A FEW RANDOM (OKAY, WEIRD) OBSERVATIONS ABOUT GOLF HATERS

by Doug McAllister

What's in golfers to hate? I ask you. The more I am involved with golf, the more I learn that there is a rather large society of golf haters and haters of golfers out there. No? Well let's chat about that for a minute.

I first became acquainted with animosity toward golf and golfers shortly after I began playing the game. My paternal grandfather, a lovable old mountain man/cowboy/rock hound, apparently hated and disrespected golfers. I didn't know it, though, until I had the bad luck, one day, to ask him where the local golf course was.

Grandpa lived in the little, one-horse town of Delta, Utah and, at the time, the city had a little 9-hole track "down by the rez (short for reservoir)." The designer of the local cow patch was said to be, apocryphally, none other than Billy Casper. I was never able to substantiate this, but that was the word on main street Delta. Unfortunately, shortly after the events described here, the rez apparently flooded, washing away the little course and any reference to who might have designed it. Casper or otherwise. But, back to my post.

When I asked where I could find the course, Grandpa's face took on an exaggeratedly "pinched" expression. I doubt that I could have coaxed such a look of disdain from him had I informed him that I was joining a hippie commune in Los Angeles! After eying me up and down and up again, with a tear in his voice he asked, "Are you a...golfer?" He disappointedly dropped his eyes, shook his head, inaudibly mumbled something, gestured violently to the southwest and began to walk away. Had his wife not stepped in and demanded that he give me exact directions to the course, I doubt I would have been able to find it and been spared one of the worst rounds of my golfing experience — my fault. Not the course's! The point is he hated golf and, it wasn't too much of a leap to assume, he hated golfers as well!

Since then I have noted here and there a tendency on the part of many to hate those of us who are obsessed with "spoiling good walks!" Aha! Mark Twain! Potentially another golf hater!

One of the most interesting statements about hating golf and hating golfers comes from the inimitable Country Lawyer, Gerry Spence. In his book, How to Argue and Win Every Time, Spence unabashedly notes:

" I am prejudiced against bankers because of their spite toward the poor, which is a reflection of their own deep, abiding and ugly prejudice. They will pass a starving man on the street, but give generously to the socially correct symphony (but only if their names appear on the evening's program as major contributors)."

With all due apologies to bankers, let me get to the point as Spence continues:

"I am prejudiced against golfers because any given group of golfers is likely to include a lot of bankers, or friends of bankers, and because golfers, on the whole, are as boring as bankers. They offer little by way of enlightenment other than their golf scores. I argue (through my prejudice) that if on any given day God should strike all golfers on all golf courses dead — all at once — the world would likely go right on without missing a beat."

Holy Cow! Oh, the vitriol! Oh, the horror! Good thing I'm not prejudiced against lawyers (many of whom are golfers)!

So why the hate? Why the lampooning? Why the shamed disrespect. I suspect that much of it arises from the fact that golf is about as hard a game as there is. Admittedly, there are — just as in any group of enthusiasts in whatever — a few snobs and bores among golfers. Who knows why my Granddad felt the way he did. But I suspect that Mr. Spence's problem might have arisen from a bit of putter envy (can I say that?). More than likely, pursuing the lifestyle of a young lawyer, he decided to take up the game. I can imagine it. Out with his fellow barristers to enjoy a day on the links. And poor Gerry can't putt! Is it his nerves? His ego takes a beating. There is snickering in the gallery at his expense when putt after putt after putt comes up short! Oh, the agony! Walking off the course he throws his putter to the four winds and, shaking his fists at the heavens, vows he will never putt again! Not to mention that the young lawyer is sued by the own of the BMW through whose window the putter crashes. Or something along those lines. Perhaps a bit less Wagnerian (and, no, that's not what really happened!).

Whatever the reason, I have to admit that I belong to a hated fraternity. A hated association. So what is to be done? Shall I take to the golf closet, sneaking out now and again to anonymously ply my trade? What shall I do if friends notice callouses on my hands — exactly where Ben Hogan said they should be — and ask me what I have been up to? Am I to be relegated to back alley rendezvous to buy used golf balls from the kid who combs the local course for strays?

Or can I fearlessly stride into the local Wal-Mart and buy new Titleist NXT Tours (for that same kid to find a week from now)? Yes! I am here to say that I am above the hatred. I will hold my head up, attend my GA meetings and stand and loudly proclaim, my name is Doug McAllister and I PLAY GOLF!

Actually, I'll just keep on keepin' on and work as always to...

Hit 'em Long and Straight!