There is a lot to blame on old drunk Scotsmen.
Tartan kilts. Haggis. Bagpipe music. The Lochness Monster.
But those atrocities pale in comparison to their worst offense: golf. Hear me out.
Golf is stupid.
You hit a little white ball with a crooked stick, chase the ball (hopefully you can find it), hit the ball again with a (hopefully) different crooked stick, and chase the ball again. Until the conclusion of the mayhem, when the ball finally rests about four inches below the ground in hole the same circumference of whatever pipe the first dude to make up this maniacal sport had laying around to cut a hole in the ground and said "aye, here be the end."
And you do that 18 separate, painstaking times. Over the course of about 6,000 to 7,000 yards (depending on how good you are, or how good you think you are).
How long does all this take? Four hours, if you're lucky. At the local muni on an 80-degree Saturday? Five hours... five and half?
During those hours and across those yards comes a lot of frustration, agony, disappointment, and unmet expectations.
Sometimes you get so frustrated with the game that you decide it's time for a lesson. That has to make it better, right? Instruction and coaching is supposed to lead to improvement. Except in golf, you get worse before you get better. How silly. New swing thoughts and trying to train your body to move differently after engraining it to move a certain way for thousands of prior (apparently poor) swings doesn't lead to immediate success.
But, then there is that one shot. That extraordinary occasion where there is pride, happiness, and, dare I say, euphoria.
And it's those moments on the golf course, no matter how rare - there is always at least one, that keep us coming back to the course (and paying cold hard cash) to try again.
That's the insane part about golf. That one fleeting instance of success in a five-hour collection of failure? Go ahead: book me a tee time for next week.
So, golf is stupid. But golfers? They are stupider. Wait, I'll be fair and include myself in that: we are stupider.
What brings golfers - what brings us - back to the course? It can't be the one good shot we hit in a round; can it? After all, the cliché goes: "it's that one good shot that keeps you coming back." It's got to be more than that. Right?
It's definitely more than that.
The golf course is special place.
Everyone on the course is after the same false pursuit of perfection, believing this is the round that can be their career best. Of course, a best can only be once. Nevertheless, the next round? That's going to be the one!
Some courses are spiritual, magical places. A place where a walk around a field is enjoyable, and the golf just gets in the way. A connection with nature that can be unparalleled or unmatched in our daily lives sitting behind a desk, staring at a cubicle or office wall.
The foursome is a mini support group. The clubhouse bar after the round is basically golfaholics anonymous. These collections of golfers celebrate the good shots and console the bad ones. Regardless of ability, every golfer thinks they stink. We all find solace in that. But, all golfers support other golfer's quest to improve or score better. "You'll get 'em next time."
At its core, golf is a silly, nonsensical game, but golfers can't stay away. It can be frustrating but also triumphant. It can be a miserable slog but also an enjoyable walk.
The conclusion I've come to about this insane, foolish, deranged game: I hate that I love it. I can't wait to chase a little white ball around a field again. Thanks, old Scotsmen. I'll see you on the first tee.
Comments