Not long ago, the host of a popular golf radio show asked me who I most enjoy playing golf with these days. We were discussing the various golfers and assorted eccentrics I’ve met, interviewed and written about over a long and winding journalism career. I was surprised by the question, and he seemed surprised by my answer.
“These days, I like to play golf with old guys,” I said without hesitation. “Like my friend Harry.”
He laughed. “So, who is Harry?”
“The old guy I hope to be someday on the golf course.”
Harry, I explained, is a gifted artist and nationally known cartoonist I’ve known for many years. He has a wry sense of humor, a beautiful tempo in his golf swing, and a refreshing take on life. Harry is 76 years old, deaf in at least one ear, losing bits of his eyesight, and battling a rogue sciatic nerve in his left leg that sometimes makes swinging a club difficult. “Nothing ails me that a birdie or two won’t fix,” Harry likes to say with a smile. “Hell, I’ll even settle for pars.”
He was once a splendid single-digit player who now aims for bogey golf, and never gets too rattled by whatever the game at this stage of life gives him. Like many older golfers, he accepts that bad breaks happen and are simply part of this maddening Presbyterian game, not worth fretting about. So are aging body parts that can’t propel the ball the way they once did.
Instead, Harry plays for the occasional fine shot, the rare good break, and the fellowship of his companions that includes a good bit of affectionate needling and laughter.
He’s never had an ace – frankly doesn’t want one at this point – but holds out hope of someday shooting his age, the proverbial goal of every aging golfer.
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