I’ve Got an Addiction, and the Blisters Simply Confirm It

For years it’s been clear that I love golf. Love playing it, love reading about it, love watching it on TV. But it’s finally time to admit my passion has crossed the fine line into obsession. The snowiest winter the Northeast has seen in years and a dip into the deep, never-ending world of golf message boards has sunken me to new lows.Everyone’s got their demons, and golf sure isn’t in the league of booze, drugs, gambling, or ahem, Tiger’s vice of choice. Hitting a small ball into a hole might be akin to pouring money down a drain, but it’s also about as healthy an addiction as you can develop (aside from marathon training, but believe me, most of my friends who have run 26.2 miles epitomize obsessive compulsive). However, the fact you do golf outdoors and can try to count it as exercise doesn’t mean it’s can’t become a crippling addiction.

The past week has confirmed what I’ve long suspected, and proved that your life can be consumed to the point it’s no longer just a hobby.

Let me set the scene. It’s late February, with a foot of snow on the ground and another foot on the way. My mid-March golf trip feels like it’ll never get here, yet it’s so tantalizingly close I can taste it (and find the online yardage books of each course so I can play them in my mind). I’ve had too many trips to the range rained, snowed, and/or colded out. I’ve been counting down the days for a golf show that had been panned by those attended it in other cities. I need my fix, only to find myself stymied by the snow plows that buried my car up to the windows. Instead of wandering through hundreds of stalls of vacation destinations, local courses I’ve played a dozen times, overpriced used equipment and a trick shot demonstration on the main stage, the rest of the day involves moping, whining, snapping, complaining and creating sheer misery for those unlucky enough to be trapped in the house with me.

I really really hated that day.

Needing a golf fix (and no, not the Michael Breed-style Golf Fix), it was back to eBay and reading enough in the forums to write a book of regurgitated golf equipment reviews.

This winter has been all about overhauling my golf bag in a smart, economical way (the wife’s already noticing UPS has an easier time delivering my clubs than they had with many of our wedding gifts). And the less I’m swinging a club, the more I’m reading about what I need to be playing in 2010.

Since I’ve long been a believer in, “it’s not the fiddle, it’s the fiddler,” I have missed at least a decade’s worth of golf technology. My irons predate Wilson’s Fatshafts and aren’t too much younger than the Great Big Bertha. I’m still gaming a 320cc driver from six years ago, which I’d bought on closeout, as it was an older model at the time. Once I decided it’s time for new irons, my downward spiral was full on.

Naturally, the only thing to do was spend the better part of a week reading everything I could about all things irons. Four nights in a row I was up until 6 a.m. or later. I simply couldn’t pull myself away from the computer, so long as there was something else to read about Cleveland CG7s. It’s insane what I now know about the offset differences between the J33 combo set, the J36 cavity backs, and the Titleist ZBs. Until a week ago I didn’t even know Srixon made irons, let alone one of the most popular sleeper sets of the past five years. Naturally, I now have an eBay alert set up for i-701s. Tours, of course. And don’t even get me started on my Dynamic Gold vs. Project X homework.

By Sunday, sleep deprived and craving the feel of cold forged irons on rock hard range balls, I finally managed to dig out the car. I can still feel the sting of a few thin four-irons, and 150 or so swings had provided the fix I needed. I was a happier man, and the wife couldn’t help but notice there was more bounce in my step and less scowl on my face when I got home. Of course I also managed to tear my hands apart to the point I can barely hold my putter for practice on the Boomerang. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the end of the world to have an addiction where the worst drawback is half a dozen bloody blisters.

Fowler’s Meek Finish Can’t Mar Bold Arrival

A lot has been made of Rickie Fowler’s decision to lay up late in Sunday’s final round of the Waste Management Phoenix Open. As much as I’ll applaud guys who play like they’ve got nothing to lose, I can’t take Fowler to task on this one. In a lot of circles we’d call that good course management. And when Zach Johnson won a Masters by laying up around the course, he was hailed as a genius.

More importantly than whether or not Fowler went for the green in two or won the tournament, the truth is he’s got the sort of buzz that can make him America’s Rory McIlroy and inject some much-needed energy into the Tour. Sure, he’s far too groomed for my taste, but honestly, when I’m around my college-aged cousins, I’m often left shaking my head at their haircuts (or lack thereof) and the absurd way they wear their hats. And wow, do I feel like an old man writing that last sentence. Doesn’t matter, because since Sunday I’ve heard from several casual golf fan friends asking who the kid was. That’s enough to tell me he moves the needle and for that I’ll deal with neon blue or irridescent orange pants.

Brace Yourself, Tiger’s Setting Stage for Return

Tiger Woods has kept us all guessing how his 2010 would play out, and his last public appearance only deepened the mystery. But word that Tiger’s done with a family therapy session and back on the range at Isleworth is as strong a sign as any that he’s getting closer to the first tee. But what might be an even stronger sign is that word’s “leaking” out of Camp Tiger. Add in the comments from fellow pros who no longer fear mentioning they ran into Tiger and it’s clear that the most protected man in sports is sending signals that he’s on his way. My money still says he tees it up at Augusta, where they don’t allow periscopes, let alone TMZ reporters.

Reserving Judgment on Golf Channel’s New (and Mercilessly Over-Promoted) Shows

If you’ve watched anything on Golf Channel in the past four months, you know they’ve got two new shows that debuted this week. I expected to hate “The Haney Project” with Ray Romano (never could stand his sitcom) but was pleasantly surprised. It won’t land on the DVR, but at this point of the year, anything with a golf club will earn my attention.

On the other hand, I had high hopes for “Being John Daly.” It was a bummer they showed half of the premiere on the hundreds of commercials and trailers leading up to it (and as I type this I can hear that guitar riff playing over and over in my head). The “All your exes were Timexes was funny the first four times I heard it, not the next 47.”

Regardless, what jumped out at me in the first episode was just how much Daly’s weight has fluctuated through the years, and how tormented he appears. Actually, beaten down might even be the better description. It’s only coincidental this column started out discussing addiction and closes with Daly, but if this show can tap into his struggles over the past 20-plus years, it could make for amazing television.

However, I’m afraid it will devolve into a sappy, made-for-TV comeback story that paints Daly as a bonfire sitting, guitar strumming, pal of everyone. I’m not doubting that’s genuine Daly, but it’s certainly not all there is to see. Here’s hoping we more of the Long John that Rick Reilly got to know in his fantastic “Who’s Your Caddy” and less of an orchestrated, over-edited, sponsor-hungry Daly.

If there’s a guy on Tour whose biography we’d read first, it would be Daly’s, hands down. Let’s root for this show capturing him as himself, for better or for worse.

Photo Credit: © Hunter Martin/Getty.