If you ask me:
We of the media can’t stop anointing every hot young kid who comes along, declaring him the next great player. Makes for a story but look at how many of them just settle into the pack. A magazine editor once asked me if I wanted to write a story naming college hotshot Scott Verplank as the next Jack Nicklaus. I said no. Thank heavens, I said no.
Luck doesn’t get enough credit. Which reminds me of a clever line I read somewhere: Bad luck follows him around like a loyal dog.
If you can’t beat everybody within 50 miles of home, maybe 100 miles, don’t bother turning pro and trying to make it on the tour. Get a job, if you can find one.
Expensive golf balls are better than cheaper ones, no matter what the ads say. That’s why they cost more.
Golf is finally wising up about its shoes. All these years it’s been about style in footwear. Now it’s more about comfort. After all, it is a game, not a tea party.
A fellow sufferer named A.P. Herbert nailed it when, in 1935, he wrote, “It is clear that the game of golf may well be included in that category of intolerable provocations which may legally excuse or mitigate behavior not otherwise excusable.”
Had Jean van de Velde won that British Open that he butchered so wonderfully, we wouldn’t remember his name today.
We fuss when we hit into trouble but trouble shots are the most fun to play.
If you were to put a face on golf, it ought to be Arnold Palmer’s.
You have to figure the tour could use some more panache when wearing two golf gloves is considered colorful.
