Opinion & Analysis
“It’s a shame that all of our golf life can’t be spent like this night”
If you are reading this, we have a lot in common. I suspect that like me, you are a boomer, reasonably intellectual, middle to upper middle class, and a golfer. You are probably pretty good at our sport, probably have an index of between 8 and 16, and above all, you are a realist about your ability and your potential for becoming the golfer you always wanted to be.
I suspect you went through a period of time when you thought that if you bought the right equipment, you would become a great ball striker and a significantly better golfer. You went through several drivers, putters, wedges, and fairway woods. When utility clubs became the rage, you bought a couple. You were happy to exchange your persimmons for metal “woods” (although like me, you never really figured out what to call them).
Then there are the irons we have both invested in. We lined up for perimeter balanced, cast, oversized, graphite shafted “stuff.” We tried this set because they were longer. We bought that set because they were more accurate. We tried this set because they were a graduated set, going from hybrid long irons to cavity-back mid irons to forged-blade short irons. We even decided that iron sets were passé. What we really should do, we told ourselves, were to buy our clubs like they did in the old days – one club at a time with each addition to our bag specially designed for the job they were bought to do.
Strangely, looking back, we came to realize that in spite of all our work, all our thought, all of the money we spent – we were not fundamentally better golfers than we had ever been. If we were better, it was probably because we came to know our limitations and our strengths. We didn’t put ourselves in positions that would turn a one-shot penalty into a three shot penalty. We worked on our swing. We learned to relax. We read books on sports psychology. We watched and thought about the lessons we took away from “The Legend of Bagger Vance,” ‘The Greatest Match Ever Played,” and even in its own twisted way, “Caddy Shack.”
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We are members of a golf club (or country club) because we love playing on nice courses and we hate having our valuable time wasted by drunks and unskilled people who frequent municipal courses. We take a golf trip or two every year or so. And we probably belong to a Men’s Club. We certainly have a bunch of guys we like playing golf with.
Most of us have been playing golf for many, many years. We learned the game from our dads who are unfortunately no longer around. We learned how to be gentlemen (or women) on the course. We learned how to fix a divot. We learned how to rake bunkers, lay the flag gently onto the green or better yet, just off the green. We learned where to put our bag when we were putting. We always wanted to drive a golf cart and were secretly thrilled when we became rich enough to afford to use one. But we learned how to drive them so as to not impact fragile grass.
We came to know the pain of losing our best playing partners – our dad’s, our older brothers, our best friend, our uncle. We reached for the phone to call them when Tiger chipped in to win the Masters, only to remember at the last moment that they wouldn’t be on the line to talk to about it.
Fortunately, we have taught our children to play the game. We had to drag them at first. Baseball, basketball, and/or video games were more fun. Now they are playing pretty well. We go out together when we can. They can out-hit us but we can out putt them — our short games are better, and our guile is superior.
But it started to happen. We slowly came to feel differently about the game and where we are in relation to it. We loved things about golf that have nothing to do with the “sport” of golf. The arc of a well-struck shot, how it feels, how its sounds are much more important now than how far it went. We don’t care whether a pitch shot checks up after one bounce unless the place that it stops is the place we want it to stop. Who cares whether the shot “sucked back”? Did it stay on the green? That’s what we care most about.
Sometimes, when the time is just right, now we walk the course by ourselves. We have that old carry bag we carried when we were in high school. We fill it with the set of Wilson Staff irons we worked all summer mowing lawns to buy. Somehow, we saved them along the beautiful MacGregor Eye-O-Matic Persimmon Woods that were Dad’s and the BullsEye putter we’ve had since college. They are in the bag, too.
They should feel heavy with only that single strap to transfer the weight to our shoulder. That shoulder had the rotator cuff fixed a couple of years ago, after all. But somehow, the weight doesn’t hurt as much as it should on this beautiful evening. It’s so quiet now. Everyone has gone home for the day. It’s so quiet that you can actually hear the sound of your drive hitting the fairway 225 yards away from the tee.
They say that persimmon drivers just don’t hit the ball as far as steel faced drivers do. They’re right, they don’t. But there is little beauty in a painted club head compared to the elegance of wood carved into a club head. The sound of steel hitting ball is abrupt and harsh. There is little information that can make it to your hands because of the muting of the graphite shaft. But the feel of the ball coming off that persimmon face races to you, literally screaming to you where the ball went. You can “see” the ball, even though the cataract that is growing slowly in your right eye makes actually seeing the flight of the ball difficult.
If the persimmon head told you about the shot, it was not the only messenger. The steel shaft told you that you “nutted” it as well. Still 320 yards out, you take out the old three-wood that you saw your dad hit so many times. You take your stance, look up a couple of times, waggle twice, set and fire. Again, you know it was hit it where you wanted it, 180 yards, down the middle.
Walking down the fairway, you listen for the ghosts you know you are walking with. You can hear them, your dad told you, but only if you are if you listen. They’re laughing and joking, talking about games that were played in the misty past. They only come out at evening-time, when the course is almost empty, They only share their joy, the joy of the game, with people who deserve to hear about it, to learn about it, and to pass it on. You know they’ve nominated and elected you into their club. It’s a feeling that makes the pain go way, lightens your step, and brings a tear to your eye.
Still, you have 105 yards left. With your set of graphite shafted, technologically marvelous irons, it would be barely a gap wedge. But you know that the loft of your modern gap wedge is the same as the loft of your Staff 9 iron. So you’re not gulled. It’s the 9 iron that you grab and set behind the ball. As you draw the club back, you remember all the great times, the great lessons, and the great people you have known because of the shepherd’s game we play.
Down the club comes. You strike the ball almost at the bottom of its downward arc. The club finds the ball and dives into the ground, carving a shallow divot just in front of where the ball comes. Up the shaft comes, carrying your hands high – higher than your shoulder, almost even with your ear. Your right shoulder forces your chin to the left. Your right hip has squared itself with the left. Your body is facing the hole, now. You pick up the ball with eyes and watch it fall to the green. The ball checks up smartly, five feet below the hole.
The shot is a beautiful arc, that product of the forged steel club head. The vibration that raced up then down the shaft, through the rough, cord grips, to your hands. Whether the feeling made it to your soul like the old saying claims is debatable. But you know for sure that the feeling is like no other. Hearing the ball drop into the cup is like no other, too.
It’s a shame that all of our golf life can’t be spent like this night. It’s a shame we can’t play in the peace of a quiet course, the peace of shots purely struck with clubs that have stood up through time. It’s a shame that they have to go back to the basement to sit and wait for another day to come along. It is a shame. Isn’t it?
As the editor-in-chief of this website and an observer of the GolfWRX forums and other online golf equipment discourse for over a decade, I’m pretty well attuned to the grunts and grumbles of a significant portion of the golf equipment purchasing spectrum. And before you accuse me of lording above all in some digital ivory tower, I’d like to offer that I worked at golf courses (public and private) for years prior to picking up my pen, so I’m well-versed in the non-degenerate golf equipment consumers out there. I touched (green)grass (retail)!
Complaints about the ills of and related to the OEMs usually follow some version of: Product cycles are too short for real innovation, tour equipment isn’t the same as retail (which is largely not true, by the way), too much is invested in marketing and not enough in R&D, top staffer X hasn’t even put the new driver in play, so it’s obviously not superior to the previous generation, prices are too high, and on and on.
Without digging into the merits of any of these claims, which I believe are mostly red herrings, I’d like to bring into view of our rangefinder what I believe to be the two primary difficulties golf equipment companies face.
One: As Terry Koehler, back when he was the CEO of Ben Hogan, told me at the time of the Ft Worth irons launch, if you can’t regularly hit the golf ball in a coin-sized area in the middle of the face, there’s not a ton that iron technology can do for you. Now, this is less true now with respect to irons than when he said it, and is less and less true by degrees as the clubs get larger (utilities, fairways, hybrids, drivers), but there remains a great deal of golf equipment truth in that statement. Think about it — which is to say, in TL;DR fashion, get lessons from a qualified instructor who will teach you about the fundamentals of repeatable impact and how the golf swing works, not just offer band-aid fixes. If you can’t repeatably deliver the golf club to the golf ball in something resembling the manner it was designed for, how can you expect to be getting the most out of the club — put another way, the maximum value from your investment?
Similarly, game improvement equipment can only improve your game if you game it. In other words, get fit for the clubs you ought to be playing rather than filling the bag with the ones you wish you could hit or used to be able to hit. Of course, don’t do this if you don’t care about performance and just want to hit a forged blade while playing off an 18 handicap. That’s absolutely fine. There were plenty of members in clubs back in the day playing Hogan Apex or Mizuno MP-32 irons who had no business doing so from a ballstriking standpoint, but they enjoyed their look, feel, and complementary qualities to their Gatsby hats and cashmere sweaters. Do what brings you a measure of joy in this maddening game.
Now, the second issue. This is not a plea for non-conforming equipment; rather, it is a statement of fact. USGA/R&A limits on every facet of golf equipment are detrimental to golf equipment manufacturers. Sure, you know this, but do you think about it as it applies to almost every element of equipment? A 500cc driver would be inherently more forgiving than a 460cc, as one with a COR measurement in excess of 0.83. 50-inch shafts. Box grooves. And on and on.
Would fewer regulations be objectively bad for the game? Would this erode its soul? Fortunately, that’s beside the point of this exercise, which is merely to point out the facts. The fact, in this case, is that equipment restrictions and regulations are the slaughterbench of an abundance of innovation in the golf equipment space. Is this for the best? Well, now I’ve asked the question twice and might as well give a partial response, I guess my answer to that would be, “It depends on what type of golf you’re playing and who you’re playing it with.”
For my part, I don’t mind embarrassing myself with vintage blades and persimmons chasing after the quasi-spiritual elevation of a well-struck shot, but that’s just me. Plenty of folks don’t give a damn if their grooves are conforming. Plenty of folks think the folks in Liberty Corner ought to add a prison to the museum for such offences. And those are just a few of the considerations for the amateur game — which doesn’t get inside the gallery ropes of the pro game…
Different strokes in the game of golf, in my humble opinion.
Anyway, I believe equipment company engineers are genuinely trying to build better equipment year over year. The marketing departments are trying to find ways to make this equipment appeal to the broadest segment of the golf market possible. All of this against (1) the backdrop of — at least for now — firm product cycles. And golfers who, with their ~15 average handicap (men), for the most part, are not striping the golf ball like Tiger in his prime and seem to have less and less time year over year to practice and improve. (2) Regulations that massively restrict what they’re able to do…
That’s the landscape as I see it and the real headwinds for golf equipment companies. No doubt, there’s more I haven’t considered, but I think the previous is a better — and better faith — point of departure when formulating any serious commentary on the golf equipment world than some of the more cynical and conspiratorial takes I hear.
Agree? Disagree? Think I’m worthy of an Adam Hadwin-esque security guard tackle? Let me know in the comments.
@golfoncbs The infamous Adam Hadwin tackle ? #golf #fyp #canada #pgatour #adamhadwin ? Ghibli-style nostalgic waltz – MaSssuguMusic
Episode #16 brings us Cliff McKinney. Cliff is the founder of Old Charlie Golf Club, a new club, and concept, to be built in the Florida panhandle. The model is quite interesting and aims to make great, private golf more affordable. We hope you enjoy the show!
Last week, I came across a reel from BBC Sport on Instagram featuring Scottie Scheffler speaking to the media ahead of The Open at Royal Portrush. In it, he shared that he often wonders what the point is of wanting to win tournaments so badly — especially when he knows, deep down, that it doesn’t lead to a truly fulfilling life.
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“Is it great to be able to win tournaments and to accomplish the things I have in the game of golf? Yeah, it brings tears to my eyes just to think about it because I’ve literally worked my entire life to be good at this sport,” Scheffler said. “To have that kind of sense of accomplishment, I think, is a pretty cool feeling. To get to live out your dreams is very special, but at the end of the day, I’m not out here to inspire the next generation of golfers. I’m not out here to inspire someone to be the best player in the world, because what’s the point?”
Ironically — or perhaps perfectly — he went on to win the claret jug.
That question — what’s the point of winning? — cuts straight to the heart of the human journey.
As someone who’s spent over two decades in the trenches of professional golf, and in deep study of the mental, emotional, and spiritual dimensions of the game, I see Scottie’s inner conflict as a sign of soul evolution in motion.
I came to golf late. I wasn’t a junior standout or college All-American. At 27, I left a steady corporate job to see if I could be on the PGA Tour starting as a 14-handicap, average-length hitter. Over the years, my journey has been defined less by trophies and more by the relentless effort to navigate the deeply inequitable and gated system of professional golf — an effort that ultimately turned inward and helped me evolve as both a golfer and a person.
One perspective that helped me make sense of this inner dissonance around competition and our culture’s tendency to overvalue winning is the idea of soul evolution.
The University of Virginia’s Division of Perceptual Studies has done extensive research on reincarnation, and Netflix’s Surviving Death (Episode 6) explores the topic, too. Whether you take it literally or metaphorically, the idea that we’re on a long arc of growth — from beginner to sage elder — offers a profound perspective.
If you accept the premise literally, then terms like “young soul” and “old soul” start to hold meaning. However, even if we set the word “soul” aside, it’s easy to see that different levels of life experience produce different worldviews.
Newer souls — or people in earlier stages of their development — may be curious and kind but still lack discernment or depth. There is a naivety, and they don’t yet question as deeply, tending to see things in black and white, partly because certainty feels safer than confronting the unknown.
As we gain more experience, we begin to experiment. We test limits. We chase extreme external goals — sometimes at the expense of health, relationships, or inner peace — still operating from hunger, ambition, and the fragility of the ego.
It’s a necessary stage, but often a turbulent and unfulfilling one.
David Duval fell off the map after reaching World No. 1. Bubba Watson had his own “Is this it?” moment with his caddie, Ted Scott, after winning the Masters.
In Aaron Rodgers: Enigma, reflecting on his 2011 Super Bowl win, Rodgers said:
“Now I’ve accomplished the only thing that I really, really wanted to do in my life. Now what? I was like, ‘Did I aim at the wrong thing? Did I spend too much time thinking about stuff that ultimately doesn’t give you true happiness?’”
Jim Carrey once said, “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.”
Eventually, though, something shifts.
We begin to see in shades of gray. Winning, dominating, accumulating—these pursuits lose their shine. The rewards feel more fleeting. Living in a constant state of fight-or-flight makes us feel alive, yes, but not happy and joyful.
Compassion begins to replace ambition. Love, presence, and gratitude become more fulfilling than status, profits, or trophies. We crave balance over burnout. Collaboration over competition. Meaning over metrics.
Interestingly, if we zoom out, we can apply this same model to nations and cultures. Countries, like people, have a collective “soul stage” made up of the individuals within them.
Take the United States, for example. I’d place it as a mid-level soul: highly competitive and deeply driven, but still learning emotional maturity. Still uncomfortable with nuance. Still believing that more is always better. Despite its global wins, the U.S. currently ranks just 23rd in happiness (as of 2025). You might liken it to a gifted teenager—bold, eager, and ambitious, but angsty and still figuring out how to live well and in balance. As much as a parent wants to protect their child, sometimes the child has to make their own mistakes to truly grow.
So when Scottie Scheffler wonders what the point of winning is, I don’t see someone losing strength.
I see someone evolving.
He’s beginning to look beyond the leaderboard. Beyond metrics of success that carry a lower vibration. And yet, in a poetic twist, Scheffler did go on to win The Open. But that only reinforces the point: even at the pinnacle, the question remains. And if more of us in the golf and sports world — and in U.S. culture at large — started asking similar questions, we might discover that the more meaningful trophy isn’t about accumulating or beating others at all costs.
It’s about awakening and evolving to something more than winning could ever promise.
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Fred
Aug 12, 2013 at 3:00 pm
As the president of the American Purple Prose Society, I give this maudlin, cliched and trite article our highest award, the Tin Eyeball.
8thehardway
Aug 11, 2013 at 11:49 am
I kept the post brief hoping to lure the author out of hiding but it’s a difficult position to defend. I think more words allows more places for the author to hide behind, but here’s the full scope of my thoughts and feelings and thanks for asking…
I wouldn’t expect many “drunks” (in the author’s sense, perpetually inebriated) to golf but when they do, why would they frequent the one venue that doesn’t serve alcohol? Any conclusion must speak to an indifference or tolerance that occurs throughout America’s 2000+ municipal courses and, until clarified, exists as a blanket indictment of every participant.
Does the author believe the random distribution of golfing drunks gravitates toward municipal courses because of universally bad management and indifferent staff or an exceedingly tolerant golfing public? Does it seem to him even remotely possible that a mix of golfers including parents playing with their children and golfers with the authority to enforce, or even make laws would endure six-hour rounds, dodge drives and tolerate alcohol-fueled vandalism or that management/staff would show a continued indifference to on-course complaints, higher maintenance budgets, confrontations and lawsuits?
I’ve played hundreds of rounds on seven local municipal courses and find no basis for such a provocative and offensive statement; it demeans all who contribute to and enjoy the experience of municipal golf and negatively influences those considering it. It promotes an ‘us/them’ approach that is out of place within the community of golfers and it’s inclusion makes absolutely no sense within the theme of the article itself.
Why introduce such discordance, other than to promote a divide so deeply embedded that its uncritical acceptance constitutes an integral part of his ideal life. It seems the ghosts who speak to him are country club ghosts; not surprisingly, they also make judgements about who deserves to hear them expound on ‘the joy of the game.’ I’d have a hard time understanding that paradox but apparently the author’s ears are perfectly attuned.
The author wrote that he learned to be a gentleman on the course; I hope completes the remainder of his education.
8thehardway
Aug 9, 2013 at 9:49 pm
” We are members of a golf club (or country club) because we love playing on nice courses and we hate having our valuable time wasted by drunks and unskilled people who frequent municipal courses. ”
What makes you think drunks frequent municipal courses?
chris franklin
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:31 pm
Stick with the day job……
Arnold
Aug 7, 2013 at 11:48 pm
Smitty,
I’ve done many an evening as you have so articulately and so aptly described, yet there is something to be said for the first light, the first to marked the dew filled course with but your foot prints. How I loved the sight of the rooster tail but not the ball falling well short. It always took until the 4th hole for the greens to dry out, and then to the sixth hole for my pant legs to dry.
It’s been a while back yet I seem to still remember. Thanks Smitty for reminding me of those favorite things that I’d thought that I’d forgotten.
Thanks Buddy
Mac
Rob
Aug 7, 2013 at 5:15 pm
I’m still young but I live for playing alone at that time of day! There is nothing like being alone on the course when the shadows are getting long, the air is getting brisk, and the only sound you hear is the clacking of your clubs. It’s so peaceful, and so relaxing – I love it.
RLL
Aug 7, 2013 at 3:59 pm
Great article, George. There are lots of us who know what you describe so well. I like playing alone at that time of day, too.
paul
Aug 6, 2013 at 10:17 pm
Nice writing. kind of depressing though. not my style. and i am still young. makes me want to stay that way.
Dee
Aug 7, 2013 at 3:57 pm
Good luck with that, son…
Martin
Aug 6, 2013 at 5:54 pm
Great read, I don’t have my old stuff anymore but the thrill of a perfectly executed knockdown 5 iron still send shivers down my spine and makes the club twirl automatically in my hands. Watching the ball fly when you know it’s perfect is one life’s great feelings.