A friend once teased me about my wardrobe. “You always look like you’re ready to play golf, Rice.” Without missing too much of a beat, I replied: “That’s the plan.”
I am a golf nut, guil-tee as charged. Regardless of the season or whatever task I’m engaged in, my thoughts are never far from watching, studying, and especially playing the game of kings.
Want to talk about the pros? Sure, let’s compare Jack vs. Tiger. Equipment? I know the shaft that’s in your driver better than you do and why you shouldn’t be playing it. Technique? I’m a little laid off at the top these days. If I get within 10 yards of a mirror, I’ll start practicing my takeaway, and I can often be caught giving shot-by-shot details of my latest round to my father over the phone, which might sound more unhinged if he didn’t do the same thing.
To be sure, golf is expensive. The courses, thanks in part to COVID-19 sending more people outside, are getting more and more crowded. And if you’ve ever played at least two holes, you know how frustrating this game can be. But the therapeutic benefits far outweigh the drawbacks. Some people find peace or perspective by sitting in a church pew or tending a garden. I find mine at dusk at the quiet driving range a few miles from home, or on the putting green across from Rec Hall on a sleepy Saturday morning. I love the social aspects of the game—the trash-talking with my oldest friends at the low-stakes tournament we play in every summer, the inspiring rounds on the Penn State Blue and White Courses with my father-in-law’s octogenarian playing partners, the way my 4-year-old beams when he catches one right in the middle of his plastic 7-iron. Yet I derive just as much pleasure, if not more, from those early summer mornings or fall afternoons when it’s just me and my sticks and my thoughts and maybe an extra ball off the tee here and there.
This game, you see, isn’t about competing against your opponent or the course or even your handicap index, but about understanding and improving—and forgiving—yourself. It’s focusing on the shot at hand, accepting the outcome, then starting the process all over again. Some days produce more memorable scores and stories than others, but each time on the links is a chance to learn something, to (attempt to) master your emotions, to be better than you were the day before. At the very least, to get some sunshine and fresh air and a brief respite from the noise and nonsense of the internet. It is food for the soul, and I hope it nourishes me until the day I die.
Otherwise, what’s that closetful of golf shirts for?
Jeff Rice is the magazine’s associate editor.
