Spieth Doesn't Know the Meaning of the Word

I know I am prone to constantly referring back to Bobby Jones whenever I talk golf. I'm not sure whether others find it annoying or not. Certainly, my buddy Steve didn't find reading Bobby's books as illuminating, or as easy to read, as I did. 

But writing style aside, Bobby Jones, as much as any other player in history, understood what was most important in playing golf, and just how much the game of golf mirrors life. Bobby's most important lesson came from Harry Vardon, who said, "No matter what happens, keep on hitting the ball." This, Bobby learned to do as well as any player who ever lived. He used that approach to golf to do what was, and continues to be, almost the unthinkable in winning the Grand Slam.

It's perhaps easy to get carried away in the wake of a performance like we saw from Jordan Spieth on this Open Sunday. It was a performance for the ages. And what did Spieth do best on this magic Sunday? He didn't drive it well. He didn't strike his irons as well as he can. He didn't even putt very well, at least for the first dozen holes. But what he did as well as anyone ever has is keep on hitting the ball in the face of great adversity. 

If you want to succeed at this game you can't be a quitter. And golf is the sort of game that often tempts you to just quit. It can be the most infuriating game in the world. You can be at the top of your game one minute, and suddenly have absolutely no idea what you are doing, and vice versa. Golf is like that proverbial box of chocolates. You just never know what you're going to get from one day to the next, from one hole to the next, even from one shot to the next. 

Golf cannot be subjected to control. You cannot make the putts drop by sheer force of will--although the great champions sometimes make it look that way. You have to accept the vagaries of the game. Look at Spieth's opening tee shot today. He striped it. He hit it as he wanted to, and on the line he wanted to. It should have bounded off the bank into the fairway. Instead it hung in the deep fescue. 

Spieth was clearly upset with his bad luck. A good shot had been punished. He was visibly distressed. But he did all that any golfer can do in the face of good luck or bad; he kept on hitting the ball. Today that patience and persistance was rewarded. And in that victory, I think, is a message for all of us. Good things can happen if we just refuse to give up. And believe me, sometimes even really good players give up, or let up. But if we have learned anything at all, in watching Jordan Spieth in action, we have surely learned that there is no quit in him. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.

Bitch Slap It

I worked in the federal prison system for more than half my life. It wasn't my dream career, but it payed the bills and has left me with a decent pension that should see me through quite nicely. I met a lot of real characters over the years. I got to know mobsters, hit men, sexual sadists and murderers. Some of them, I got to know quite well.

One guy I got to know quite well was a hit man. He wasn't exactly a noble character. But he had his own code and seemed true to it. He even went to authorities in later life and confessed to a murder just to get it off his chest. He was a guy who, if you caught him, pled guilty. He even pled guilty, as it turns out, when you didn't catch him. He was also hard as nails. 

One day, he admitted to me that he had "bitch slapped" another convict who really had it coming. This con had been picking on another inmate, and was spreading false rumours about him. The hit man decided that enough was enough, and whacked him with the back of his left hand, knocking him pretty much senseless. The "slapee" apparently had it coming and was not interested in saying who had tuned him up. He felt duly chastened and wanted to try to forget the whole thing. The hit man was upset only by the fact that he had broken his watch when he whacked the guy.

In the pen, and I suppose anywhere, getting bitch-slapped is quite a disturbing experience. Not only does it apparently hurt like hell, but it hurts your pride. Essentially, the guy slapping you is also telling you that you're not worth punching. A bitch slap will suffice.

I tell this story because you can pack quite a wallop with a back-handed slap. In fact, that's how Bobby Jones described the golf swing--a "back-handed strike with the left hand." I just posted a video today where Jordan Spieth essentially explained that this was how he struck the ball as well.

Last night I played in our Thursday Night league and, with a very abbreviated swing because of my back, was moving it out there pretty well in the estimation of one of my fellow players. He asked me how I was able to do this being as crippled as I obviously was, and given how short my swing was. I told him that I was just bitch-slapping that ball with my left hand.

I'm not sure he understood as well as he might have had he seen the con who'd been bitch-slapped. But, anyway, that's what I was doing. I was bitch-slapping that damned ball.

Confidence

What sort of attitude should you have regarding your golf game and your fellow competitors? Once again, I think Bobby Jones nailed it. Paraphrasing the Master, he said that he recognized that his opponents were good players. His attitude was: "I know you're a good player, but if I play my hardest I just might beat you."

We saw Jordan Spieth come into the Masters with an interesting attitude. He was absolutely brimming with confidence. He, with his usual candor, had told the media that he thought the other players actually feared him at Augusta. At least that's what I read somewhere, as a certain President would say. Well, I guess a good number of the other players didn't get the memo, and Jordan fizzled on Sunday with, what was it, a 75? It's great to be confident in your abilities, but you never want to let your mouth make a fool of your face.

I had an interesting experience on my last day at Wachesaw East in Murrells Inlet, SC. I arrived to sign in along with a group of optometrists who had arranged a fun tournament. I was resplendent in purple, white, and black. There was a guy at the cash who definitely had the air of a golfer. He was asking the guy behind the counter about the possiblity of getting out early, and was told that he couldn't unless he joined the tournament.

A few friendly comments were made by the optometrists about this option, and this fellow turned and looked at us and, rather arrogantly, said, "I sure fancy my chances." He obviously felt that none of us were likely to give him much of a game. 

I didn't say anything, but hoped, since I was a single, that we would be paired together so we could find out whether he could beat me. I've been mistaken for many things in my day, but being an optometrist has, at least until this moment, never been one of those things. No disrespect intended to optometrists, but I would be much more likely to be taken for a thug than an optometrist. I'm, as my father would say, a big, ugly brute.

In any event, as luck would have it, I ended up being paired with this cocky fellow and his buddy. The wind was gusting to about thirty miles per hour, and I took this to be somewhat to my advantage because I hit it low and pretty straight. I also knew the course and where to miss it which would be especially important in the high wind.

It became quickly evident that my cocky friend could play--his long-hitting buddy not so much. The cocky fellow hit his first tee shot in the woods on the first hole and was fortunate to make bogey. I made an easy par.  However, as the round progressed my opponent settled down and I had a stretch of three three putts. By the turn, I figured he had me two down. 

But, as we made the turn I stopped three-putting, and kept hitting fairways. My opponent kept hitting it in the trees and I ended up on top by a couple of shots. My wife was walking with us and I had told her about what this fellow had said. That being the case, she took a real interest in whether I could beat him. She said afterwards that he had taken a few liberties as to where he took his drops in the trees, and he wasn't playing the ball down. But, regardless of whether I beat him by one, two, or ten, hopefully the point was made to him that you shouldn't be too confident about the outcome when you tee it up. There is always someone who, on any given day, will beat you. Even if you think he's an optometrist wearing purple.

Bobby Jones was the best player of his day. But he always gave his opponents their due. In this game, no one is unbeatable. That's what makes the game so interesting. Old age and treachery may not beat youth and skill every time. But it does sometimes.