GOLF NUT NEEDS SOME THERAPY

Golf is an interesting sport. I am using, of course, the definition of the word “interesting” that means: “Costs too much, takes up too much time, and causes too much frustration—but I love it.”

So in other words, golf is the kind of activity that can make psychotherapists rich enough to purchase a whole fleet of yachts—IF the crazy golfers out there had any spare time and money to lie on couches and talk about their love/hate relationship with the sport. But since golf is the type of mistress who leaves her lovers drained of money, time, and common sense, the crazy golfers don’t do the sane thing and seek counseling. Instead they book another tee time. (Don’t worry about the poor psychotherapists. They won’t go bankrupt, as zillions of unhappy “golf widows” will provide enough business for them at least to purchase mid-sized yachts.)

If you think I exaggerate by suggesting golf enthusiasts need psychotherapy, just remember that brilliant definition of insanity offered by Albert Einstein. (I mean a real definition, and not one of my smart-aleck “I am using, of course” definitions.) Einstein said insanity is “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Many golfers, myself included—who can barely break 100 without the aid of a few generous gimmes, a mulligan, and some “Improve your lie, Judge Smails” foot wedges—often have the following thoughts just before beginning a round: “OK, if I just keep my tee shots safe in the fairway, and make a few putts, and avoid having any triple bogeys, I should be able to shoot in the mid-80s. Sure, no problem.”

And then five hours later, after carding a robust 106, we have this conversation with ourselves: “OK, I just got out of rhythm off the tee, and my short irons were a little erratic, and I had way too many three-putts. But I did have a nice drive on 6 and a beautiful chip on 14, and if I just hit the ball like that every time, I should be able to break 90. Sure, no problem.”

That, my friends, is Einstein’s definition in action. Despite knowing full well it is Einstein’s definition in action, I still am convinced there is no reason I can’t hit most of my drives just like I did on 6. And if I hit that beautiful chip on 14 once, I should be able to do it every time. And if I just focus more on my first putt and get it within a couple feet of the cup, I should eliminate the three-putts. Yeah, I know I can do it. I just need to play more often and concentrate better.

Also, I think I need a new set of irons.

Recently I mentioned to my wife that I was thinking about signing up for expensive golf lessons. She just shook her head and said, “You’re really getting addicted to golf, aren’t you?”

“No,” I protested. “This is nothing like the bad ol’ days when I was addicted to alcohol. With golf, I don’t disappear for hours on end, and spend all our money, and act irresponsibly. Um, let me rephrase that—”

“Right,” she said as she turned and slowly walked away, presumably to look up the name of a therapist who specializes in golf widowhood.

Golf is a funny sport. I am using, of course, the definition of the word “funny” that means: “Makes you clench your teeth and groan in agony—and want to do it again tomorrow.”