MY LIFE IN GOLF - Thoughts and
Recollections
by
Ron Brown
First, this title is horribly misleading. My life is not in golf.
That is, you are not reading about the best golfer you have
never heard
of or anything like that. (Of
course, you are not reading about the worst golfer you have never heard
of,
either.) What
this short essay is about is just ... the game ... and the
role it has played in one person's life and how the game has changed
and why it
is so enduring - all from my perspective after the sixty-plus years I
have been
swinging a club. Well, even that
isn't right - just because for over half of that time, I didn't swing a
club at
all (real life took over) - but more on that later.
I grew up with
golf. It
was
my dad's passion. It wasn't that
he was a great golfer (although I didn't know it when I was little
because
of all the club trophies on our mantle) or even that he played a lot (a
luxury
we couldn't afford). But it is
probably all he thought about when he wasn't working as a skilled
laborer to
try to feed and educate a family of five during the war years and
beyond. It was from him that I heard
stories
about Jones, Nelson, Hagen, Snead, and, of course, Hogan (who was his
hero, I
think it's safe to say). And it is
because of him that I started with my first (and only, as it happens)
golf
lessons. I was probably about six. The free Saturday morning golf clinic
was at the Presidio Hills Golf Course - a pitch and putt in San Diego -
with Al
and Don Abrego, the father and son club pros at that somewhat historic
little
3-par course. My dad had made my clubs
by cutting down the hickory shafts and machining the blade heads to fit. I'm sure I was pretty dreadful.
There was a tournament at the end of
the summer clinic. I think I
scored 108 on that pitch and putt - twice par, if I recall correctly.
My first time on a real golf course was as a spectator - at the San Diego Amateur Championships at the old Mission Valley Country Club, later Stardust Country Club, and now the Riverwalk Club. The occasion, I was seven, was to watch the great local phenom Gene Littler (then 17) play for the championship - one of his many. My only memory of that day was walking down a fairway paying no attention at all and being gently nudged aside by young Littler as I nearly stepped on his ball! I doubt if he remembers.
My first competition in which I actually
won
something
(hmmm ... maybe the only one), was when I was twelve.
My dad used to take me to the annual Hole-in-One contest at
the Balboa Park Municipal Course.
He always entered - and when he thought I was ready, he entered
me. So there I was, in front of all those
people, trying to hit two shots across a canyon to a small green on the
opposite
hillside. To hit the green, one
had to carry the narrow canyon - running a shot onto the surface wasn't
possible. I have no idea how far
it was - maybe a hundred yards or so, thinking back - but I know I hit
a five
iron. My first shot wasn't bad - nearly
made it across. So with great
anticipation, I teed up the second ball, addressed it, and ... oh, no,
bumped the
ball off the tee before beginning my swing, watched with horror as it
rolled
off the rubber tee-mat and down the hill into the canyon, and tried to
be
nonchalant walking away to the laughter of the crowd.
Then the starter gave me another ball and said to try it
again (after all, my blunder wouldn't have counted on a golf course,
either,
since it was not a stroke with the intent of striking the ball!). I think I had rather he would have just
let it go. But, bravely, I
returned to the tee - and this caught the attention of the whole crowd. Oh, great - everyone was watching! My next shot flew to the green - and
stopped 4 feet 2 inches from the cup.
I still have the trophy.
Somewhere.
San Diego was a good place to grow up
playing
golf. With golf courses everywhere
(even then), a very active junior golf program, and three-dollar greens
fees at
the Balboa Park muni course for juniors, it was an accessible sport for
someone
who wasn't particularly good at sports.
Of course, I wasn't particularly good at golf either - but the
only
people who knew that were the other golfers. I
liked the
game - it was what I did and it was my connection to my father. And it didn't matter that I was never
in contention in any junior golf tournament in any age division. I was somehow a part of the sport - and
I knew (sort of) the other great junior players of the time in San
Diego
(although I was no threat to them).
None-the-less, I had the distinction of being the best golfer in
my
junior high school (all the good juniors were at places like La Jolla
and Chula
Vista) and eventually played on the high school team as well. And, as a golfer, being socially inept
was not an issue - no junior or senior high school girl would ever pay
much
attention to someone on the golf team anyway. The
PGA came to San Diego each year - and it was at those
tournaments that I saw players like Billy Casper, Tommy Bolt, Julius
Boros, Jimmy Demeret, Dr.
Cary Middlecoff, of course Gene Littler (my favorite), young Arnold
Palmer with
that wonderfully aggressive style of his, and many others.
My dad made a special point of having
me watch Charlie Sifford - the only black player on tour at the time,
and that only by special dispensation.
I first broke 80 in a high school match
on
the last
round of my sophomore year season - over a half-century ago, which was
also my
last day as a fifteen year old. (I
had secretly hoped to break that scoring barrier before I turned 16,
but never
told anyone and wasn't really sure that I would.) My
school - Hoover High - was playing La Jolla High, the
perennial city champions. They
were good - the great Phil Rodgers had shot a 65 against us at La Jolla
Country
Club earlier in the season. For
some reason, he was not playing that day.
I had drawn Chuck Courtney, also a sophomore, as my opponent in
that
match play event at Mission Valley C.C. - the site of the PGA San Diego
Opens
at the time. He was having an off
day - and I my personal best to win 1-up.
I could hardly wait to get home to tell about my round - but my
family
was at some event (rare for them), and I ate dinner alone.
Don't get me wrong - I wasn't
particularly
good as a
high school player either. Other
than for an occasional round, I talked a much better golf game than I
played. Our best player was Carl Welty - the
now-honored
golf
instructor who made golf his life by teaching the pros.
It was clear early on that golf would
not be my vocation - I wouldn't become a tour player as did Courtney or
an
instructor as did Welty. Oh, sure,
I did play college golf - at one of the small campuses in the UC system. I even saw Chuck Courtney occasionally
in competition again (on his way to All-American status at San Diego
State
before joining the PGA tour) - although we were never matched against
each
other again (thankfully). Al
Geiberger (former tour player and current tour player Brent's dad) was
another
of the collegiate stars in Southern California at that time - and we
kept
hearing stories about a burly long hitter from Ohio State named Jack
Nicklaus. But golf was how I had
fun in college - a way to be part of collegiate sports without any real
pressure (or, at the time, needed athleticism!) It
was an excuse to be on a golf course and not in the
library or lab as an undergraduate.
It was a very low key varsity sport - our university support was
two new
Titleists for each match or tournament.
We were supposed to practice some when we got the chance. Times
have
changed in collegiate golf.
My parents bought a home in a
development
near the
Pete Dye designed Carlton Oaks Country Club in Santee just east of San
Diego when it was first
being
built during my sophomore year of college. (I
would occasionally walk the course when it was under
construction imagining what it would be like to play.)
My dad and I shared a promotional
family membership when it opened just after graduation - for about $25
per month, I
think it
was - so he could play whenever he wanted after retiring and I could as
well when
I was home from grad school. I scored
the first eagle on that brand new course - nailed a two-wood second
shot on the
first five-par to within fifteen feet and holed the putt.
One of my best ball striking days ever on a golf
course was when I played four over par for 36 holes at Carlton Oaks
while
missing a half-dozen short and very makeable putts!
It
was hard for me to play just a casual round of golf after
graduating and leaving competition behind. Playing
golf with my dad or uncle or friends would usually
leave me in a private match play competition with myself - playing
against my
most recent round. The goal was to
win more of those matches than I lost - meaning I was continuing to
improve. In graduate school, my
occasional round when I had the time was usually with the coaches -
they were
always fun to beat since they are, by nature, such competitive people. And although our golf coach talked
about him, I never got the chance to meet young Gary McCord (ultimately
a
two-time All-America and tour player, now on the Champions Tour and a
TV
commentator) when he arrived on campus - by then, finishing my
dissertation was
more important than playing golf.
Just as well for my ego we never played.
Then real life took over - and finishing
my
graduate
studies, building an academic career, raising a son, and living a real
life left
no time for golf - and the clubs went away. For
thirty-five years!
But golf has an interesting way of
staying
with
you. And when my son - by this
time grown and starting to play occasionally - gave me a Christmas
present of
greens fees
at the Presidio Club in San Francisco in 2000, knowing I
had not
even swung a club in his lifetime, it was time to get out my old clubs,
clean
them up, and see if there was any kind of a swing left.
(I parred the first hole on the local
short course on my first round after all that time.) But that round
with my son
at the Presidio (where the swing photo was taken) is what renewed my
interest
in playing again. And it wasn't
without some trepidation - would I be okay just being another guy
trying to
break ninety? After a year playing a few occasional rounds with y old
clubs, everyone said I should replace my clubs (purchased as a
present
to myself for completing my doctorate thirty-some years earlier) with
then-current
technology. I was reluctant - but
the arguments were compelling. My persimmon-headed woods (you know
woods
- named for the material they were actually
made of!)
were no longer in fashion. But if
I was really going to try to play this game, I should be reinventing my
golf
swing with current equipment. And had things ever changed!
I didn't even recognize the manufacturers - Ping, Cleveland,
Callaway, Orlimar, Cobra. And although I
was willing to go with new clubs, I certainly
couldn't see myself with the odd-looking oversized clubheads. So I bought a new set of Clevelands
with graphite shafts and set out to try to learn to play golf again.
That was in 2001.
So, how has it been relearning the game? Well, for one, the game has
changed. A lot. And
all those changes have made it
possible for someone my age to pick up the game again and continue
playing - in
many ways as well or better than as a younger player.
There is no question that the equipment is better.
The balls are better - fly longer and
straighter and spin less off the tee and yet more on short shots to
create more
control around the greens, and are so much more durable.
And cavity-back irons with graphite
shafts are much more forgiving - and longer hitting - than the
steel-shafted
chrome-plated steel blades I used four decades earlier.
And after only five years hitting metal "woods", I replaced them
with a new set (yes, including a
460 cc titanium
driver!) with the latest micro-laminated graphite
shafts.
(Technology can't fix a poor swing, of course - but it can certainly
reward a
decent one by keeping the club head square with torsion resistant
shafts and
that large polar moment of inertia head with the big titanium driver
face!) And my 3-iron, which I
could hit pretty well given the right conditions, was replaced by a
hybrid -
longer, more forgiving, and more controllable. I
can now shape shots, which I could never do with the long
iron - even from the short rough.
So in my late sixties, I hit the ball farther and
straighter off
the tee - and more consistently - than when I was in my twenties. In what other sport can that
happen?
The courses have changed as well.
Just the addition of course markers, so that one can always know
the
yardage to the center of the green, has been a huge change. Part of the game used to be estimating
those distances and being aware of pin placements by looking ahead
rather than
just reading the yardage markers and noticing the color of the flag or
checking
the pin placement chart or looking at a GPS or laser rangefinder! Even the sounds have changed - gone are
the click of metal spikes on sidewalks and cart paths and the wonderful
muffled
whump of
a persimmon
driver
striking the ball "on the screws".
And the swing has changed as well - a flatter swing plane with a
stable
rotation axis, full shoulder turn over a relatively quiet lower body,
and
balanced, upright finish replacing the classic "reverse-C" high-finish
follow-through. (Well, it hasn't
really changed a lot from how Hogan articulated it in his Five
Lessons -
The
Modern
Fundamentals of Golf book
of fifty
years ago - but has changed from the
way most golfers actually swung the club at the time.
What has not changed is that it is still a game of hope (so very often followed by disappointment, as it happens). Every shot is taken with great anticipation - and then, well ...... Of course, teeing up a new ball on the first hole is really a symbol of that hope - it has such promise, it could be the start of a very special day, that personal best round! And every single shot - every single putt - carries so much hope with it as well. Oh, sure, we know it really is the smoothness and tempo of the swing that will yield the result we want - but there is so much hope in there as well. A bad day is made right with one great shot or great hole - and that carries over until the next round with the hope that it can be repeated (while fixing the shots and holes that weren't so good, it is always hoped). And the above doesn't just apply to you and me, either - watch the pros sometime, and the looks of anticipation on their faces when the ball is in the air - and so often the disappointment when it comes down. Of course, what we think are great shots are often not as they had planned them - and their disappointment shows. And, of course, the multi-billion dollar golf equipment industry is fueled by hope - as well as hype. One more purchase will surely make us better - a new driver, different putter, another wedge, practice aides, teaching videos, ...... And aren't the crowds at the driving range driven by the hope that practice makes perfect - rather than merely permanent?
When I first started playing again after well over three decades away from the game, I just wanted to hit some good shots and occasionally have good holes - some pars and maybe a birdie opportunity occasionally - and at least get good enough to be able to enjoy it. As I have gotten my game back, I've learned to place tee shots, play to avoid disaster holes even after missed shots (most of the time!), look for opportunities to score, and occasionally have a string of very good shots and very good holes - and maybe even a very good nine. My game has finally gotten to the point that recovering from poor shots and at least saving a bogey is usually a possibility, as has following a couple of poor holes with some good ones to save a round. The last several years has allowed me to play a lot - more than I have ever played before - and my game has continued to improve. And I never thought I would be at that level again.
Do I score as well as I did when I was
young
and
playing "competitively"? It took
only two or three years (playing once or twice a month) before I was
scoring in
the low-to-mid 80s with an occasional round in the high-seventies. And now, after several years of playing
a lot more, I play better and score better than when I was a college
player. Low scores, of course, are
still about reducing the number or the severity of the mistakes - and
then
recovering well when mistakes are made, and they will always be made. But I am hitting better golf shots, and
a greater variety of controlled shots, am thinking better, and manage a
golf
course better now than then - and am probably more patient, as well. I am also much more a student of the
game than I used to be. Practice
is fun now - part of the game is figuring out how to hit controlled
shots - and
different shots - and creating a smooth repeating swing.
It's fun trying to play at a reasonable
level again - and it doesn't take a competition to hold my interest. I play more to know that I can play, for making good shots
(and friends),
having
good holes, creating scoring opportunities and recovering when
something goes
wrong - and less for final scores (or wins) - even though good scores
are nice
because they become a measure of the overall performance.
I mean, it is just plain fun to post a low score - and have those
"bragging
rights" for a day (assuming anyone would listen). But
I'd still
rather hit a good shot to twenty feet on some hole than a mis-hit one
to
within five or play a hole well and par rather than play it badly then
make a lucky shot for birdie. It is more
about the shots than the
scores, more about my golf game
than my golf round. Having a lucky low
score
is not very satisfying (of course, neither is playing very well and
failing to score accordingly). Am I
satisfied with my current level of play?
Sure - since I never thought I would be at this level again. But paraphrasing a line from Ben
Hogan's book - any player who says he is satisfied and doesn't
desperately want
to improve is lying.
So what are my goals now?
Just enjoy playing a lot, being outside and maintaining some
level of fitness, and just having fun with golf and playing with
friends is a
partial answer - and being semi-retired allows that.
But golf is really a journey. And
continuing to work on my game, improving my swing,
learning to control shots better, then reducing the number of on-course
errors - and making those errors less costly and recovering better - is
another of my goals. Making those holes I
don't par or
birdie at least be par opportunities with
a bit of luck or a great putt is always nice - or at worst, making a
bogey. And
being confident that there is a chance that the shot I am about to hit
will
work is always a goal. One scoring goal going into this last year was
to play a sub-par
round - something
I had
never done. In these last few
years, I've had a lot of nines playing at par or better on either
the
front or back nine of my home course (and at other places as well) -
but only twice
on the
same day - and many rounds within a shot or two of par.
So a sub-par round is
clearly possible. My career best going into this year was an
even-par 70 - shot on a
fairly
easy course as a college senior during a practice round
for that
year's Southern California Collegiate Championships.
But it should even be possible to improve on that, if
I could only put two of those great nines together!
(That's not easy to do, of course, because it is not easy to play an
entire round without making errors which cost shots.) And
the difference between a great round and a poor
one is often just two or three holes - which sometimes reduces to just
the
difference between two or three shots either hit well or hit poorly or
two or three putts that either dropped or somehow stayed out of the
hole.
And what is my secret fantasy (is it
really even fair to call this a goal)?
Making a hole-in-one? Not really, I've done that twice this year
on the short par-3 eighth hole across the lake at my home course (I had
scored an ace long ago while in my twenties).
But
shooting
my age – something
my dad talked about as a lifetime achievement, but never
accomplished - is definitely a goal. It seems it should be
possible, but it might take
some time and continuing good fortune to maintain this level of play
(and good health) for awhile. But after a recent even-par 71, my
magic number – my smallest differential between my current age and
recent low score to date – is now just two, only two missed putts
away. Only time will tell if I can reduce that difference to
zero.
Epilogue
And then came a warm September day (in 2009) when all the pieces came together. A couple of early round par-saves let me think it could be a good round if I could just avoid the usual expensive mistakes. And after a dozen holes, it still looked like a solid if not spectacular score was coming together (even after one of those “expensive” blunders). Then the round was transformed into a “career” round with five birdies in the final six holes – six holes (including two five-pars) in eighteen shots – for a personal best 69. I did it - I shot my age, one of the rarer accomplishments in golf. I am only surprised that it happened so soon - breaking 70 before breaking 70, as it were. I've always thought that to shoot one's age, one would have to be either very good, very old, or both. I don't really feel like I am either!
When I started playing again – nearly ten years ago, I wondered if I could still break 90, and it happened very quickly. Within a couple of years, it looked like I might be able to break 80 again - at least occasionally. By the time I retired, four years ago, it looked like averaging in the seventies was a realistic possibility – and I was back down to a single-digit handicap. And that scoring average and index have continued to creep down. At the beginning of this year, I would have said my "goals" - if it is fair to call them that - at least over the next few years, were to make a hole-in-one, shoot a sub-par round, and shoot my age. This year, I've accomplished all three.
The story continues, of course. In the last two years, I’ve continued to play some pretty good golf - although I’ve not been on the course as much since my wife Leslie became ill. But I have had some time to practice, have worked on my golf swing some, and have been able to play enough to keep my game in reasonable shape. Golf really is a game of numbers. And we all know that age is just a number - and mine is now 71. Of course, par is just a number as well - and par on the course I play most often is also 71. So I have been a bit surprised that I have shot my age - even par rounds - two more times this year. It's almost like it is some sort of cosmic connection. Of course, it should be getting easier since I keep getting older.