“Golf? No Sir, prefer prison flog.”
Such is the complaint, in the form of a palindrome, that I receive whenever I invite my friends to watch or play golf with me. In fact, it just happened last Sunday.
The idea behind the palindrome is that golf is torture. Moreover, it is a bad type of torture — prolonged — and therefore worse than flogging. To some extent, I understand why people see golf this way. Golfing could mean wandering around the hilltops purposelessly under extreme heat or downpours. It’s such a scenario in which a reasonable mind would rather choose fire over Sisyphus’ prolonged torture. A shorter, although more intense torture, is much more preferable. Thus the palindrome, “Golf? No Sir, prefer prison flog.”
So what happened last Sunday between Christine and me? We went to play golf on the school golf course. Like always, she grudgingly accepted my invitation. I coaxed her into coming nonetheless, because we are best friends. I knew, however, that she saw golf as not only boring, but also lasting torture.
“Alright, we are just getting the ball into the hole, right?” Even on the first tee box, Christine began to nag. Although I knew she was just messing with me, I saw why she was doing it.
From her perspective, playing golf involves a series of tedious procedures that almost look like a half-funny, half-religious ritual: first the inspection of the wind direction, then the careful selection of the club and finally the tilting of the head (strictly three times for me). All of these need to be carried out with the utmost concentration before “the swoosh.”
And swoosh, the ball went.
“That was actually kind of cool,” Christine raised her head. It was perhaps the only (somewhat) enjoyable part for her — that is, until we had to walk 200 yards and climb up a hill, to where the ball silently landed. Then began Christine’s complaint routine. Apart from always having to trudge in the uneven landscape, there was also her dissatisfaction with my apparent indecision. She joked that I can only be spotted in my natural habitat (the golf course) in three states: walking, standing still strategizing or performing some weird rituals, such as throwing grass into the air (“for the inspection of the wind direction!” I protested).
“Can we please head back to the golf simulator after this hole?” Christine asked. She knew that practicing in the simulator would shorten the torture.
Of course, in the simulator, you can smash the ball without thinking and skip as many shots as you want before “getting” the ball into the hole. This is why TopGolf across the nation hasn’t been replaced by AMF Bowling.
“But then you can’t even hear the sound of the ball dropping into the hole,” I said, beginning my daily, not-so-desirable debate with Christine.
Just like how the simulator can’t mimic the feeling of holing out, its blunt joy also can’t replace the connoisseur pleasure of an actual golf course. To me, the simulator lacks the true spirit of humanity. The never-ending perambulations on the golf course give me the luxury of time to feel my emotions without any hurry. My body is filled with excitement, energy, nervousness and so much more. I feel pure and revitalized. Christine and I agreed that our lives at a boarding school are so fast-paced that we become numb to our emotions. On the golf course, I live slow.
“Feel the breeze passing through your lungs. So refreshing!” I grabbed Christine’s hands and smiled at her.
With the delightful breeze, and occasional eddies of heat and drizzles, I made new sensations appear. The fresh emotions that I feel on the golf course become my sanctuary. My heart, usually tightening up at school activities, is softened again on the golf course.
In a way, these long walks force me to ponder. Did I pick the best club? Was I being my best self in the previous shot? Do I regret whatever line I just read? To many, including me, a retired soccer midfield, golf may lack the physical confrontation of those more easy-to-watch sports. But once I immerse myself into the rhythm of each swing, I am invigorated by the exquisite self-confrontation in golf. Golf is all about the self — the emotions of facing my true self on the golf course — and not others. I invited Christine to golf with me because I wanted her to feel the sweep of emotions and self-actualization as well.
Even though I was playing by myself, I still marked my ball, treating it seriously, like a tournament. I walked around the hole and squatted down to observe the slope of the green. Christine, who knows me too well, stopped her complaints at the end of the day. As my best friend, she understood that every stroke matters to me.
After finishing my routine, I approached the ball. I tilted my head to see the ball. Just a little left. Just a little more speed. The ball dropped into the hole, finally — I just made a birdie, even with the two average shots before.
“I guess, all of the waiting is worthwhile since I got to see this miracle.” Finally, Christine seemed to accept the cordiality behind my golf invitation.
This time, I had to agree with Christine that all my dedication to golf was worth it. On the golf course, I don’t get discouraged by setbacks. I persevere. I believe that dedication, which is an invisible — and sometimes strange — routine that I promise myself to follow, can reveal my best self. On the golf course, I become ambitious and brave. The famous mantra goes: the golf ball is round and anything could happen with it. It is true, so far as my ten-year experience is concerned.
Although the cool “swoosh” sound of my tee shot and the moment when my ball rolled into the hole were all too brief, the sublime joy they bestowed on me is grand. I would never know how to cherish these brief moments without enduring whatever it takes. “Prefer prison flog?” I beg to dissent.
“The best is at the end!” Christine was glad that she didn’t leave out the best part of the show.
“When the ending is fulfilling, nothing is boring,” I added. Isn’t that also the case with every bildungsroman or Disney movie?
I don’t know if Christine said this only because I made that birdie or if she was actually convinced that golf is worth the “torture.” I hoped she understood. If not completely, I’m always in for dragging her onto the golf course again. If everyone is blessed enough to have a golf maniac friend like me, maybe someday, people will read the palindrome’s complaint in a different way and the world will be a slower place.
Molly Wu is a sophomore studying political science and economics. While she was originally from Beijing, China, she went to a boarding school in New Jersey since high school. Growing in an envionrment that stresses the importance of diversity, she enjoys absorbing and sharing different perspectives. You can contact her at lwu5@nd.edu.
