Intensity
Begets Fatigue
By Patrick Tooker
To say golf had always been the sport of my dreams wouldn’t be true.
Like many, I played basketball and baseball growing up and enjoyed playing with my teammates. At an outside glance, golf was a game of one which wasn’t the most appealing for a 10-year-old. It wasn’t until breaking my wrist before baseball tryouts my freshman year that I ever really considered picking it up competitively. Looking back to seeing my name on the Players Cut List for the freshman baseball team, I now see what a blessing that has ended up being.
Now, for the greater part of my life, golf has been the greatest and most simultaneously frustrating hobby I have consumed for quite some time. I often think about the Arnold Palmer quote that eloquently describes my own (and I’m sure many) feelings toward the game:
“Golf is deceptively simple and endlessly complicated; it satisfies the soul and frustrates the intellect. It is at the same time rewarding and maddening — and it is without a doubt the greatest game mankind has ever invented.”
As I sit here writing now, ‘frustrates the intellect’ is the only thing that is on my mind. For the last 12 years, my mind was always consumed by that last missed birdie attempt, rallying back from an early 2-down in a match, and when I could get back out on the course to right the wrongs. But on April 10 of this year, my mind didn’t get bogged down in mistakes, or the next round, or getting back out on the course at all. For the first time since I picked up a golf club, I lost that fire to get back out there.
. . .
My first memories of golf were teeing it up Sunday mornings before the other members ventured out, and walking in three hours to make the 10 a.m. NFL kickoff. My dad and I would rush to the clubhouse to grab a bite, and bolt home to catch the second half — while we would replay the round until late in the afternoon. Even then, I wasn’t sure how long-term golf would be until joining the golf team freshman year.
From then on, it wasn’t very difficult to fall in love with the game. Splitting home courses on an Alister MacKenzie design and the Olympic Club made both playing and practicing very enjoyable, though I didn’t realize how good I had it until becoming a “golf nerd” later on in life.
Golf developed beyond a seasonal sport into an obsession, not through playing but rather caddying. Looping and meeting different people each and every round became enthralling. The different styles of play, the shit-talking between groups, and the gamesmanship opened my eyes to a world not previously known to a mere golf novice. I became fascinated with how 18 holes that I had walked countless times could mean so many different things to a variety of people. For some, it meant beating your playing partner at all costs. For others, it was about finding a few balls along the ways and ending the round with more in your bag than you started with. I tended to enjoy looping most, however, for the ones who cared less about the results on the course and more about sharing a few hours amongst their friends.
Though mid-week jobs came and went through school, caddying remained a constant for eight years of my life. By the end of it, it wasn’t for the money or because I needed to, but rather I had gotten to know some people along the way who I would even call friends (though the free golf during maintenance days sure didn’t hurt).
As high school years continued into college, so did my love for the game. Running to the tee box on the Penn State White Course after dipping a few minutes early from Econ became par for the course. During the fall months, as the sunset arrived sooner and sooner, I remember stretching the limits of daylight and my eyesight to squeeze in another hole. The end of October quickly signaled the last golf at school until April, and it was early on I knew that Northeast winters wouldn’t be long for me post-grad. As anyone who’s lived up in that area would know, there would always be that one week in late February or March that thawed the course for a few days — and had you saying ‘winter might’ve ended early this year,’ only to see another foot on the ground a week or two later.
When my employer gave me the option between Austin or Boston locations, my love for the game and playing year-round drove my decision to head south. Before unpacking or purchasing a dresser, I rolled out to a local course to see how Texas golf differed than the brand I had come to know. ShadowGlen was unlike anything I had seen before: drives blistering through the heat, width to miss errantly off the tee, and distances that had me re-checking the score card to see if I had actually driven the ball 310 quickly made me realize this wasn’t at all the same game I had learned at sea level in the frigid air.
I will never forget walking up the green on the 18th sitting at +1 with an eagle putt from 40 feet. Never before had I a putt to break or shoot par in my first nine years since picking up a club. (Nor had I recorded an eagle, for that matter.) Don’t leave it short. Don’t leave it short. Though the playing partners around me seemingly hadn’t noticed the ramifications of my next stroke, I took some extra time to make sure I had viewed the path from all angles. Off the face of my Wishon Putter I immediately thought, Crushed it. The putt certainly didn’t lack pace, though to my surprise caught the back of the cup, popped what felt like a foot in the air, and landed in the cup for my first-ever 70. I can’t remember the reaction to this day, but am certain it was closer in grace to Phil’s leap in ’04 versus Tiger’s celebration at Torrey. One thing was certain: my choice to come down to Austin was vindicated early on.
Being down here for four years now, I didn’t realize how many courses were truly within range of playing when work ended at 4 on a Friday and there weren’t any obligations until walking into the office Monday morning. Finding a regular foursome didn’t prove too difficult a task, and very quickly I had a standing match first thing Sunday morning with some colleagues. For years since that first eagle, it was always about finding the next under-par round out there.
I need to add more distance.
Gotta put more time in on the range.
If only I could just take back that one hole.
This obsession to return to what I deemed “success” landed me where I am now. The months before giving up golf I was so focused on the result. My initial assessment of golf as being a solo sport came to fruition. For several months I had a feeling of isolation no matter the company around me.
Double on the first? Well now my round is over.
April came, and my missed shots weren’t met with frustration toward myself but rather indifference. I had become accustomed to failure. Failure? I sit here writing now wondering when golf changed from a game to a number on a scorecard.
Even without touching a golf club for months, this maddening game is always around me. It would be near impossible to describe or explain to an outsider the lifestyle that golf has paved for me. How could I explain to a non-golfer why I’m still up until 2 a.m. watching Morikawa save par over in Japan, listening to Andy Johnson talk about designing greens based off a bag of potato chips, and contemplating while on a work Zoom which captain’s pick would be the best fit for Whistling Straits?
And at that same measure, I’ve had no desire to pick up a club if only to go to the range all summer. My time has been spent at concerts, on lakes, or most recently learning the intricacies of pickleball — without a second thought of returning to the game that had consumed me for over a decade.
It wasn’t until picking up A Course Called America that really changed. From reading about the author, Tom Coyne, taking a ferry in Northern Michigan to a hidden nine-holer to meeting a barber up in Alaska, it truly paints an incredible picture of the diversity you will see in this country. The motif that struck me though was the people Tom met along the way. I found myself caring far less about the different courses he ventured to in the book but rather the stories he told of those he met. For some reason, this book amongst his others (though all are incredible) struck a chord with me on why I love the game. I reflected on why I couldn’t put put down the Kindle and the ties to old friends and new really stuck with me.
Perspective is a word that gets thrown around a lot, maybe too frivolously. Though in reading Tom’s latest adventure, I gained some perspective as to the game that I lost somewhere along the way. I started out playing to be around my dad, with my friends after class, my colleagues.
I lost sight of the fact that a Saturday morning round meant more than seeing how my handicap would react to the score I just posted. Of course I want to get better when I am putting in the work, but in taking time off and then reading about Tom’s journey, I have learned a valuable lesson in letting go of the score in the parking lot after the 18th green.
Immediately after putting down the book, I set my alarm for 7 a.m. on Tuesday to call the local Lion’s Muni for a weekend tee time (very flawed system, as the line is usually busy for 15 minutes -- but quite a rush to get a decent time).
I’m sure the rust will speak for itself when teeing off the first hole, though I am looking forward to getting back to the game that I grew to love. Being back with old friends and sharing a story or two. Pressing after an early two down. I am sure there will be bumps along the way but this recent sabbatical has taught me a lot not only about myself but why this truly is the greatest game mankind has ever invented.
Patrick Tooker is an aspiring pitmaster living in Austin, Texas. He will be rooting for Team Europe in the upcoming Ryder Cup and is a Valtteri Bottas stan. He tweets at @PTooker.
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