The third round of the Pebble Beach Pro-Am was on TV in the background today as I supervised and played with my 4 small children (yes, that’s Tom Watson at Pebble Beach, left), and it got me thinking…
I have probably played a total of 50 rounds of golf in my entire life (perhaps 2 per year since 7th grade). How, then, can I justify calling myself a golfer?
Perhaps it’s because I imagine playing golf all the time; I read books about golf (The Legend of Bagger Vance, by Steven Pressfield, is one of my all-time favorite novels); my son and I compete in Yahoo’s online golf league together; in the summer, I’m constantly trying to find a way to squeeze in nine holes; when I do find time to get out on the golf course, I feel a level of peace, freedom, and competitive focus attainable in no other way.
Why does this game have such a hold over me, and over so many others? What is it about this sport that makes it so addictive, so engaging, so exhilarating — even for hacking amateurs like me?
Most importantly, how can you and I quadruple our annual golfing time during the course of the rest of our lives?
“I asked Arnold Palmer if he’d ever come close to mastering the game of golf; he said he thought he had once, for nine holes.” — Fuzzy Zoeller, from Be The Ball: A Golf Instruction Book for the Mind
Crawdaddy Cove 