|Augusta National, hole #13, photo by marantzer on flickr.com|
The beauty of a golf course is hard to deny. I truly do understand the love of being outdoors in such an impressive setting. I get that it's fun and relaxing to hang out with good friends, work on your swing, come up with a strategy for that difficult course. All good.
But, the time it takes to play golf, and shop for golf accoutrements, and take golf lessons, and travel to faraway golf courses, and then watch golf on TV—let's just say it has been known to cause the occasional sore nerve between a golf-playing husband and his wife.
This morning I was decluttering a tableful of old periodicals and got distracted by an article by James Dodson in Our State Magazine. I got a real kick out of this:
Golf [...] is merely the most expensive and depressing form of pedestrianism. It renders its victims on the one hand gloomy and self-pitying, and, on the other, tediously and interminably loquacious. I know of no other practice, except the purchase and consumption of bad liquor, wherein good money can be spent for so pitiable a result.Incredibly, it renders golfers' spouses just the same! ;) Made me laugh out loud. If you have a golfer at your house, you know how it is!
James Boyd, a novelist who lived out his retirement years in Southern Pines, North Carolina, wrote this amusing characterization of golf in a letter he sent to the editor of The News and Observer in Raleigh in 1925. He was a foxhunter instead. I wonder what his wife had to say about that?