It’s spring and time to hit the links for many of us.  I’m not much of a golf nut but do enjoy watching The Masters.  It looks so beautiful and peaceful out there, surrounded by manicured grass and fresh air.  I think I would agree with John Feinstein and his book title, “A Good Walk Spoiled,” in describing my affinity for the game.  I don’t have the patience, attention span, skills, or a wild enough pair of slacks to include it on my list of retirement must-dos.  Yes, now I have the time to learn the game, but I’ve never enjoyed playing.  This dates back to those summer days of high school and my Dad’s Country Club Membership.  It was a work perk that he was never really able to capitalize on, having a minimum monthly spend to maintain the membership he couldn’t use.

My Dad was left-handed so teaching me any sport was difficult.  Plus, he wasn’t a very good athlete and certainly no Phil Mickelson, so I’m glad he didn’t try.  He did feel it was a good idea for me to spend my summers at the Club, thinking somebody could get some use out of it.  It was too far from the office for business lunches and didn’t fit his workaholic schedule.  My Mom would drop me off in the morning and I would play 18 holes before and after lunch, then hit the swimming pool.  A tough day’s “work” while all my friends had summer jobs.  It was a privileged life that went against the grain of my conservative parents.  I eventually began to feel the same.

It’s in that category of sports for Kings, like horse racing and polo.  The whole Club scene in the Mid-Sixties catered to men while the women and children belonged by the pool.  There were some women leagues, but the cigar-smokin’, round-ball- strokin’ businessmen ruled the course. I was typically matched with other “rich” kids that were “really rich.”  I didn’t have the clothes and equipment to match their swagger or the talent to swing the club.  As a result, I felt inferior and uncomfortable.  I know it’s hard to feel sorry for me!  My dad promised that if I broke 100, he would buy me new clubs, but even with better equipment it was rare if I broke 90.  I took lessons and practiced, but still could not effectively compete in my mind.  I didn’t realize until later in life that the kids I was playing with would go on to be Club Champions, scratch golfers, and even join the Tour.  I eventually lost patience and quit playing but was probably a little better than I thought at the time.

As a spectator and sports fan, I also also have issues with the game of golf.  I tend to shy away from sports where the announcers whisper and the gallery demands quiet.  Like tennis, it has a certain air of pompousness that adds a heaviness to its enjoyment.  I prefer the obnoxious fans of football and basketball, where their distractive or supportive behavior becomes a factor in the game.   Golf is apparently a much more sophisticated game that demands more respect.  “You da’ man,” is also a chant we can do without, but as wild of a fan outburst as it gets.  I’m actually surprised that the fans are allowed to get so close and worry sometimes that an errant shot might catch a spectator.  I’m sure they would quickly learn not be anywhere near to watch me swing a driver!

As I got more involved in the business world, I began to realize that golf was a great client development tool.  I bought a set of used clubs and participated in a couple of scrambles, hoping to rekindle any interest in the game I might have once had.  A new Mr. Steak restaurant opened in town, and I was getting to know the manager who was in the process of relocating his family.  We talked about some advertising and eventually developed a friendship.  We wanted to play golf together, but his clubs were back in Denver along with the restaurant headquarters where he had worked prior.  I let him borrow my clubs and a few days later he wanted to buy them, saying he really liked their feel.  Since he was by then a Bonafide client, I agreed to an arrangement where he would pay me some cash, but more importantly provide unlimited beef and beer. Mr. Steak had refrigerated trucks coming in every Friday afternoon from Colorado, loaded with frozen steaks and contraband Coors.  At that time, Coors was not available in our area, and a highly coveted commodity by my circle of friends.  I remember what a rare “treat” it was back then and would probably make me more friends than golf ever could.   Every Friday afternoon for the next couple of weeks, I would stop by on my way home and collect an advertising schedule, a half-dozen steaks, and a case of cold Coors.  I’m not sure life was any better – business, beer, and beef with one-stop shopping!

More and more friends would casually drop by the house all weekend, as word spread, hoping to take advantage of my good fortune.  I would fire up the grill and act like the king I never was in golf.  A month later, I made my weekly stop at the restaurant only to find it shuttered.  I would never see the manager or my clubs ever since.  It was also the end of my golfing career with the exception of a handful of company-paid scrambles.  I specifically emphasize the words “company-paid,” since in my opinion there’s only one thing worse than playing golf and that’s paying to play golf.  In one of those outings, they had hidden stuffed animal “prizes” in the wooded areas, and I think I found all of them.  Since the Coors deal fell through, I have proudly saved thousands on green fees, cart rental, betting, memberships, and equipment; it’s unlikely that the “scrooge” in me will change in retirement, even with the senior citizen discounts.  I will admit, however, that I do envy those who can master the greens, and I do still love Coors beer.