By Kyle Roberts

Golf and I have a complicated relationship.

I’m the kind of person that tries not to do anything, unless I know I can do it well. I see it in my firstborn all the time — we get frustrated if we try something new and I doesn’t work. Failure is never an option (which comes with its own challenges of being acutely risk averse).

But golf? It’s different — even though I’ll likely be a 20+ handicapper for life (that’s a “golf” way of saying I’m terrible), I’ll never stop playing as long as I can.

In the decades that I’ve played (throw out the 10,000 hour rule here), I’ve rarely seen any improvement. In fact, find another golfer who can significantly improve his short game over a summer and some how score worse. You can’t.

So why keep doing it?

Well, it shouldn’t surprise you to know that it’s not about golf: it’s about the company.

Recently, I stood on Swilcan Bridge, a holy site in golf mythos in the middle of the 18th hole on St. Andrew’s Old Course. Nestled right by the North Sea in the Kingdom of Fife, it’s the oldest golf course in the world. My loving wife made sure that for my 42nd birthday that we would get to walk the hallowed golfing grounds.

And in the 45 seconds standing on the bridge, I had the chance to reflect on my own golfing journey. Early on, my hacking was infused with rage. An errant shot would be met by some unkind words or even a club thrown. I broke my dad’s K-Mart graphite 3-wood at the old Tech golf course when I wrapped it around a tree as a teenager (he’s still salty about that one).

Any golfer will tell you that anger is among the worst things you can be while playing. I swam in it like a shark.

Time, though, has a way of softening us all. Time and, well, playing with Jim Oakes.

Jim and I have been playing regularly for nearly five years now, though not as much this summer due to my schedule. In the early few rounds we played, I felt my face flushing at bad shots or misread putts. Besides being my former boss when he was the athletics director at Louisiana Tech, he also was my former Sunday School teacher.

Cussing and throwing clubs was no longer an option.

Jim modeled being super even keel and mellow, and just the kind of golf partner I needed. We’d both hit some questionable shots and, gradually, my internal anger stopped. “Onward and upward” is our new motto.

Now, I count myself lucky when I hop on the golf course, even knowing that it won’t be a sub-85 round. And it’s not just Jim — there are dozens of great people I get to play with frequently. Golf has turned from trying to be the very best (mission: impossible) to now enjoying my time with friends, cracking jokes, and making lasting memories.

So the Swilcan Bridge for me was my time to give honor to the golf gods who have chosen to remain silent in my pursuit of a better golf game and lower handicap.

Because they’ve given me a better gift: a great time with great company.

To all my golfing buddies, and you know who you are: I can’t wait for our next round. Onward and upward!

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