I Am A Golf Nut.

I am a Golf Nut.

It is a fact. My name is Michael and I freely admit that I am a GOLF NUT. I am hopelessly addicted to the singularly greatest yet maddening game ever invented. This comes as no surprise to those who meet me for more than 5 minutes. Somehow, even in that short a time, the subject of “golf” will worm its way into the conversation. Somehow, “golf” finds its way into in every lesson I try to teach my children, grandchildren, friends, family and peers.  However old-fashioned or corny this may sound, the immutable laws of character, integrity, sportsmanship and friendship that manifest themselves in every round of golf are ever present in those musings.

I am a Golf Nut.

I struggle with the complete fairness and unfairness of the “game” of golf. Truthfully, I struggle with calling golf a “game” at all. Games are played, golf is lived. Games have beginnings and ends, both clearly defined. Golf goes on forever, replayed over and over like a wheel within a wheel. I remember EVERY shot I’ve ever hit (or missed)… EVERY putt I ever made (or MISSED)…EVERY person with whom I’ve ever teed up a ball and let it fly. But I CAN’T remember to pick up the dry cleaning or a gallon of milk.

I am a Golf Nut.

I love golf. I love my wife. I love golf. I love my children & grandchildren & godson. I love golf. I love my mother. I love golf. I love my siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews. I love golf. I love my God. I love golf. I love my country. I love golf. If you get this paragraph, you are a Golf Nut.

I am a Golf Nut.

Today, I opened “Harvey Penick’s Little Red Book” for the hundredth time. I do this once in awhile to help remind me why I am nuts about golf. I do this once in awhile to help me find balance in my play and in my life. Page 159 is titled: “A Golfer’s Poem.” This gem was originally published in the Lincoln, Nebraska, Star dated June 19, 1930:

COMFORTLESS
By Edgar A. Guest
I found him underneath a tree
“and what is wrong,” quoth I,
“That you so solemn seem to be
Under this summer sky?”

“The birds above you gaily sing,
The wildflowers bloom,
What is this awful horrid thing
Which seems to seal your doom?”

“Round you the children romp and play,
The gentle breezes blow,
Sad stranger, tell to me I pray
The burden of your woe.”

“I do not see the sunbeams dance,
Nor hear the birds,” said he.
There’s something faulty with my stance,
I can’t get off the tee.

“All day I’ve shanked my mashie shot,
My putts rimmed every cup,
I’m doing something I should not;
 I think it’s looking up.”

“Poor man,” I said “’tis very sure
No help for you appears,
The woes you bear I tried to cure
Myself for thirty years.”

“And still my mashie shots I shank,
And still I slice the drive,
And with the dubs expect to rank
As long as I’m alive.”

“Through time all other griefs may cure,
All other hurts may mend
The miseries of golf endure:
To them there is no end”

If you enjoyed that poem, YOU are a Golf Nut. If you know what a mashie is, YOU are a Golf Nut. If you ever actually used an original mashie on the golf course, YOU have been a Golf Nut for a very long time!

I am a Golf Nut.

Head Nut #0001