The following is a guest post from our friend Thomas Caley. Thomas writes on putting skills and golf at GetDownInTwo.com.
I love golf for its meditational qualities – yes, it’s true. On a good day I float rather than walk between tee box and green, breathing in my surroundings, at one with all elements of my game. Playing golf allows me merciful detachment from other more worldly concerns, even if I’m not playing particularly great. It’s just me, the clubface, the arcing ball flight and serenity of Mother Nature.
Calming my mind and spirit is fun and interesting – it’s also something I alone control. What I can’t control are the actions and moods of other so-called golfers. On a few memorable occasions my Zen-like state has been shattered, nay annihilated, by club-wielding fanatics. It seems while to some golf is a calming, joyful pastime, to others it’s simply a conduit for rage.
These men (they are always men) twitch nervously with aggression, flapping their arms wildly, stomping furiously up the fairways. Ready to chew out any golfer in their way, these red-faced lunatics bubble and froth with the golf version of road rage – a phenomenon I call Angry Man Syndrome (AMS). Unfortunately I’ve come face to face with AMS on several occasions in my golfing career. Here follow a couple of my worse encounters.
I don’t get to see my brother much these days, so when I do it’s great. Sometimes we even manage a happy round of golf together. On one such rare occasion, we’d teed off from the first and set off down the middle of the fairway. All seemed well until suddenly we heard the ping of a driver, and a ball ripped between us like a bullet. The guy behind had driven almost on top of us, barely 150 yards down the fairway! What followed was an angry exchange with an already-furious man…what on earth had possessed him that day?
My next AMS incident happened when I was, less comfortingly, playing alone. This confrontation was less of a short sharp shock, more of a creeping inevitability. On this day I was behind a young chap who, while not playing slowly, wasn’t setting a lightning pace. Immediately behind me was a twosome consisting of a small Asian-looking golfer and his companion, a taller bald white guy. This latter displayed all the classic signs of AMS – he charged around, slamming his clubs into the bag, gesticulating and swearing loudly.
While putting out on the 7th I saw this man do a crazy dance on the tee behind me, jerking his limbs and bawling in my direction. I suppose he’d decided I was the problem on that particular day. The head-to-head came on the next as we passed by on opposite fairways. Insults were traded – by now he’d got me so riled I gave as good as I got, and we argued and fought while the small Asian guy looked on, sheepish and embarrassed. Needless to say my round that day got spoiled…so much for serene detachment.
Along with these and other unsavoury incidents, I’ve seen enough AMS now to last a golfing lifetime. I’ve had to develop a strategy. My plan these days is to simply acquiesce to these madmen like a weakened lamb – I let them play through and even put a bright little smile on my face. Types like this, you see, are just hunting for a target. It’s easier to let a raging bull through than to stop it and stand in the way. Now, back to the Zen…
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