Contrast that scene with CBS’ brief interview of Tiger Woods several minutes before Phil completed his round. In light of all that has recently happened in his life and the warm reception he received from the galleries at the Masters, you’d think he would have been grateful. There he was on national television, with a unique opportunity to gain a significant level of “public restoration” simply by thanking golf fans for welcoming him back. Instead of stepping up and seizing the moment, he groused about not winning and how despite the long layoff, he only enters golf tournaments to win. The facial expressions and body language caught on camera were unmistakably negative. If that tells us something about Tiger Woods, so be it.

Overall, I loved this year’s tournament. It had some great moments and images…Tom Watson turning back the clock in the first round; Fred Couples playing without socks in his “chanclas” (spanish slang for slippers); Phil Mickelson almost making three eagles in a row on Saturday; Anthony Kim’s charge on Sunday, etc. If you’re not a golf fan and you’ve made it this far - thanks a lot! I appreciate your patronage of my blog. If you’re a golf fan, all I have to say is great tournament, eh?  

I just finished re-reading Mark Frost’s book – The Match. Speaking of hyperbole, the book is subtitled, “The Day the Game of Golf Changed Forever”. While I would highly recommend it to anyone who plays golf even semi-seriously, it’s probably not a book anyone else would understand. It tells the story of an informal team match played in 1956 between two legends of professional golf (Ben Hogan & Byron Nelson) and the two top amateurs of the day (Ken Venturi and Harvie Ward). It has a Bay Area angle because both Venturi and Ward lived in San Francisco at the time and the match took place at a famous course on the Monterey Peninsula, where local golfers often go for day trips. The course was Cypress Point, considered by most to be the “Sistine Chapel” of golf – the ultimate expression of golf architect Alister MacKenzie’s work.

The 16th and 17th holes at Cypress Point

Nelson in his prime

At home in his den

I like good writing as much as anybody, so instead of me trying to paraphrase what Mark Frost wrote about Byron, I’d like to present it to you in his own words. Regarding Byron’s death, he wrote: “His turned out to be not just another obituary for a half-forgotten figure from a distant age long since passed. Because he’d touched so many lives for so many years, and remained so true to the basic principles by which he lived,  Byron had remained timeless, standing outside of any particular memory or era. He’d stepped away from the glare of his sport’s spotlight at thirty-four, and contributed far more of a lasting value to the world around him [from his perspective]…in the six decades that followed than he had during his thirteen years between the ropes [playing professional golf].”

At his funeral, he was eulogized by one of the men whom he had mentored and played against in the famous 1956 match – Ken Venturi. Speaking of Byron, Venturi said: “Some people come into our lives and quietly go away. Others stay for a while and leave footprints in our hearts and we’re never the same because of it. He gave me strength in times of weakness. He gave courage in times of fear. And he gave love in times of doubt. You could always turn to Byron when you were in need, he was always there, and he gave you the best he had.

That’s the kind of finishing well that inspires me as I move closer and closer to the “winter” of my life, where being and influence take predominance over doing.

I guess you know which side I come down on. I love the park for dog walking because there are so many unmarked trails and paths you can take, many of them offering wonderful views of the city and bay. Here’s a picture I took this week of our dog Midnite and a typical McLaren Park scene.

I love Gleneagles because it tests both your game and your character. In most places, you’re hitting a shot where the ball is above or below your feet or up or down a hill. The fairways are narrow and tree-lined and the grass is usually much better in the rough than in the fairway. Because of the prevailing weather conditions and wind, it’s almost impossible to keep enough sand in the bunkers – so you’re often playing from a ”veneer” of sand over hard pack. The greens are very small (by modern standards), they’re tilted, sloped, or two-tiered, and they all have minor undulations and very subtle breaks. I could go on, but if you’re a golfer, you get the picture. The funny thing is, every year when I watch the British Open (particularly when it’s played on a Scottish course), I realize that places like Gleneagles are more like what the Scots intended when they invented the game. In the U.S., we’ve  come to expect a golf experience that includes perfect tee boxes, manicured fairways, flat lies, perfect sand, and large, relatively flat greens – conditions that leave very little to chance or whimsey. The older, more traditionally designed courses test one’s character because they aren’t always “fair” and they punish mistakes.

Sorry for digressing, but I wanted to give you some background on my chosen topic. A friend of mine who shall remain nameless refuses to play at Gleneagles anymore. He considers it “too much” (you can decide what that means). Anyway, during a recent round at a “stereotypical” golf course, I was explaining how playing regularly at Gleneagles prepares one for virtually any misfortune that he or she might encounter on the course. He rolled his eyes and told me that in his opinion, Gleneagles regulars like myself were part of a cult. I thought about it for several days and later mentioned it to a few of the regulars at the “Eagle”. Most everyone agreed that my friend was right.

According to the dictionary, a cult is: 1) a particular system of [religious] worship, esp. with reference to its rites and ceremonies; 2) a group or sect bound together by veneration of the same thing, person, ideal, etc. ; and 3) a group having a sacred ideology and a set of rites centering around their sacred symbols. If you look at how I described Gleneagles above, you could say that the definition of a cult does apply. If like my friend, you’ve played there, particularly in a “rabbit”, “skin game”, or other type of unoffical competition (our “rites”) – you would definitely agree with him. In fact, Gleneagles regulars know almost on sight, who is a “player” and who is not.

I hope you haven’t taken any of this seriously because it’s intended as fun. On the other hand, have you ever wondered if you have what it takes to be a member of a cult?

Several days ago, I was at the driving range doing a “full bag” practice session. It won’t surprise those who know me to hear that I have a set practice routine on such days. I start by hitting 12 balls with my 9-Iron, 12 with my 7-Iron, and then 8-10 balls each with my 5-Iron, Hybrid, and 5-Wood. Next, I pull out my driver and hit at least 12 balls with it, then proceed backwards – hitting 8-10 balls each with my 4-Iron, 6-Iron, 8-Iron, and Pitching Wedge. If I struggle with any particular club, I’ll hit more balls with it until I feel comfortable. When I’m done with my “regular” clubs, I hit any remaining balls with my Sand Wedge and Lob Wedge. The idea is to maintain a good feel for ALL the clubs in my bag – because I never know which one I’ll need to use in a critical situation on the golf course. I also try to work in regular sessions at a short-game practice facility, where I focus on chipping, pitching, playing out of the sand, and putting. At my level of play (11-12 index), I can’t always count on hitting the ball where I want to, so a decent short game is essential to scoring well.

Because golf is an individual sport, you can tell a lot about players by watching them practice and by how they conduct themselves on the course. I’m constantly amazed by people who come to the range, don’t loosen up or stretch, immediately grab their driver (the most difficult club in the bag to hit), and begin banging balls in rapid succession. There’s no work on any kind of preshot routine (GASP: Grip, Alignment, Posture, Stance), no focus on rhythm and tempo, or even on “warming up”. It’s just bang, bang, bang – get it done so that when things go bad out on the course, I can claim that I don’t know why because I was “just at the driving range working on my game” :-). I can’t tell you how many people I’ve played with over the years who lug around a full bag of clubs but use only a few of them because they “can’t hit” the others…or people who absolutely kill their driver, but have no “touch” and can’t hit anything inside of 175 yards. I’m not talking about “occasional” golfers who don’t practice and are just out for some fun, sun, beers, cigars, etc. I’m talking about people who claim to take the game seriously. Yeah, yeah…I may be a “golf snob”(as my wife says) but I just don’t understand wasting precious time and money on a game that’s already frustrating enough – even for professionals.

At the driving range, I usually pick a slot adjacent to the teaching pro with whom I work. When he’s there doing a lesson, I can often pick up handy “tips” and reminders. He doesn’t mind because I’m also one of his “students” – not a freeloader trying to get something for nothing. The other day, he was working with a man whom he repeatedly had to admonish for “choking the club to death”. It was like a mantra: “loosen your grip, relax, loosen your grip, relax, loosen your grip !*!#@*#!”. A mantra is supposed to create or foster transformation. In this case, I’m not sure if his student got it, but I certainly did.

I will openly admit that I’m a borderline Type A personality. As such, I have to constantly remind myself to “loosen my grip”. A few days after listening to my golf pro’s mantra, I went out to the course and resolved to loosen my grip (literally) on my golf clubs. Miracle of miracles! Tightening one’s grip causes all kinds of other muscles in the body to seize up – in my case, this includes my jaw. How am I supposed to relax and hit the ball when my whole body is “puckered up”? Needless to say, I played well that afternoon. Apparently, I’ve been bringing my stress onto the golf course and allowing it to dictate how I play the game (both physically and mentally). Is it any surprise then, that I’ve haven’t felt very “refreshed” lately after playing golf?

There’s a fellow I play with pretty regularly at my home course, Gleneagles. He’s a former professional football player who’s around my age and has two characteristics that are noteworthy to me. Out on the course, we say that he has “almost no pulse”. By that, I mean nothing ruffles him – good shots, bad shots, he just keeps plugging away – on an even keel emotionally, not wasting one bit of energy. The second characteristic is that when things get tough (competitively), he seems to have another “gear” that kicks in – allowing him to play even better under pressure. Over time, I’ve come to realize that his experience as a professional athlete allows him to conserve energy, even in the midst of playing, so that he can utilize it exactly where and when it’s needed. Perhaps if I can learn to consistently “loosen my grip”, I can do the same – on the golf course and in life.

Mean-eyed vicious killer dog

What I forgot is that Midnite has to be one of the world’s most fussy poopin’ dogs. She has to have some green under her butt and not just any green, it has to have the proper “texture” – otherwise, forget it. We eventually ended up taking her to a nearby park before she burst with indigestion (or worse). A few days later I came upon this article by David Feherty in Golf Magazine that described a similar dilemma. I enjoy good writing and I hope you like it!

In a recent post, I included a quote from the film “A River Runs Through It”. My reflections on the movie led me to read Norman Maclean’s book of the same name. In the book, Maclean uses fly fishing as a metaphorical thread of continuity for his story. In the midst of describing his experiences fishing, he interweaves profound reflections and insights on life and relationships. As narrator, his conclusion to the story includes this quote: ”Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t…[but there, while fishing in the cool of the evening] all existence fades to a being with my soul.”

I understand it may seem trite and incomprehensible to some of you, but by substituting a few words, we get an excellent description of why I play golf. When I’m playing, I become so physically and mentally engaged that all other “existence” fades away and it’s just me, the ball, and the next shot I have to play. In golf, we call it “staying in the moment” and for a player at my level, it happens 80-90 times over a period of about 4 hours. Each “moment” ends when the shot or putt (stroke) is played. Whatever the outcome, the ideal we strive for is to let any joy, anger or disappointment about the stroke we just played pass immediately out of us. Once this occurs, we socially reengage our playing partners and move on to the next shot where the cycle is repeated. Over time, I’ve come to understand that becoming proficient at ”staying in the moment” requires significant mental and physical discipline that carries over into other aspects of my life.   

When I’m in the proper “state”, this zen-like aspect of golf wipes my mental and emotional slate clean. The issues and challenges of life outside the golf course don’t go away – it’s that I return to them feeling renewed. This is particularly the case when I play in beautiful places like the courses pictured above. On the other hand, we shouldn’t get too carried away with this concept because I’m not talking about true spiritual refreshment and renewal, which comes through other means. Nevertheless, I have at times, experienced some correlation between the two.

Over the years, I’ve come to know many other golfers who, like me, enjoy the “big waters” – the more difficult and challenging golf courses. In fact, I’ve found that my level of focus (and to some extent enjoyment) generally increases with the course’s level of difficulty and when my fellow players share the same golfing “philosophy”. It’s not that I am – as my wife says – a “golf snob”. I enjoy playing with friends on easier courses, but I see those times as primarly social. Under such circumstances, I don’t feel any need to concern myself with the “disciplines” I’ve just described.

Over time, I’ve learned to recognize the kinds of things that make me angry and have for the most part, been successful at “managing” (not suppressing) my anger. I’ve come to find that the “big” things of life normally don’t anger me – relationships, household emergencies, health issues, politics, work, etc. My achilles heel is fairness. For some reason, things that I perceive to be unfair absolutely infuriate me. What makes my anger difficult to control under these circumstances is that I never know when I’m going to encounter them and they’re rarely forseen. Nevertheless, as I’ve grown older I’ve learned not to lash out physically in anger and I’m much better at not tearing people apart verbally. However, I’ve increasingly begun to notice that anger now has a prolonged, negative physical effect on my body (you think?).           

The dictionary defines fair as free from bias, dishonesty, or injustice; or consistent with rules, logic, or ethics. Of course, the problem with this definition is that the terms it uses are highly subjective. Living for many years in a multi-cultural environment like San Francisco, I can safely say that my concept of fairness is not universally accepted. Imagine that!

This past weekend, I played in a two-day tournament conducted by the Gleneagles Golf Club. Yesterday morning as I was unloading my equipment, two men whom I knew were not participants pulled in next to me. As a courtesy, I informed them that the course was closed until about noon for a tournament. Before I could say anything else, one of the men gave me an offended look and huffily informed me that he had called in advance and was told that if he arrived by 7:30, he could play nine holes “in front” of the tournament field. Although this is technically prohibited (course rules), it is generally understood that it’s up to the starter’s discretion. In fact, I’ve been rejected several times when I’ve tried to do it. With that in mind and because I recognized the man’s response within his cultural context (enough said), I simply told him that the first tee time of the tournament was actually at 7:30. He asked if that was my tee time and I said yes, but that if they got up to the clubhouse and teed off promptly there should be no problem.

Imagine our surprise when these men proceeded to the practice putting green instead of the first tee as if they had all the time in the world. Meanwhile, the starter said nothing. At 7:25 they finally decided to tee off. At this point, I should clarify for those of you who aren’t golfers that the game has its own “culture” that is supposed to transcend all others (at least on the course). One is expected to be courteous, honest, and respectful to the course and one’s fellow players. In that regard, it’s customary for tee times to be spaced between 10-15 minutes so that ideally, no one has to stand around waiting to play shots. Because these men knew about the tournament and the first tee time of 7:30, their actions demonstrated a blatant lack of courtesy. Once at the tee, they took their time – constantly looking back at the parking lot – obviously awaiting another player who was late. Finally, several of the tournament players whistled at them and demanded that they move on. I went to the starter to ask why he hadn’t intervened and he told me to mind my own business and “play my own game”.

As we waited for the group in front to move far enough for us to safely tee off, the late player ran past us to the tee. He proceeded to take his time unpacking his things, completely oblivious to his surroundings. I finally had to walk up to the tee and inform him that he was holding up the tournament and that he needed to move on immediately. As a result of their selfishness and lack of courtesy (against all the “cultural” conventions of golf), the entire tournament field was delayed. In light of what I’ve already said, you can only imagine how furious I was. The rest of my day (on the course) went downhill from there. I wish I could paint a happy ending, telling you that I put it behind me and played well – but that wouldn’t be reality.   

Ultimately, who paid the price for my anger? Certainly not those men. In fact, three more of their friends who were late joined them on the 5th tee (another no-no) and they split into two groups in front of us. Because I’ve lived in and among their culture for over 20 years, I know they probably weren’t concerned about bending or breaking the rules because in their minds, it didn’t really “hurt” anybody - they never slowed our pace of play. Therein lies a cultural difference. I believe that in many spheres of life (particularly golf) rules exist to protect people and to provide some semblance of order. I consider it abhorrent to take advantage of others by bending or breaking rules to suit myself, my family, or my friends. Nevertheless, I understand that in a multi-cultural environment, particularly one in which so many people are being and have been taken advantage of by others, finding the “sweet spot” of fairness is difficult.

Leave it to my wife to put yesterday’s situation in a different, yet oddly fair, perspective. Perhaps the men I was complaining about were relatives or close family friends of the starter. They were certainly older than him. Within his cultural context, he would see it as completely inappropriate to deny them an accomodation (thus disrespecting them), particularly if doing so wouldn’t “hurt anyone”.

In that light, I can’t say that my anger is justified due to unfairness, because its based on only one interpretation-mine. I’m left with something I know intellectually, but have always had a hard time accepting, that anger is a chosen response.           

I was thinking about connectons as I read an article in today’s S.F. Chronicle about the potential sale and demolition of a historic “San Francisco” landmark. The Cow Palace or “Cow Barn” as we affectionately call it, consists of a decrepit old arena and adjacent exhibition buildings owned by the State of California. I use the word “landmark” somewhat guardedly, because those who support its sale and demolition claim that it’s nothing but a blight on the neighborhood and an eyesore. On the other hand, its hard to imagine one single block or building in the surrounding neighborhood being singled out for such derision. After all, this is an area where a PG&E substation fronts about a quarter mile of the main street (Geneva Avenue). Although most San Franciscans would claim the Cow Palace as their own, it’s actually located across the county line in Daly City (literally across the street from San Francisco).

Just up the hill, in McLaren Park, sits Gleneagles Golf Course. Consistent with the neighborhood hype that once identified the Cow Palace as an “Exhibition Center”, the golf course used to be named Gleneagles International. Whatever its name, Gleneagles is what the Scots would call “a stern test of golf” – even though it’s only nine holes. You play your entire round up, down, and on the sides of hills, with virtually no flat spots anywhere - including the greens. Oh, and did I mention that the entire course is tightly lined with giant cypress pines? Gleneagles’ motto is: “So difficult, we stopped building after nine holes”. While the course is on city land, it’s operated by a private concessionaire. Because Gleneagles runs on a limited budget (based entirely on green fees, with no city support), it’s pretty shaggy looking – except for the greens, which can be diabolical. Nevertheless, it doesn’t look neglected like all of the other city-owned courses (except Harding Park) because the people who work there and the regular players take pride in maintaining the course.

In his book, “To the Nines“, Anthony Pioppi decribed his first round at Gleneagles, playing alongside one of the ”regulars”. The only advice he received from his playing partner was: “all putts break towards the Cow Palace, except when they don’t”. Needless to say, he tried his best to heed the wisdom of the wily veteran by repeatedly looking down the hill and making sure to reorient himself relative to the Cow Palace. Recently, one of my friends brought someone to Gleneagles for the first time. As is our custom, he started the round by advising him about putting and the Cow Palace. Unfortunately, this individual had his own ideas about putting at Gleneagles – none of which worked.

As I contemplate the connection between the demolition of the Cow Palace and golf at Gleneagles, I’m reminded of something my friend Steve said: “How the HELL will anyone be able to putt at Gleneagles if they can’t see the Cow Palace?” How indeed?

Ron Sirak, a writer for ESPN, talks about Tiger’s greatness as a golfer and how he seems to intimidate his fellow competitors (see the hyperlink above). They clearly aren’t intimidated on a relational level because Tiger has many “friends” on tour. It’s not his ability (which is considerable) because there are many highly talented professional golfers out there – any of whom can win on a given weekend. No, I think what intimidates his competitors is his incredible drive – a “never say die” attitude that only intensifies in the face of golfing adversity.

It’s hard for those who’ve never played golf to understand what a “mental” game it truly is. I consider myself to be a pretty self-confident individual and a decent golfer; but there are times when the game turns me into a cowering, wimpering baby :-). Once my confidence is shaken on the course, it’s like sliding down a slipperly slope.  I guess it’s a testimony to how my game has improved over the past few years that these “crises of confidence” routinely last only a few holes instead of the entire round like they used to.    

All this gets me to thinking about greatness, or shall we say, excellence - to reach and maintain the highest levels of achievement at something. What forces drive and/or motivate a person to excellence? If we stick with Tiger Woods as an example, it isn’t money because he already has more than you or I could probably dream of. It isn’t fame because he’s already so famous he can’t go out in public like the rest of us. Is it then for glory, for life’s “trophies”? Maybe that’s part of it or maybe he merely views his accomplishments as a measuring stick. When I look at somone like Tiger Woods, I think that the drive for excellence comes from within – from values and behaviors learned and practiced over a lifetime. In that regard, he owes much to his father – Earl Woods - for all he has achieved and become. As a Christian, I believe God has placed this passion for excellence within me and nurtured it through my parents, family, and a continuing series of divine contacts with others. Notwithstanding all these resources, I’m still responsible for their use – every day of my life. 

The better I play and the more exposure I get to “good” amateur golfers, the more I realize how golf can become another form of addiction that could cause me to completely lose perspective.  It’s a fine line that those of us who are avid, serious golfers (you know who you are!) walk on a weekly basis. During my Christmas vacation, I went out to play one morning and was paired with a 50-something man who fit a profile that’s all too familiar. He was divorced, with a good job that allowed him to play golf pretty much whenever and wherever he wanted, who also had a group of similarly-situated friends. I learned all of this over the three-plus hours we spent together on the course.  He was a nice fellow and good ”golf company”, but it was clear that he was way over the “perspective” line I believe is necessary to maintaining a balanced life.

I try my best to keep golf in proper perspective, looking for regular golfing companions who share this goal. I’m sure that if you ask my wife, she’ll say I’m borderline, but she would also acknowledge that I rarely “cross over”. For me, golf is an essential part of my mental and physical well-being. Because I’m competitive, I pursue it seriously; but in so doing, I’m also willing to consistently ”adjust” to where the fine line falls. If I lost that willingness, I’d be in trouble.