Return of the swing

Bloggers are never supposed to apologize for taking long absences from their blogging duties. So I won't.

(I read that on a blog somewhere.)

I would like to say that the reason for my cyberspace silence these last few weeks is that I've been sequestered in a Himalayan monastery, studying the finer points of golf and getting in touch with my inner chi in order to improve my golf game. Oh, and that I finally broke 100 on a regulation golf course.

Photo credit: Sakhorn38

Mind if I play through?

Sadly, none of that is true. The only upside is that while I haven't been blogging about golf, I have been golfing quite a bit. In the past couple weeks, my experience has taught me some important lessons about this addicting, maddening game.

So here, for the first time, are some bits of Adam's Acquired Golf Wisdom ™ that I picked up from my recent play.

1. Golf is an utterly pointless activity.

No one ever saved the world with a round of golf. Golf can't cure cancer, won't stop global warming, doesn't prevent wars. Detractors call it a good walk spoiled, but you can do more good than simply walking in the time it takes to complete a round of golf.

That said, the sheer insignificance of golf is its charm. On a beautiful day – hell, even on an overcast, rainy day – a round of golf can give some relief from the harsh brutality of the real world.

Photo credit: hinnamsaisuy

Even in golf, it's important to keep things in perspective. 

On Sept. 11, 2001, I was living in Seattle, the other side of the continent from the terrorist attacks. I couldn’t talk to anyone in New York or D.C. I couldn't help. All we on the left coast could do was watch the horror unfold, over and over on television. Many of us couldn't even work; all the tall buildings in downtown Seattle closed out of fear another rogue jetliner would strike.

So my friends Nestor and Scott and I did the only thing we could do: We hit the golf course. And for four hours, we tried (not always successfully) to put the events of 9/11 out of our minds.

And in September of this year, I went to play golf on another bright, sunny day while my friend John was in the hospital, struggling to recover from brain surgery. On the eighth hole at Hawk Valley Golf Club in Denver, Pa., my phone rang. I recognized the number, knowing what the news was, but let it go to voice mail.

On the ninth tee I hit a long, straight shot — my best shot on a day when I had scored 87 through eight holes — but couldn't find it in the middle of the fairway, so I left it there. I had other business to attend.
In the parking lot, as my playing companions moved on to the back nine, I sat in my car and returned the call to John's sister, who let me know he had died the night before.

The only green I hit at Hawk Valley in fewer than 8 shots. 

Once again, I felt helpless on a golf course, standing on the other side of the continent while my friend in California died in a hospital. I had gotten a phone call a week before, letting me know he had emergency surgery. His sister gave me regular updates on his condition. I couldn't visit; all I could do was hope he'd get better. He didn't.

Two days later I played 18 holes with my brother-in-law. Because what else can you do, when you can't do anything?

You can play golf.

I didn't expect to go on this long about such a depressing subject. I'll share more of Adam's Acquired Golf Wisdom™ in my next post, and promise it won't be nearly so goddamn morose.