Someone once said, “Golf is a good walk, spoiled.” Yet someone else said, “A bad day at golf is better than a good day at work.” I suppose it all depends on whether or not you are a golfer.
For me, it is the latter. I love my golf. I’ve been playing for about twenty years and rarely come home from a round of golf wishing I’d never gone out. On the occasions I do, it is usually weather-related rather than golf. A three-hour walk in torrential rain or minus temperatures is never anyone’s idea of a good time. I can hear you thinking right now, why does he go out and play golf in that kind of weather? He must be mad. I may be mad; my wife probably thinks so. But let me clarify something. I don’t start a round in the rain, but sometimes rain happens after all this is England, four seasons in one day.
I play my golf on a downland course, atop the south coast cliffs. On a clear, sunny day, the views are magnificent across the Sussex coast. On the finest days, it is possible to see Dungeness Power Station some thirty miles to the east, as the crow flies. To the West, Brighton, Worthing and beyond. The joy of being high up also means you can see the weather changing out in the channel. The rain clouds building and feel the wind shifting. The downside of course is when the poor weather hits land it can be almost impossible to see more than thirty yards. The cloud or mist comes down and visibility goes completely. Then of course there’s the wind. Occasionally coming from my playing partner, (or me!) but more likely the east and fierce. Just to make it interesting the wind has a habit of changing direction, so somehow you can find yourself shooting into the wind on almost every hole! If you’re not careful the ball ends up behind you or wildly off course in the rough! What is a gentle breeze in the town centre is gale force on the top of the Downs!
The worst weather is of course the freezing wind, ice and snow. To be fair, most courses are closed when covered in snow, but trying to land a golf ball on a frozen green is like trying to stop a rubber ball from bouncing. A ball will ricochet off in all kinds of directions or skim across the surface like a bouncing bomb. There is no greater joy(!) than trying to grip your club when your hands are numb, or not being able to feel your toes despite your thermal socks!
Let’s face it most golfers are a little too passionate and will go out in all weathers, at any time. And of course, they are more than happy to recount tales of their greatest achievements, failures and the shots that “even Tiger would be proud of!”
I can hear you again! Greatest achievements? All you’re doing is hitting a ball with a stick! Hardly rocket science! Achievements are all relative. For Rory McIlroy, a great achievement might be winning another Major tournament, or the Race to Dubai, but for us amateurs, our achievements are less mighty! For example, a beginner will be grateful to strike the ball cleanly and it goes forward. It might even get off the ground! For another, it might be breaking one hundred. For the uninitiated, this means completing the round in under one hundred shots. (Most Golf courses have a par of about 70-72). Breaking one hundred is a sign of real progress. For another, it is making your first par, birdie or even hole-in-one!
Let me regale you with a couple of mine. Recently I had the joy and privilege of playing a round on the Old Course at St Andrews, the “Home of Golf.” I was with my best friend and Golf buddy, Peter. Before you stop reading, I promise I won’t describe every single shot on every single hole! It is a golfer’s dream to play St Andrews Old Course. We had been fortunate enough to get drawn out of the lottery for a Wednesday afternoon in May. It was a cloudy and blustery afternoon, just like it often is back home! We both felt confident. We had been advised to hire a caddy, whose course knowledge would guide us around and hopefully help us avoid the pitfalls of this famous course. Our Caddy, whose name was Scott played at Carnoustie and had a handicap of 3! (Almost a professional.) There was I with a handicap of eighteen.
I approached the second tee, having made a complete pig’s ear of the first hole, losing my ball in the brook. I fished it out but finished the hole with a seven. I hit my drive straight down the second fairway, the wind pushed it left and it landed and rolled forward into a bunker short of the green. My heart sank. Having already struggled on the first hole; I was now looking down the barrel of another poor hole. When I reached my ball, my eyes widened. The bunker was deep. Deeper than anything I had played in before. It was head height. Fortunately, my ball was not up against the back of the bunker. I had a shot. Bunker shots can be notoriously difficult for some casual golfers, you can end up with a Hamlet moment or alternatively thin the ball and send it seventy yards across the green and off the other side into another bunker!
I settled myself in, ensuring my feet were neatly nestled in the sand. Scott reminded me to keep the face of the wedge open and take a full swing. “Follow through! Follow through!” He called out. I tried to control my breathing, reduce my heart rate and control the adrenaline. With the ball at the back of my stance and my left knee slightly bent I swung the club back and struck the ball, following through as instructed. To my delight, the ball with sand, lifted from the bed of the bunker, rose and drifted over the top of the bunker landing some ten feet forward. I was both ecstatic and disappointed at the same time. Happy that the ball was out of the bunker at the first attempt but cross that I had not struck it more firmly so that its progress to the green would have been greater. I scrambled out of the bunker, tapped my club on my shoes to remove the sand and walked up to my ball. As I waited for the other three players to take shots from positions around the green, I contemplated my predicament.
I was about fifty feet from the pin, on top of a mound that was the back face of the bunker. Between my ball and the pin (hole), the ground sloped down into a gulley then up about ten feet onto the green. The green itself undulated several times before flattening out where the pin was located. Pete and the other two players played their third shots and marked the balls. No one made a birdie.
I said to Scott, “I think I’ll chip it on, that would be easiest!” and went to get my sand wedge from the bag.
“No, no!” said Scott, his broad Scots accent ringing out. “Putt it!”
“Putt it?” I queried. “That’s crazy. Look how the ground goes down and up and round! How can I even get close?”
“Trust me,” he said calmly. “Aim about eighteen inches to the left of the pin and hit it firmly. You’ll be fine.” I looked at him doubtfully.
“If this goes anywhere near, you’ll have earned your tip!” I took a few practice swings with the putter, just to get a sense of force and pace then stepped up to the ball. I stood behind it knelt and took my line. Standing I addressed the ball pulled the putter back and swung through. The ball left the club head with pace and sped down the slope gathering speed as it did so. I looked on more in hope than expectation. My golfing partners watched as the ball rolled up the bank on the far side of the gulley onto the green with no letup in the pace. It dipped and turned and climbed through the undulations slowly turning towards the pin. As the green flattened out the ball slowed up and rolled gently towards the small 4 ¼ inch hole. I held my breath as the ball gently disappeared into the cavity that is the hole. As I recall I jumped up and cheered fist pumping the air. I think my golfing partners clapped, maybe not. Perhaps that was in my imagination. I turned to my caddie who was beaming.
“I told you!”
I shook his hand. “You’ve earned your tip!” I said with glee and meant it! A birdie at St Andrews on the 2nd!
The rest of the round was filled with oohs and aahs, with cracking shots and some dreadful ones. A par on the 7th was another highlight, as well as not hitting the hotel from my tee shot on the 17th. To be fair I did aim a little left to avoid any danger especially as two others had managed to land their balls on the balcony of a room on the third floor! I made an impressive six on that hole, the green like a duvet with several cats hiding underneath!
As we approached the final hole, the famous 18th. Scott asked if we would like to play from the championship tee, just to get the full experience. It was slightly further back, maybe twenty-thirty yards. For those of you who don’t know St Andrews, the 18th hole is iconic. As you look up towards the green some 360 yards away, to the left is the first fairway then a road, then the beach. To the right is a road lined with hotels and apartments. A white picket-style fence separates the public path from the course. The brook where I hit my ball on the first hole crossed the fairway, a danger if your drive was mishit. Further up about two-thirds of the way to the green was a public path. Marshalls guarded either end preventing the public from getting hit by golf balls. The public path was the marker of a good drive. Ending up close to it was a good shot for an amateur. All of us hit strong drives. Mine, about ten feet short of the path. I was happy. As we walked up the fairway, that moment came when we crossed the Swilcan Bridge, the ancient stone crossing over the brook. Photos were taken, poses made, then we carried on to where our balls had landed. I could see my wife standing behind the white fence at the back of the 18th Green, with Karen, Pete’s wife.
I could hear voices, loud, chattering, American accents. I looked around and saw a large contingent of what I presumed were golfers standing on a balcony of a hotel adjacent to the fairway. They had drinks in hand and were watching as fourball after fourball made their way up the 18th. I reached my ball. I waited for everyone else to play their second shot. The first two struck their shots well. There were ripples of applause from the crowd on the balcony. My friend Pete stepped up to his ball. He had made it across the path. A fantastic tee shot. I knew his range, all he needed was a wedge onto the green. He struck it beautifully and it landed on the green in line with the pin then rolled on past about twenty feet. Rapturous applause rang out from the Americans on the balcony. I congratulated him and felt sick to my stomach. All three had made shots to the green and received praise from our audience of half-cut American golfers. The pressure was on me to make a good shot. I picked out an eight-iron. I was about one hundred and fifteen yards from the front of the green. I knew a clean strike would at least get me to the edge, maybe beyond. As I stepped up to the ball and began to take a few practice swings I heard a very loud, American voice call out.
“I bet he’s shittin’ himself now!”
I smiled. How true his statement was. I called back.
“Too right I am!” There was laughter on the balcony, then it all went quiet.
I took a moment to compose myself, took one more practice swing then addressed the ball. My heart was thumping. My mind going crazy. What if I messed it up? They would laugh at me! What would my wife think? Please don’t mess it up!
I steadied my breathing pulled the club back and swung through. As my right shoulder came around and the club swung through, I could sense the ball had been hit cleanly. I watched as it rose, the arc perfect, the line straight. I heaved a sigh of relief. It landed in the centre of the green beyond the pin and rolled on up to the back of the green. Almost to where my wife stood! Applause rang out from the balcony, cheers and cries of “good shot!” I had done it. I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself. I was on the green in two!
As we walked up to the green, I waved to my wife who was clapping and smiling. At least I could hold my head up high. She hadn’t seen me embarrassed.
I had a long downhill putt of about thirty to forty feet. I Was the first to play, as I recall. This was tricky. I needed to get close enough for a chance of a par. That would be incredible! I looked at the line and studied the curves of the green. I am never too confident about reading greens, but it looked like a left-to-right. I practiced a few swings with the putter to gauge pace then stepped up and struck the ball. Off it went. At first, I thought I had not struck it hard enough and I was cross with myself. However, the ball had other ideas. It kept going, slowly turning towards the pin. Eventually, it came to a stop about four feet from the hole. There was polite applause from a few onlookers. I couldn’t believe it. I had a chance of a par on the 18th at St Andrews! My mind was in overload mode. You won’t get the par, settle for a five. That’s still good! You’ve had your moment. You got a birdie on the second. You will miss it!
As I recall, one of the others made par. Pete, my friend just missed out. The ball slid by. He tapped in for a five. At least I can match a five with Pete!
The putt looked straight and slightly downhill. It was only four feet. But a lot could happen in a short distance. I had just seen Pete’s slide by. If I missed, it could go on another four or five feet past. With a deep breath in, I took the putt. I held my breath as it rolled toward the hole, which seemed to have shrunk to about one inch wide! As it dropped and disappeared, I released my breath with a huge sigh! I’d done it. Par! There was more applause from onlookers for all of us, and we all shook hands and congratulated each other on good rounds.
I had played St Andrews Old Course on a blustery afternoon in May. Ok so I shot 103, but it added up to 30 Stapleford points, with two pars and a birdie! I’ll take that! Scott really did earn his tip!
Golf is a funny game, one round you play like Rory and Tiger, the next like Laurel and Hardy. For the once-a-week golfer, progress is hard, but it is not always about winning. It is about camaraderie, beating the course, and small victories like making a difficult putt or managing to sort out your slice or fade. It can be watching your partner chip in from off the green or having success with a club that you struggle with.
Being outside on a beautiful sunny day strolling around your home course, allowing the sun to warm your back, and feeling it penetrate your bones is a wonderful feeling. There is nothing like visiting a new course and feeling the excitement and trepidation of what the course might bring. It is all part of the enjoyment.
I know golf isn’t everyone’s game, but for those who like a good walk, golf doesn’t spoil it, it enhances it.
Jez Taylor- Author with a Christian worldview 
Leave a comment