Weekend Wisdom: A Word to the Whys

by Victor Williams

As my middle daughter turned 10 years old in late February, I flashed on a thought that’s most likely only meaningful to me, but I’ll lead off with it anyway: She and this column enter their second decade simultaneously, sort of.

As deeply as I can dredge in a brain that no doubt would resemble a recently aerified green if suddenly yanked from my skull — full of holes but thankfully oxygenated — I got in on the ground floor of Fairways & Greens (in those days, the logo sported an ampersand rather than the cool “plus” we use today) in the winter of 1997, as an unpaid editor-writer-whatever, a part-time job that grew into the rewarding, maddening, expensive, creative, standing-on-the-edge-scary full-time gig it is today and has been since 2000.

That May — 10 years, three ownership changes and 65 editions ago — we published the first edition of what is now known as FG Magazine. Back then, it was a newsprint tabloid of 12 pages, and we harbored delusions of printing the thing monthly (we did for a while, sporadically, before settling on bi-monthly). “You should write a column,” said the publisher, who became my partner and then former partner. “You’ve been playing golf forever, and it would be a great start to each issue.”

I’m paraphrasing, but he was right. I had been playing forever — 25-odd years — and no doubt had a thing or two to say about this damnable, beautiful game. And some 90,000 words down the road, I’m still saying them, for better or worse.

I’m also gearing up to immerse my two young daughters in everything golf — save my infamous temper, which I have unfortunately passed down to them in other ways and is now showing up in my son, a hard-working college kid whom I plan to treat to Pebble Beach this summer for his 21st birthday. His calm, come-what-may on-course demeanor as a youngster was the subject of This Space a few years back (he was the teacher, I the “Ivan the Terrible” student), but lately I’ve witnessed him chuck a club or two, and it fills me with shame — not for him, but for the fact that it was no doubt my stupid behavior back in the day that seeps into his attitude now. There’s still time to pull him back from the dark side, even though I’ve got one foot there myself, and probably will ’til doomsday.

OK, enough about my kids. We’ve got bidness to attend to. As Weekend Wisdom hits the Big Ten-Oh, I’m ready to distill for my progeny, and for y’all, what I’ve learned as I’ve penned it — about the game, its place in the world and my place in it, those who play it for blood and glory and the many, many more who play it for love, and why, in the end and for all time, it matters so damn much to us. Call it my version of Letterman’s Top 10 ...

No. 10: The Golf Gods Dole Out Good and Bad Bounces in Equal Measure — It doesn’t seem that way after you’ve just gone double-double-triple to close out a round, but a couple days removed and you realize just how lucky you were to be able to card those nasty numbers at all, especially if you happened to card them at Pebble Beach or Cascata or Coeur d’Alene. I certainly can’t complain. This little ol’ magazine has availed me, and my cohorts, of many a round at the greatest tracks in the West, and those in more than a few in far-flung destinations, too. My somewhat skewed golf writer’s advice? If an epic tee time comes your way, don’t bitch, just play, even if it’s poorly.

No. 9: Friends Made on the Golf Course are Friends Forever — And that goes for people you’ll probably never see again, too. Whether I’m researching for a travel piece or just out there for grins, I treasure the many chance pairings with strangers. I’ve often taken the liberty of mentioning them in this column when they just didn’t fit anywhere else. And hopefully I’ve done them justice. One thing’s for sure — if I ever land in their neighborhood, I’ll have a game. Likewise for them.

No. 8: People Covet My Job — In fact, I have probably the second-most slobbered-after job in the world, or at least Golfdom, second only to Steve Williams’ gig or maybe the guy who gets to shoot Natalie Gulbis’ calendar. “You play golf and write about it for a living? Man, that’s gotta be rough,” comes the inevitable response from virtually every one of the above-mentioned “new friends” after I tell them what I do. And I always feel strangely ashamed, like I’m stealing or slacking or bucking the system. I just nod and smile and always stop short of replying that, yeah, it’s fun, but as co-publisher I also get to worry about ad revenue and deadlines and paying bills, and often I’ll go months without picking up a club. What’s that? Stop my whining? I guess you’re right ...

No. 7: If You Take Yourself Too Seriously, You’re Dead — Or at least ridiculed and exposed as a hopeless boor. Anyone who’s read This Space on a regular basis knows that in my world, wit isn’t exactly the soul of brevity, but it is, I believe, the essence of readable golf journalism. Now if I could only play the game with the same self-effacing spirit, perhaps I’d be better company.

No. 6: The Passion Player — Each time I sit down to write, I do my best to pour into each word every ounce of emotion and raw passion that I can muster. I suggest you do the same every time you tee it up. Writing about golf isn’t just my job, it’s an absolute gift, and I get worked up about it still. The same goes for whatever you do; if it ain’t ringing your bell, do something else. And if you lose joy for the game (we’ve all been there), don’t give up. It’ll return stronger than before, usually right after a birdie.

No. 5: Golf is the Great Equalizer — I’ve had the pleasure of talking about the game with everyone from Joe Schmo to Jack Nicklaus to Tiger Woods to Donald Trump, and during those moments, we’re all the same. The playing field is level, stripped of the strata of society or wealth or power. We’re all captivated by the same crazy, stupid game, and none of us will ever beat it, whether we’re a well-heeled private-clubber or a muni rat ...

No. 4: Someday, Tiger Might Prove Me Wrong — Hell, he already is. For me, Jack’s still the man, but I’ve gotta remember that if it weren’t for Mr. Woods, I probably never would have attempted this fool’s errand of a golf magazine — nor would I be sitting here rattling on about him. He won his first Masters, and professional major, a month before FG first hit the press, and we’ve been chasing him ever since. So has everyone else. Not only is every newly-minted million-dollar man (and woman) on Tour in his debt, the entire industry is. He will win the calendar-year Grand Slam. More than once.

No. 3: Golf and Politics Do Mix — Or at least they do if, again, you don’t get too serious about it. During the 2004 primary season I made up a mock race populated not by Bush, Kerry and company, but the likes of Tiger and Couples and Big John and the Walrus. I imagined how each of them would approach their candidacy, their platforms, their constituents. Too bad it wasn’t real, and never will be. Ever heard of a former pro golfer who’s run for national office? I haven’t. I guess the world is waiting for Tiger on that one, too.

No. 2: Nobodies Make the Best Columns — And three of them came in a row just last year. There was Mary Lou Courtney, a life-long lover of the game who chronicled her golf travels through painstakingly filed photos, hundreds of them, that serendipitously came my way after death. Then there was the married couple from Central California who set out to tee it up in all 50 states by their 50th anniversary, and pulled it off with a mix of determination and simple Everyman grace. And finally there was Richard Thesing, an attorney and paraplegic who loves the game so much he’s suing some of its most powerful bodies to make sure his fellow disabled golfers are welcome on every course in America. I stand corrected: These folks are by no means nobodies, but the backbone of the game. I salute them, I thank them, and I look forward to meeting more of them as future deadlines roll my way like a slick downhill putt.

And the No. 1 thing I’ve learned after 10 years of Weekend Wisdom: There’s Nothing “Wise” About It — Who am I fooling? I’m no wiser than the day I got into this, and sometimes wonder if anybody is out there. Then a word of praise or complaint will come my way, and I welcome both with equal enthusiasm. You really are out there. You’ve really come with me this far, or maybe you’re just jumping on board.

Either way, if I can’t be wise, I can at least be thankful. See you next weekend. FG