The Other Guy, Part II

So where were we?

Oh, yes, we were talking about how winning or losing, or in more general terms, success or failure, is a result of how the other guy does.  You don’t have to play your best, or even that well, to be the one to whom the money is passed at the end of a round.  You just have to play better than the other guy.

But there’s a lot that goes on during a round that suggests that this other guy has a lot of different identities.  And, when you get right down to it, that Other Guy really isn’t the other guy.  He’s actually different versions of yourself.  That’s the real other guy.  Consider the following:

There is that bit of conventional wisdom that says in order to win, all you have to do–most times–is shoot your handicap.  Okay, but that makes shooting your handicap sound that playing your average game, when your handicap is based on a collection of your better scores.  So, in this case, shooting your handicap means playing better than that dufus who posted all those higher numbers.  You know him, right? Dresses like you, same swing, same pre-shot routine.  Yeah, that guy.  Play better than he does and  you should do okay.

Or, there is The Other Guy as Hypothetical Guy.  He’s not really a competitor.  He’s more an aspiration, or more accurately a fantasy, and, as his name implies, you’re not going to see him out on the course.  But he’s out there.  The proof of his existence can be found in the reactions you see and hear when, for example, approach shots to a pin tucked in the back left of a well-bunkered green don’t result in a birdie putt of eight feet.  Really, you’re surprised?  Who did you think was hitting the shot?  The only possible explanation is that you thought this was some of sort of scramble, and Hypothetical Guy–that impossibly better version of yourself–was going to stuff that approach.

Hypothetical Guy is like the golf messiah.  We keep hoping he’ll show up but he never does.  We want him to thread the needle, pull off that short-sided bunker shot, drain that putt.  We want to play like Hypothetical Guy because if we could, then the Other Guy becomes our normal self, and we all know how easy it is to beat him.

Even the pros, apparently striding alone down the well-manicured fairways of their tournament venues, are accompanied by their own Hypothetical Guys.  That’s who they’re thinking about when they arrive on the green of a par-five and see that their eagle putt is 20 feet, not five.  But the big difference between them and us?  Their Hypothetical Guys aren’t like a child’s imaginary friend.  They’re more like gods out of Greek mythology.  They actually can materialize and make lightning strike and cause miracles to happen.  It’s when his Hypothetical Guy doesn’t show up that we see the anguish on a Tour player’s face after he hits a shot that any of us would find more than satisfactory.

And so this brings us back to where we started, The World Match Play Championship.  In a fundamental respect the format wasn’t that different than the normal weekend on Tour.  Everybody, pro or amateur, is playing against the Other Guy. You just can’t always see him.

The other guy

A few weeks ago I mentioned to my wife that my club’s singles match play tournament was starting soon, to which she responded, “Oh, the one where you always lose?”

Yeah, that one.

I know what she meant to say was “eventually lose,” not “always lose,” because I do win a match here or there before I am eliminated.  It’s single elimination match play at full handicaps.  There is a two man bracket as well, and my partners and I haven’t fared much better in that competition either.  In classic sour grapes fashion I have tended to regard the whole competition as essentially a sting operation in which members whose “numbers” are–oh shall we say–somewhat suspect have a tendency to be the ones left standing as the competition grinds into the quarters, semis and finals.  Not everyone mind you, just the usual suspects.  But it is still a great way to get out there with members I wouldn’t ordinarily play with, and if only for that, the tournament serves a great function.

But the topic of match play brings back to mind the recently concluded tournament at Harding Park.  Match play, or some variation of it–most often the Nassau with the format of front-back-and-total– is the game all of us play in our regular outings.  The score on the card is merely a way to index our performance on some objective scale.  But to hear the commentators last weekend you would have thought that match play was another weird sport like curling or cricket in which the competitors spend a lot of time standing around and scoring is particularly arcane, and that this “strangeness” warranted constant reminders about the “unusual” format.  Maybe that’s the case for people who watch golf on TV but have never played the sport, and someday I’d like to meet all five of those people.

But for those of us with a regular weekend game where a couple bucks are on the line, this was all too familiar territory.  I don’t have a clue what it’s like to be six-under or twelve-under, but I do know the feeling of being up three, or down four and everything in between.  But more to the point we also saw instances where a guy shot two under and lost and another dude shot three over and won.  It’s all about the other guy.

And it’s that notion, the concept of the other guy, to which we’ll return in the next post.

Hitting like a girl and other thoughts

After a long absence, Why We Golf is back at you with some random observations in the wake of the past eleven days during which my hometown, San Francisco, was the center of the golf world.

First off, as for hitting it like a girl, God how I wish I could!  I was an on-course marshal for some of the leaders’ threesomes for the weekend rounds of the Swinging Skirts, hosted for the second consecutive year at my club, Lake Merced Golf Club.  I walked with Lydia Ko’s group on Saturday and on Sunday I followed Ryu, Kim and Sandra Gal. Yeah, I understand that Rory and the other Big Boys really bomb it but in certain respects it is more impressive to see these women, some of them quite small in stature, hit it as far as they do.  This isn’t golf as a demonstration of strength as much as an expression of what can be accomplished if all the movement in a golf swing is coordinated exactly.  It’s a bit of choreography in which movement, tempo and balance are in harmony.  It’s really impressive….But, having said that, I’m not so sure that I want to putt like a girl.  Except for Lydia, I didn’t see anybody really make any….Back over at Harding this past weekend, the Westside of SF put on a bit of a climate display: positively glorious on Thursday, but then by Saturday as windswept and cold as Patagonia.  In a way it made sense that the two winners on Sunday afternoon, McIlroy and Willett, were from the British Isles.  They likely felt right at home…And I think I speak for all San Franciscan golfers when I say that it was real fun to see our brand of golf on display for the world during these past two weekends.  Like anything in life, we get accustomed to the familiar, but one of the weird things about television is that it becomes a form of validation: if it’s on TV, then almost by definition something becomes special, and seeing our courses on center stage helped put them in a perspective where we could, if not rediscover, then re-appreciate them.  Theirs is a special look: the tilt and cant of their fairways, the towering cypress trees that look like underwater plants with their long trunks and sculpted canopies, the ripe juiciness of their rough.  And then there are the things that even the best players in the world can’t see, specifically the little breaks and tilts on the putting surface, the invisible tugs and pulls that commentators call subtle and that we players find so frustrating and at times infuriating…And speaking of television, I don’t think I need to see that Cadillac ad with Wozniak and the Asian fashion designer ever again.  Like not once more. That’s it.

And on a final note, after listening to him over the weekend, Johnny Miller has finally inspired me. It’s true.We all know that golfer fantasy question, “Who would be in your dream foursome?”  It’s the one where the conventional answer is your dad (if you played with him), Jack or Walter Hagen or Lee Trevino.  You know the drill.  Well, what about your nightmare foursome?  Who would be in that group? I know Johnny’s in mine.  Can you imagine playing with him?  I can hear him now: “It’s a simple putt, really.” “Why did he do that now?” “That is not where you want to be.”  And on and on.  To be honest, I’m not quite sure about the rest of the group.  Lucas Glover is in the running, just because he looks like such a miserable son-of-a-bitch, but I’m having a hard time coming up with a fourth.  Any suggestions?

Golf and Soccer (or football, if you insist)

Yes, I’m back! It’s been a while, I know. But let’s get to it.
Like many of you I have been thoroughly entertained, vexed and exhilarated by the World Cup. And since most things in my life are only one or two mental degrees of separation from golf, I wanted to share some observations about the similarities–yes, you read that right–between the two sports.
Of course the two sports are extremely different in certain obvious respects. It’s difficult–but not impossible–to get farther apart on the aerobic scale (think archery). One is the quintessential team sport, and only the presence of a caddie prevents professional golf from being as solitary a competition as a singles match in tennis. But no matter, what do they have in common?

The B-word
Both sports are often described as “boring” by the non-fan or uninitiated. Of course the opinion that soccer is boring is a minority view globally, and it is most widely held here in the States, home of baseball, a game that most of the planet finds especially tedious. Now I don’t mind when people describe something as boring if they preface the assessment with an “I” statement, as in “I think that..” or close with the clause “…to me.” But all too often I hear people say that “X is boring” and I don’t have the sense that they are being economical with their words and that the conditioning preface or ending, while not voiced, is nevertheless implied. No. Quite the contrary. They are expressing their subjective opinion as if it were an objective assessment.
And as a side note, I think golfers should be especially careful about this kind of pronouncement. We may find it interesting when Steve Williams and Adam Scott debate whether the shot calls for a 7-iron or an 8, and we do appreciate the phenomenal athletic accomplishment involved in hitting a ball 175 yards and having it come to rest on a 12 square foot landing area that has the receptivity of a runway. We like it, but we are definitely outnumbered. A golfer who deems soccer boring is like a guy who ventures out of his glass house with a bag of rocks and starts flinging them around the neighborhood.

Are we having fun yet?
The inspiration for this post came to me after a brief and very indirect encounter I had this past Friday. (It was also, sadly, prophetic of my own emotions some 48 hours later.) As I left work that afternoon I checked the score of the Ecuador-Honduras match one last time. 1-0 Honduras. I got on BART and when I got off at 24th Street and Mission I ducked into a little pastry shop a couple doors down from the station. It’s one of those Mexican shops that sell those really cruddy cookies that taste like they were made out of sawdust. They’re so bad our sons–even as little kids– wouldn’t eat them. There was a small, non-high def TV perched on the top of the shelves at the rear of the shop and I took a quick peek at the score: 1-1, Ecuador had equalized. As I turned to leave I saw an older guy–probably my age-wearing a well-worn Honduran National team jersey. Our eyes met for just a moment. I raised my eyebrows as a way of acknowledging the change in the game’s circumstances, and also as a way of masquerading that, although it was not with a great deal of passion, I was rooting for Ecuador. But what struck me at that moment was the look in this guy’s eyes. It was mixture of anxiety and dread, leavened only slightly by the faintest bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, things might work out. His team had scored their first World Cup goal in years, but now that advantage was erased. His country, one of the poorest in the Western Hemisphere, was on the world stage, but only for a moment, and as the momentum of the game shifted, he seemed to anticipate that this appearance would be just another opportunity for disappointment and defeat.
And so it is out on the course. We approach difficult shots with a fatalistic attitude. We pepper the air with expletives and groans. We see bad things happen to our golf balls, and although we express our disappointment with a full range of complaint and invective, deep down inside we’re not surprised. We knew it would happen. And yet we return again and again to the course, hoping, just like that Honduran guy in the pastry shop, that maybe this will be the time things are different.
Commentators describe both games, golf and soccer, as cruel. You don’t hear that about American football. Brutal yes, but cruel no. The same goes for all the other sports. They can disappoint, they can frustrate, but they don’t have the reputation for cruelty. These two do.  As the Men in Blazers pointed out to us in the painful aftermath of the Portugal match, “Football is meant to hurt,” and every weekend millions of golfers console themselves and their playing partners by observing that “it’s a tough game.”

The realm of the random
Bad hops and weird bounces play a role in other sports, but not to the degree they do with these two. The ball caroms off a shin and straight onto the boot of an onrushing player and–voila–GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLL. The well-struck putt, perfectly calibrated in terms of speed and line, hits the smallest of imperfections or lumps as it decelerates near the hole and–just like that–somebody else gets the trophy. In both sports we celebrate and exult in the rare and improbable.  Goals are, as all too many an American has been known to complain, rare events in the course of a match, and there is no higher spot in the pantheon of golf than the one reserved for that rarity, the inexplicably perfect shot, the hole in one.  In both games, we put up with a lot of back and forth as the price for the chance to experience the breakthrough, the moment when it does all work out.

So, as I get ready to hit the button that says “Publish,” we are just hours away from knowing if the USA advances or goes home.  Will this be a day to celebrate, or a day to look back at Sunday’s 95th minute with renewed anguish?  Who knows? I’m ready to be happy, I’m resigned to being disappointed.  I’m a fan.  I’m a golfer.

Golfing greetings

Well, well, it has been a while, hasn’t it? Full-time employment will do that. When I last posted the follow-up was going to address the topic of “What is the Purpose of Bad Golf?” We’ll get back to that eventually, but right now, let’s get seasonal.
And by that I’m talking about viewing the symbols, songs and stories of the holiday season from a golfing perspective. In other words, what is the Golf Version of the Holidays? Everybody’s making lists this time of year, so here’s mine:

Hanukkah: In the Golf version, an intrepid band of golfers save their course from being plowed under for a condo development. In celebration, they gather at the first tee to play their course once again, even though they know that there’s only enough daylight left to play one hole. But then a great miracle takes place and it stays light long enough for them to play eight more holes. They get to play the Front Nine!

The 12 Days of Christmas: In this version you get a club a day. What? You want to know what happened to the other two? Listen, you know you can’t hit a 3-iron to save your life and in your hands a lob wedge might as well be a shovel. Your true love is doing you a favor.

The wreath: May the hole look this big every time you have a “must make” putt.

Christmas trees: This is what happens to every and any tree that has ever knocked down a shot of yours. They are cut down, and dragged into houses where hot lights and ornaments are wrapped around their limbs. People look at them in their garish captivity and then they’re cast out on to the street where they’re collected and ground into mulch. Let that be a warning to them! Maybe they’ll think twice about messing with our golf balls.

The three wise men: The foursome you wish you played in.

“Jingle Bells”: Rattle clubs, rattle clubs, rattle all the way, you can hear me walking from about a mile away!

A Christmas Carol: If Dickens had been a golfer, old Scrooge would have been the same jerk, only Tiny Tim is the caddy that he mistreats. In this version he has the same cycle of dreams, but in his dream of Golf in his Future he sees how feeble his swing is, how much age has eroded his game and he awakes chastened and realizes that he has to appreciate the game that he plays, instead of whining and bitching about it.

That’s it for now. I hope everybody has a great holiday season!

The cycle of golf

Even those of us who spaced out during biology class are familiar with the cycle of life: birth, the bloom of youth, maturity, decay, death, compost, birth and back on the wheel again. A cycle is also part of the marketing pitch for religion. In the version popular in these here parts, there’s rebirth in a really long sequel that stars YOU. In other versions, there is a series of sequels in which your role is played by an ensemble cast.
But there is also the cycle of golf. I’m not referring to the trend in one’s game that follows the meta-trend of one’s life. Rather I’m talking about the wheel inside the wheel, the cycle of good play giving way to bad play and then worse play, only to be followed by a resurrection and return to good play. This is the cycle that can take place over the course of a season, a month, even down to the micro-level of one round or even a single hole.
Why is this? Why does the game have to be this way? It’s not like I’m that erratic in the rest of my life. Good Lord, if I were, I’d be freaking Charlie Sheen: one day on the red carpet, the next day in jail. So what’s up with that?
Well, first off let’s consider, as a thought experiment, the possibility that the game was not this way, and that in fact it was precisely the opposite: you worked at it and just got better. You might level off at various points along the way, but over time your mastery just grew. It would be like learning a language in which you mastered increasingly difficult conjugations and declensions and improved your listening comprehension. You wouldn’t wake up one day and suddenly be unable to ask where the restrooms are without a lot of weird hand gestures.
But I think we all know what this would be like. Boring. In his book, History of the World in 9 1/2 Chapters, Julian Barnes has a great story about a guy who winds up in one of the possible locales in that vast area known as the afterlife. He starts playing golf, and since he has a lot of time for it, he gets really good. Like Kim Jong-Il good. Starts scoring 18 for a round. So he does what anybody would do at that point. He quits.
Now obviously this scenario is a bit absurd. But it does illustrate a point. I have met a lot of smug, arrogant people in my life–yes, it’s been a great journey–but I have yet to run into anybody who leaned back in his chair, took a sip of single malt and declared that he had “quit golf because it was just getting too easy.”

But having granted the game this point, there is still the matter of whether golf kind of overdoes it. There’s keeping it interesting and there’s overkill. Which leads to the following question which will be the topic of the next post: What is the Purpose of Bad Golf?

My Open Wish List

Here’s my wish list for this year’s U.S. Open:

1. No playoff. I’d feel differently if the USGA allowed for the sort of resolution for a tie that EVERY OTHER tournament uses, i.e. do it right away and do it so that your final day galleries and huge TV audience can watch it.  On Mondays there’s this thing called work and an 18-hole playoff doesn’t always fit in with that.

2. Decent weather.  (This is actually a bargaining chip, a throw-away request. There is absolutely no chance of this.)

3. A good leaderboard on Sunday.  Sorry folks, but I don’t want any journeymen, or 3-day wonders up there.  Heavyweights only.

4. Excellence, not survival.  Despite my frustration with the weather forecast–and as I write, we are sitting through the first of what promises to be several rain delays–I am actually happy that Merion is softer and will play easier.  I’m not a fan of the brutal, one-man-left-standing U.S. Open format.  It tends to produce winners who are phlegmatic and completely devoid of charisma, e.g. Lee Janzen.  (Sorry, Lee, but admit it man: you’re steady, but dull.)

4 (a) As a subset of the previous request I am not a fan of the grotesque blow-up that can happen with the tight layout, thick rough and slick greens that characterize the typical US Open venue.  I don’t enjoy, and in fact I find disturbing, the spectacle of seeing one of the best players in the world four putting, or scything up chunks of heavy grass.  This game is difficult enough.  I don’t need to see the gods struggling with it.

5. No runaway.  This is not a  team sport where I have absolutely no problem with the SF Giants sweeping the World Series or one of those Super Bowl blowouts during the 49er’s glory days.  There is no golfer I like so much that I want to see him destroy the field.  Sure, there are guys I’d like to see win, but by one stroke and on the 72nd hole.

 

 

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