Golf Fore the Good

All winter long there had been a nagging sound in the back of my brain, a nearly subconscious suggestion. A sort of chirp… no, maybe a squawk… I just couldn’t place it. It seemed to intensify after any conversation with my brother, who lives in the south, yet the source of it eluded me.

And then one day it came to me – in an email - boldly scripted in black in white, the written words calling to mind an unmistakable sound. The text came alive even as I pictured my brother hunched over the keyboard pecking it out on the keyboard. This was bigger than any double dare. The message popped out at me. The well remembered taunting, haunting cry of sibling egging on sibling resonated from my computer screen - “berk… berk, berk, berk.” The challenge was audible. “Whats-a-matta? Chicken? Chick-chick-chick-en? What’s stopping you? Come on down, let’s have a golf match.”

Growing up in a family as large as ours, quality time alone with just a single sibling was a rare. Competition and clashes of will and rivalry were not. We traveled in packs of three or four, at a minimum, piled one on top the other in the station wagon or roving about out of doors on our own. Our mother was in constant motion, counting one to nine noses to locate each and every child before she’d start the ritual all over again. Alone time just didn’t exist, unless you count hiding under the porch during games of kick the can. We played rough-n-tumble, and we certainly didn’t play golf.

So a few years ago, when my brother and I began to share some time on the golf course, we essentially started our one-on-one relationship from scratch. I already had the bug. He was still playing pick-up basketball and running the occasional marathon, always the consummate athlete. He was not quite convinced of the validity of golf as serious venue for competition, evoking the age old “game” vs. “sport” debate.

sport - Pronunciation [spawrt, spohrt] – noun
1. an athletic activity requiring skill or physical prowess and often of a competitive nature, as racing, baseball, tennis, golf, bowling, wrestling, boxing, hunting, fishing, etc.
2. a particular form of this, esp. in the out of doors.
3. diversion; recreation; pleasant pastime.

game – Pronunciation [geym] –noun
1. an amusement or pastime: children’s games.
2. the material or equipment used in playing certain games: a store selling toys and games.
3. a competitive activity involving skill, chance, or endurance on the part of two or more persons who play according to a set of rules, usually for their own amusement or for that of spectators.

After consulting numerous dictionaries I am not convinced there is a great deal of difference between the two terms. Let’s call golf a “game of sport” and leave that debate for another day. As it turns out, though he doesn’t know how or why, my brother soon got the bug. He’s hooked on golf.

Golf is a tie that binds. Once you’ve succumbed to the lure of the game you realize just how daunting the experience can be and cultivate friendships with those who can sympathize with your struggles. After hours and hours spent on the course striving for that prefect tempo, a finely tuned swing and the mind set to put it all together, you can’t help but appreciate the game. As golfers we are banded together in our pursuit of perfection. My brother and I bonded on the golf course.

Time has altered our circumstances. We have grown away from the children’s pickup games; our hand-me-down skates with newspaper stuffed to fit; the rusted, trusted Schwinn we shared amongst our brood. Now we carry our bags of custom fit clubs and wear our collared shirts and wingtips to the course. So much has changed.

Years ago, it often required a huge leap of faith for me, as one of the little ones, to keep up with the pack. While the big kids swung out of the tree house with ease, from limb to ladder to ground seemed twice as far to me. The brook looked a lot wider in my eyes as we scrambled across on fallen trees.

I am no longer one of the little kids. I can handle myself on the golf course with a good deal of comfort and a fair amount of confidence. These days we play on equal ground.

Not so, my brother will argue, since we’ll play our match from our respective tees. He’ll needle me about equal rights. To appease him, I’ll move back a bit from the forward tees. I will remind him that he has home course advantage; he’ll complain again about the tees. I’ll beg for stokes on the premise that he’s been played golf regularly all winter while I’ve been granted only an occasional round in four overcoats and gale force winds; I won’t get any.

We will argue back and forth on the terms of our bet. There will be an excess of goading to make inappropriate shots and relentless prodding to up the ante. We’ll be trash talking and teasing from beginning to end. And as sure as the grass is green at Augusta there will be an inordinate amount of gloating by the winner. Many things have changed but so much remains the same.

It is just over a month until I pack up my clubs and head south for our blood match. I’ll put myself on a training regime and practice as the weather allows. I will try to eat well and not drink any more (though it’s unlikely I’ll drink any less, as they say). I’ll do my cardio and Pilates and weights (or not). I’ll pour over golf books to steel my mental game. And I’ll get some quality sleep, now that the darn chicken noise has finally stopped.