the concept of discipline is straightforward: you draw a line in the sand, make sure it’s crystal clear, and you do your damnedest not to cross it.
“every young guy needs an old guy and every old guy needs a young guy.” that, according to keith cleland -an old guy i met on a public course and knew for exactly one 18-hole loop of my life. i prefer to hoof it. on that day we drove it, or rather he drove and i rode shotgun. two walk-ons, strangers forced by commerce, course rules and bound by the physical proximity of a shared cart to endure the other’s unfamiliar company for half-a-day of their life, because that’s what gentleman and ladies who play golf do. they get along, play nicely together and find commonality for the good of everyone that comprises a particular course’s community, on a particular day. it is what sets a golf course apart from other patches of well manicured grass: a soulfulness that brings out the best in people and happens make me more like the person i’d like to grow into with every swing. maybe that’s why i don’t (at all) mind going to a golf course alone, whereas other forms of paid entertainment; movie theaters, night clubs, sporting events, or out to dinner, i wouldn’t dream of doing as a solo undertaking. golf, for me, is just different that way.
i never saw keith cleland again, which is not to say he hasn’t had influence on my life since that day. and truthfully, i hadn’t considered just just how much influence until these past holidays when i realized that almost everyone one of the people i call my friends are old enough to qualify for free coffee at mcdonald's. somehow my life has become a parity of that 80’s movie ‘Cocoon’ and i’m steve guttenberg, surrounded by old guys in search of the fountain of youth, all thanks to a guy i met on a golf course 20 years. perfect. further evidencing my proclivity to rub elbows with founding father look-a-likes was my choice to spend new year’s eve, the premier holiday of youthful exuberance, with two other couples who happen to both be retirees turned food, golf and complaining about the government nonstop, aficionados. and make no mistake about it, they know their stuff on all accounts.
somewhere during the evening's festivities, maybe between the mini grilled aged provolone sandwiches topped with fig preserves and the wonderfully braised short ribs, my friend -a retired teacher, began a diatribe about his golf game. specifically, how not shooting a stroke above 90 for the entire year was his new year’s resolution. he was throwing down the gauntlet and letting the golf gods know this was his year to channel his inner bobby jones. and with that, almost on queue everyone else in the room began taking a turn sharing their new year’s resolution, which oddly i hadn’t given a second of thought to prior to all eyes being focussed at me. but that didn’t stop a real doozy from rolling off my tongue like it was placed there for this very event.
“my new year’s resolution is to not keep score on the golf course this year.”
there as was pause. followed by a silence. then, it was like i just told everyone to ignore what i just said and fast forward to the ball dropping in times square. nobody cared. nobody but me that is. just because my new year’s resolution was no big deal for anyone else, what exactly would my flippant ascertain come to mean to me? right away i knew this was going to be problematic and hoped my friends, specifically the retired teacher was too caught up in listening to his wife’s resolution to remember my obtuse bit of table talk. after all, he's just like me only older. a swing man. someone who believes in the art of the golf swing. and surely he recognizes the stupidity of my new year’s resolution, knowing the number, like the swing, is a sacred thing. he has one, i have one. mine is mine. his is his. golf is a game of historical proportion, the number is part of history and the game certainly doesn’t need any jack kerouac types arriving on the scene late, doing things differently -like not keeping score.
i take solace in the fact my friends are old. old people forget stuff. hey, maybe they’ll forget new year’s eve altogether, and if not, maybe at least they’ll forget my resolution?
old people wake-up early. the first call of the year for me came at 6:45am, less then seven hours into the year from my friend -the teacher, wanting to know if i wanted to go golfing. then came a zinger wrapped in an all too congenial suggestion, that i remove the pencils from my bag as there was “no practical reason in bogging yourself down with needless weight on the course this year.”
part 2: next monday