my affection for the titleist brand cannot be understated and clearly differs from the affection i have for other brands i tend to be loyal to, like apple, bmw and the habit burgers. lucky for me my mrs. finds more enjoyment then irritation witnessing the man she inexplicably decided to spend the rest of her living days with, smitten with childlike enthusiasm when in the company of just about anything monikered with a titleist logo. titleist has become my brand. my identity placard. my public display of affection to anyone who cares to take notice that not only is there the possibility that i may be a gentleman, but i also play a gentleman’s game with a certain measure of proficiency which allows me to effectively use, what some might consider the requisite instruments of a true golf technician.
oddly, this affection is relatively newfound. twenty-five years ago i sporadically played golf with my high school buddies, never haven taken a lesson and mentally ill-equipped for a game that required an intellectual fortitude that i simply did not possess at the time. fast-forward to today. and unexpectedly the onset of a little gray around the sides of my somewhat balding head has also brought with it a certain temperament well-suited to dealing with the short-comings of a work-in-progress swing and brand spanking new, middle-aged, game management system that gets better with each bad lie, poor estimate of my shot-making ability or stubborn refusal to lay-up on courses i pay to play. (paying to lay up just rubs me the wrong the way)
ya i am new to the game. sure, there’s a 12-year old on my block who has been playing golf for six years and can beat the breaks off me, probably at will. and ya when i go to sleep most nights i lay in bed beside my beautiful mrs. thinking of the art of the swing and certain swing nuances that may or may not allow me to shape the shots i want to be able to pull off. work, family, upsizing my house, downsizing my bills, my career, my mrs., my neighbor’s incessantly barking dog and my mrs.’s never ending ‘honey-do’ list are things that the soulfulness of this game provides me a pleasant a retreat from. sometime’s you just gotta get away from it all and celebrate simplistic purity of a well struck particular little white ball, using the particular set of tools, clad in a particular monikered uniform.
for whatever it's worth i'll be regularly posting a collage of my words here.
i am totally titleist.