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When the PGA of America announced recently that it will not hold the 2022 PGA Championship at Trump Bedminster, there were reports that President Donald Trump was gutted by the decision.
And don’t worry, this column is not about him.
Leaving politics, business and personality aside, the thought that the game – and being a part of the game – could mean so much to someone is understandable.
It’s what the game does.
It’s how it works.
It’s a part of its strange charm.
The feeling may not be true for everyone, but for many the game becomes a piece of ourselves. It’s not who we are but it’s a part of us and we like it that way.
It’s why we make practice swings in empty elevators. Why we keep weather apps on our phones. Why we bet a steak dinner with a friend that he can’t go a full year without buying at least one new piece of equipment. (I’ll be ordering my filet medium rare next January – on his tab).
It’s why we imagine green sites in fields along the roads we drive and why people name their dogs – or children – Hogan.
It’s “How’s your game?” and “Let’s play soon.”
It’s why it’s news when Augusta National announces it intends to allow a limited number of patrons to attend the Masters in April and why there’s a bag of old clubs in the garage and a few others stuffed into a locker just in case.
It’s why when I say Rickie, you probably think Fowler. When I say Phil, you think Mickelson. When I say Bryson, you think cheeseburger.
Tennis is a great game but does it tug at players the way golf does?
Maybe. But the courts all look the same. And does anyone know any good tennis jokes?
Chess? The Queen’s Gambit suggests it has an addictive magnetism but it’s not weather dependent and no one is suggesting they make the board bigger.
Fishing? Probably, and not just because there tends to be beer involved.
It’s a game in which the better you get, the harder it gets. At its worst (I’m thinking the shanks), it’s easy to believe you’re trapped in a circle of hell and you would do anything to escape that fear. And still …
Regardless, when golf gets you, it tends to keep you. I’ve always wondered why anyone sticks with it because learning to get the ball airborne is more frustrating than keeping up with all of your passwords. Once you can get the ball airborne, you spend the rest of your days trying to hit it relatively straight.
Then there’s putting. If you don’t believe there’s a little part of you that loathes the people who can really putt, then you’re not being totally honest.
It’s a game in which the better you get, the harder it gets. At its worst (I’m thinking the shanks), it’s easy to believe you’re trapped in a circle of hell and you would do anything to escape that fear.
And still …
While some of us now play in layered clothing on muddy, dormant fairways, we keep going out there. Not everyone lives where winter is the best time of year to play. Frost delays come with the morning coffee.
We look at photographs of Cruden Bay or Whistling Straits under a blanket of snow and we linger on the images.
We buy strips of pretend grass to putt on in our dens and basements. We may buy a sport coat off the rack but we’ll spend hours trying to find a driver that fits us the way vodka fits tonic. We believe we can buy our way to being better.
While we have our differences – there are the walking zealots, the no-music-on-the-course cranks, the play-it-from-the-tips crowd, the tailgaters who are constantly pushing the group in front to hurry up, the practice-swing zombies and the equipment nerds – golfers are still part of a global community.
It has its own version of the English language – cabbage, three-jack, chili-dip, double cross, hosel rocket and, of course, fried egg – but it’s as familiar as the Augusta National logo is recognizable.
Not everyone who plays gets it. They’re playing the notes but not hearing the music. And there are those insufferable sorts who take it all far too seriously. They’re the ones you try to avoid in the grillroom and, heaven forbid, if you run into them away from the course.
Golf is a community, a curious one to outsiders but a treasured one to many of us.
It’s OK if you can recognize Joaquín Niemann’s swing on television from across the room.
It’s OK if you spend a few minutes every so often rolling putts at Golf Galaxy with putters you’re never going to buy.
It’s OK if you have to take two cars on vacation so you’ll have enough room in the trunk for all of your golf equipment.
It’s OK if it means that much. You’re not alone.
E-Mail Ron