Social Animals

Humans are social animals. We live in groups, travel in packs to hunt down our mates, celebrate life events with large, communal feasts.

Golf, too, is social, but not entirely. For many, it’s a solitary pleasure. Does that make it inhuman? Hardly.

My golf “childhood” was from the ages of 23-28 or so, the five years it took me to transform from rank beginner to someone who could get around the course in double digits, knew the etiquette, and had read some history. I spent most that time playing on U.S. Government courses at Air Force Bases. My favorites will always be Cypress Tree Golf Club (West Course) at Maxwell Air Force Base in Montgomery, Alabama, and Gateway Hills at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. Just about every round you play at this sort of course is with one or more strangers, which may include anyone from an 18-year-old kid in sneakers and a tank top, six weeks out of basic training, to a commanding Colonel or political figure visiting the base on national defense business.

I suppose this experience is similar to any public course golfer’s, but the rather expansive range of potential playing companions in those days led me to take a sort of solitary, cocoon-like approach to the game. Of course you are sociable with your playing partners for the day, but when you are forced to learn the game with a bunch of players who might be anything from a four-handicap man to a 21-year-old girl playing for the second time in her life, you learn to concentrate on what you’re doing and block out the distractions. For sure, I eventually found golfing friends, learned the pleasure of friendly competition, needling, and that great modern male institution – the golf trip – but my roots as a solitary golfer have remained and grown deeper over the years.

This season, I joined a golf club for the first time in my life. Having finally ending the nomadic military lifestyle in 2006, I felt settled enough to invest time and money in a private golf experience. Well, it took some prodding from the wife to actually pry open the wallet and join, but it was definitely a long time coming for me. I felt it was something I had earned, and looked forward to what I felt were private golf priviliges, like more ready access to a good golf course, regular games on weekends, club tournaments, and even the simple pleasure of having my own locker at the course.

One thing I did not expect was to spend the majority of my time playing alone.

The reason? My golf club is a sort of benevolent dictatorship, a family-owned entity started some 80 years ago by a wealthy northeastern golf nut and real estate investor. So, in contrast to the usual situation where one is invited to join a private club by friends in the club, in the case of my club, you simply fill out an application and, if the club needs members and you can pay the dues, you’re in. So, I enthusiastically joined a club, realizing a golfing life’s ambition, only to learn that I was a complete stranger.

It was Maxwell Air Force Base, Captain Bouffard, all over again.

Compounding the fact that I know very few people at my club is the fact that my lifestyle – with a physician’s work schedule and three young children – is not conducive to a regular golf schedule or opportunities for tee times when regular, avid golfers usually play. So it’s been a struggle to meet many of the regulars. (That stereotype of Wednesday afternoon golf for doctors has been nothing but a fantasy for me.) So, I have spent some rather odd hours golfing this year: an hour hitting balls in the early morning before heading to work… four holes in the gloaming after work on a Tuesday night… a Saturday afternoon nine with my 10-year-old driving the cart… eighteen on Sunday afternoon.

Oh I’ve had several guests at the course, played in a tournament, and have played occasional rounds with other members, but for the most part, it’s been a solo year. And to be honest, I’ve loved it.

While I will always believe the game is far, far better with a friend, or better yet an opponent, playing alone is a simple pleasure that is fundamental to the game. After all, many people drift into golf because, for whatever reason, the culture and rhythm of team sports is unappealing. Maybe we’re introverted, or perfectionistic, or intellectualizers, or simply neurotic, but golf attracts people who, to borrow from Bobby Jones, are able to thrive, alone, on a course of about five inches length, between the ears.

Solo rounds are relaxed. You can play two balls if you wish, playing against yourself. Free from the social pressures of the typical three- or four-ball, you find yourself experimenting. I played a round last week trying to see how soft and lazy I could swing and still hit the ball an acceptable distance (try this some time, you will be amazed at the results). A pesky par five requiring a fade on my course gives me fits, and last week I hit about five balls from the tee with various clubs, until I was able to pull off some sort of fade (I played the first ball for score).

I go slower when I play alone. Not slow golf, plumb bobbing putts, taking endless practice swings, etc. Since a solo round is always fast, I can afford to take my time with the round yet still remain on pace with other folks on the course. I emulate Sir Walter and smell the flowers. I take more time between shots, thinking about the game, my kids, my job, God, whatever. I savor the beauty of the golf course, give thanks that I have the money, time, and health to play. I think about how I can be a better golfer next time. And a better father, doctor, man.

Great game we play, golf.