Scott Ludwig lives, runs and writes in Senoia. His latest book, “Southern Charm” is a collection of his first 101 columns for The Newnan Times-Herald. He can be reached at magicludwig1@gmail.com .
Golf is Hard - Part 1
The Professional Golfers’ Association (PGA), following a three-month hiatus due to the coronavirus, resumed playing tournament golf in June. There were several minor protocols established to ensure everyone’s safety - none of them being particularly dramatic - with one exception: fans would not be allowed on the golf course.
Only essential personnel – golfers, caddies, tournament officials, television announcers and a few members of the host golf course with really deep pockets – would be permitted to walk the hallowed grounds where players compete for millions of dollars. With that much money at stake, it seemed odd that the golfers would be playing in front of crowds about the size of what you’d expect to find at a high school golf match.
The PGA is currently playing golf the way God intended: in the intimate solitude of a small group of like-minded people sharing a special affinity for the game, arguably the most difficult game of all to play really well.
If only golf had been played that way 50 years ago, things may have turned out different for me.
***
I played a lot of golf when I was young. I started playing when I was 12 and, after eight 30-minute lessons and countless hours on the driving range, won the first tournament I ever played. I fumbled around the Waialae Country Club, the current host of the PGA’s Sony Open, in 87 mostly forgettable strokes.
My golf game improved to the point that by the time I reached high school, as a sophomore I held the number one position on the golf team. Since I was virtually unknown, I rarely played in front of any fans at our matches, unless you count my coach and the coach of the team we were playing against. But during my junior year, I started drawing a crowd. I don’t mention it to toot my own horn, but rather to set the stage for what happened next.
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Which is exactly what happened during my junior year. Now that I had a ‘reputation,’ I began drawing a crowd and didn’t handle it well. The notoriety resulted in the worst case of the shanks – golf’s virtual incurable disease – that I couldn’t seem to shake. If you don’t play golf and have no idea what shanks are, just know that everyone who plays the game just threw up in their mouths at the mere sight of the word. Short version: a shank – for a right-handed golfer – means that every shot goes dead right at a 90-degree angle. There is no known cure or physical remedy for shanks, and because they’re of a psychological nature they can last for months; they’ve been known to last as long as an entire season of high school golf.
I can remember only one shot I ever hit in front of a gallery that lived up to the billing that preceded it. One of my teammates and I were attending a practice round of the Greater Jacksonville Open and watching Chi Chi Rodriguez hit a drive. As the ball floated off to the right, Chi Chi turned to the crowd and said he used the longest driver on the tour and no man alive could possibly hit a ball in any other direction with it. My teammate – who knew from experience that I rarely hit a drive that didn’t move to the left in various trajectories – volunteered me to prove him wrong. Which I had no problem doing. I garnered the applause of the sizeable crowd as well as a smile and a handshake from Mr. Rodriguez himself.
Later in the round Chi Chi hit a ball from a cavernous-like bunker and boasted that he was ‘born in a sand trap.’
His first shot out of the trap rolled around the edge of the cup.
He pulled another ball out of his pocket, dropped it into the trap, took another swing and knocked the ball directly into the hole.
I was grateful my teammate didn’t volunteer me for anything else.
Chi Chi may have been born in a sand trap, but I certainly didn’t want to die in one.
***
So my point is this: things may have turned out different for me if fans hadn’t been allowed on the golf course 50 years ago. Sure, I realize if I had played on the PGA tour there would have been fans at home watching on television, but that’s a lot different than having them watch you in person. Have you ever seen one of the PGA players hit a wayward shot into the gallery (crowd), and then ask the fans to form an opening roughly the width of a bowling alley so they can hit their next shot?
If that PGA player, per chance, happened to be me, the fans would need to spread out a whole lot wider than a bowling alley.
Scott Ludwig lives, runs and writes in Senoia. His latest book, “Southern Charm” is a collection of his first 101 columns for The Newnan Times-Herald. He can be reached at magicludwig1@gmail.com .
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