-shirt imprinted with this proclamation: “Life without golf is crap.”
Regular readers of this column over the last couple of years know that I have been a golf nut for some time now. I’m not very good, but I love to play, and I’ve written about it fairly often. About a year ago, I said I wasn’t going to write about it anymore. Well …
So here’s the scoop: For the last nine months, I’ve been facing a few, sort-of, life-changing health issues, and I haven’t been able to play at all this season. And one of my doctors has said I may not ever be able to play again. Life without golf! Yeah, I know, violins and sad music, right?
If golf is out of the equation, what will life be like? What has it been like this summer? I’ve done a lot of thinking about golf — and about life. I remember reading a quote from golfing legend Bobby Jones who said, “Golf is the closest game to the game we call life. You get bad breaks from good shots; you get good breaks from bad shots — but you have to play the ball where it lies.”
So, I’ve had some bad breaks, but I’ve been “playing the ball where it lies.” Instead of spending 25 or so hours a week on the golf course as has been my custom, I’ve done some wood-carving, a little drawing, a lot of reading, more writing than usual, easy bike rides or walks almost every day.
Ben Hogan once said, “As you walk down the fairway of life you must smell the roses, for you only get to play one round.” It’s a great sports metaphor and good advice. I’ve been “smelling the roses” this summer, and I’ve found out that life without golf isn’t so bad. I miss my teammates and our traveling group, but I haven’t missed the game anywhere near as much as I had thought I would. I still pay attention to what my golf buddies are doing each week, but it doesn’t hurt anymore to talk about it. Maybe I’ve just grown up?
I don’t think I’ve overdone the “poor me, I have cancer; poor me, I can’t play golf” thing, even though there was a time early in the summer when we had a garage sale and I put a bunch of my golf stuff out there, and I pouted a little when we practically gave some of it away. But one incident during the sale made me very happy. I still smile when I think about it.
A little boy, maybe 6 years old, came in with his grandma, clutching a $5 bill in his hand, looking to buy a Father’s Day gift for his dad. I told him that was exactly the right amount for my Calloway Great Big Bertha driver and a couple of dozen balls. You should have seen the look on his face when he walked down the driveway with his new club and bag of balls! My best golf experience ever, probably. Even better than my hole-in-one.
So … I guess if I have to live my life without golf, it’s certainly not the worst thing that could happen to me. It’s not nearly as hard an adjustment as I thought it would be, and I won’t be bothering Marilyn with my shot-by-shot narrations of my rounds anymore.
I can live without golf!
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