A few years ago, I played a round of golf on an overcast and misty day.  It had rained the day before, and course conditions could best be described as soggy.  But, overall, the course was in good shape, and a day of golf with friends is still sunny, no matter the elements. 

While I played a half-decent round, finishing with an 83, one of my playing partners struggled initially.  Pete started his round with three chunked shots.  Laying three after only progressing 100 yards on a 500-yard Par 5, Pete groaned as he feared the day’s round would be a long one.  Lamenting to no one in particular, he stated loud enough for  us to hear, “I am hitting the ball like a 90-year-old.”  I could only chuckle.  Pete was 80 years old.  He hung in there and never lost his sense of humor.  Later, after he hit a nice drive on the 18th fairway, Pete, never one to ignore the obvious, proclaimed, “I finally found my swing….17 holes too late!”

Though he struggled with his game, Pete displayed only the best of sportsmanship and behavior.  No profanity was heard, no clubs were thrown.  He was a consummate gentleman golfer — a frustrated one, but a gentleman for sure.  He savored the few good shots he made and enjoyed the fellowship that a round of golf offers.

His demeanor on that dreary day impressed me and reminded me of an article in the March 2009 edition of Golfstyles Magazine.  The article honored the author, John Updike, who had passed away the previous January.  An acclaimed author of novels and short stories, as well as book and art reviews, Updike was also an avid golfer, albeit not a good one.   But that did not keep him from being the best at crafting images of the game.

David R. Sands titled this Appreciation article “Rabbit, Played.”  One Updike quote Sands shared illustrated Updike’s craftsmanship and unique sense of humor.

“A ground-out in baseball or a tennis ball whipped into the net is not especially amusing; but the bad shots in golf are endless fun – at least the other fellow’s are.  The duck hook, the banana slice, the topped dribble, the no-explode explosion shot, the arboreal ricochet, the sky ball, the majestic OB, the pondside scuff-and-splash, the deep-grass squirt, the cart-path shank, the skull, the fat hit, the thin hit, the stubbed putt – what a wealth of mirth to be had in an afternoon’s witnessing of such varied miseries, all produced in a twinkling of an eye by the infallible laws of physics.”

My favorite quote is a little later in the article, where Updike responds to the question, “Is Life Too Short for Golf?”.  Initially taken aback when a young woman poses him the question, he later concedes:

“...there have been moments while trudging up the slope of the 13th hole of an indifferent round on a baked-out summer day when I wondered what I was doing here.

“But, in fact, such moments are few, for it is a rare round without its sudden rewards, its little turns of drama.  I’d as soon say life is too short for sleep as say it is too short for golf.  As with dreaming, we enter another realm and emerge refreshed.  Golf turns life inside out; it rests the overused parts of ourselves, and tests some neglected aspects – the distance–gauging eye, the obscure rhythmic connection between hands and feet.  For the hours and days it has taken from me, golf has given me back another self, my golfing self, who faithfully awaits for me on the first tee when I have put aside the personalities of breadwinner and lover, father and son.  Golf lengthens life, I should have told that young lady.”

I think I know what Updike means.  I suspect every golfer does. Every bad round seems to possess at least one great shot that begs you to return for more.  And there are those rounds played at a leisurely pace upon a grand vista of a course that soothes the soul as you savor the tranquility, beauty, and grace of the landscape before you.  

But let’s keep perspective. On the scale of human activities, golf is by no means a sacred act. There is more to life than golf.  But for those of us who play the occasional round, we know there is much the game can teach us about life and how to respond to the hooks, the shanks, and the slices of living in a fallen world.  Pete certainly does.

I suspect that Pete has never read John Updike.  But like Updike, he certainly appreciates how this game “rests the overused parts of ourselves and tests some neglected aspects.”   Pete may have scored like a 90-year-old, but he played with the heart of a champion.  

I think he and John Updike would have enjoyed playing together.