I am a grumpy golfer.  

I blame it on a game with shots labeled shanks, duffs, topps, slices, hooks, lip-outs, chunks, and, let’s not forget, the dreaded whiff.  

No wonder I’m grumpy.

Then again, as Lee Trevino once said, “Golf is a game invented by the same people who think music comes out of a bagpipe.”  Of course, these are the same folks who created Scotch whiskey.  I sometimes wonder which came first, golf or whiskey.  I suspect golf did, since it is a game that might have inspired the need for whiskey.

And is it just a coincidence that Golf is a four-letter word?  Ironic that the serenity and beauty of an 18-hole manicured green landscape could be a minefield of blue swear words, spoken in a moment of frustration by a grumpy golfer. After one embarrassing shot, my playing partner picked up his phone and declared for all to hear, “Hello, can I speak to Jesus because this golf ball is about to make me break 4 of the 10 commandments.”  He was more than a bit grumpy.  For me, I try to limit my four-letter utterances to “FORE!”

Being intimately familiar with the aforementioned variations of golf shots, I became the founder and self-appointed first member of the Grumpy Old Men Golf Club. After reading this, you may want to join this not-so-exclusive group too. There are no initiation fees; membership is free. The only requirements are (1) you play golf and (2) well, there isn’t a second one. See requirement #1.

So what is it about this intoxicating, frustrating game played across a serene landscape of fairways and greens that makes me so grumpy? Maybe it’s how one moment your swing is pure and effortless, and for a fleeting moment you dream of being the club champion.  But then you shank your way through a series of holes with bogeys and double-bogeys, crushing any hopes of breaking 90, much less 80.  

Yet the reality is that this game of the dimpled ball is special.  It requires patience, strategic thinking, skill, sportsmanship, and determination.  Besides, my wife reminds me that it’s better to be bad (and grumpy) at golf than to be good (and grumpy) at sitting on the couch.   Nevertheless, I am writing this reflection to confront my grumpiness.  Maybe in making this confession, I might find a way to better enjoy a game whose vocabulary includes words such as mulligan, fore, duffer, shank, and slice.

What makes me a grumpy golfer?

Three putts.  I despise three putts.  Right up there with Brussels sprouts and pickled beets.  Three putts are a curse, driving many a golfer to fork out hundreds of dollars in a vain attempt to find a putter that works.  They are the source of sleepless nights pondering “what-could-have-been.”  I drove a par 4 green once, only to three-putt for par.  The least satisfying par ever.  The yips begin here.

Slow play.  I must be careful here.  As I navigate through the Medicare years, I am becoming one of those senior golfers who plays a little slower than in my youth.  I admire the old guys who endeavor to keep playing a game they love.  Yes, they may shoot 108, but they are out there on the links, doing the best they can.  Okay, so they may shoot six to seven strokes a hole, but they’re having fun.  No, it’s the guys who shoot from the blue tees when they should be shooting from the green ones that rattle my clubs.  Or the guy who takes multiple practice swings, changes clubs, and then stands over his shot for 20 seconds before pulling the trigger.  Or the one who takes FOREVER to line up his 10-foot putt, only to blow it past and start all over again lining up his 12-foot putt.  Been there, done that.

Unraked bunkers.  I have enough trouble hitting a ball out of a bunker without it landing in someone’s footprint.  The rake is there for a reason people!

Late for a tee time.  It’s a busy Saturday.  All tee times are booked, and some guy shows up five minutes before his tee time and asks if he still has time to hit some range balls.  NO!  You snooze, you lose.

Talking during my backswing.  Years ago, I occasionally played with a guy named Chad.  Chad was a talker.  By that, I mean he talked seemingly nonstop, oblivious to the fact that his one-sided conversations never stopped, even on the tee box.  Finally, when a few stares, a head shake, and the other players’ appropriate, respectful silence failed to make Chad aware of his rude and discourteous behavior, I reached my limit.  As I teed up my ball and initiated my setup, hoping for a long, straight drive, Chad began talking… again.  I stopped and turned to face him.  He looked up, now keenly aware that the irritation on my face was directed at him.  “Chad,” I said, with a measured control of politeness, “When I hit it, you zip it.”  For the rest of the time I ever played with chattering Chad, it only took one brief moment of eye contact on the first tee to see that Chad did have a pause button.

Golf commercials.  Whether they appear in the latest Golf Digest Magazine or as one of those annoying pop-ups on Facebook that tout the latest golf aid to reduce your scores, lengthen your drives, or make one-putts more frequent, these tempting offers overpromise quick fixes.  If I bought every device that promised to save a few strokes, I should be shooting 54 by now.  It reminds me of 19th-century snake-oil salesmen who hawked magic elixirs promising immediate health benefits.  Today’s snake-oil hucksters peddle their miracle solutions through flashy marketing, claiming to instantly fix your slice or add 30 yards for only $99.99.  

Repair your divots and ball marks. There is a simple guideline here.  If you scar the fairway or the green, fix it.  Golf etiquette 101. Respect the game.  Respect the course. And, most importantly, respect the players that play behind you.  Don’t create grumpy golfers by leaving a trail of divots on the course and unrepaired ball marks on the green.

Yet despite these sources of irritation, I guess it’s time to admit the obvious. I am addicted to this game, grumpy though I may be. One perfect drive, one pure iron shot, one long putt dropping, one birdie moment… that’s enough to keep me hooked. No pun intended. Yes, I randomly think about the changes I need to make to my swing. I remember every birdie. I replay good shots in my head. I’m already planning my next round. I’m still tempted to spend money on the latest golf aid or device I see on Facebook. 

I think golf addiction and grumpiness go hand in hand. 

I may be a certified member of the Grumpy Old Men Golf Club, but I am also a realist.  There are days I hate golf, especially when I step up to the 1st tee as a normal person and walk off the 18th as a mental patient.  Yet I am ever hopeful that tomorrow’s round will, once again, find me enjoying the game, the course, and the camaraderie that comes with playing with friends. 

So, I ask myself.  “To golf or not to golf?”

What a stupid question. 

I am okay being a grumpy golfer.