For anyone that knows or plays the game – Golf is hard. Like, really hard…

A close friend of mine once said to me that golf “ruins more men’s lives than whiskey”. I have to say; I don’t disagree with that statement. With golf being a $75 billion/year industry compared to that of a $70 billion/year industry on total alcohol sales (not just whiskey!), it seems like the numbers do add up to support that statement. From the equipment, travel, and those oh so pesky greens fees, it certainly can cost a pretty penny to take up this hobby. Not to mention, if you want to get better, you’ll need to pay for lessons!

My intention here is not to evaluate the game of golf. For just one moment, I want to take off my analytical hat and simply tell you some of my earliest memories of this hobby and what the game means to me. I don’t want (nor do I have the ability) to weigh the pros and cons of the sport by using examples of case studies that measure the environmental impact golf courses have on a local ecosystem nor do I want to attempt to understand the economic impact the game does for the tourism industry. Instead, I’m going to recall how it all began for me…

I wish I could remember the first time I picked up a golf club the same way everyone knows when Tiger Woods picked up his but what I can tell you is that most of my earliest memories of the game can be tied to a single person: my father. For as long as I can remember, Saturdays had been his most coveted day as that was the day he would go out and play world renown golf course, The Olympic Club; a beautiful plot of land in San Francisco’s southwest corner build along Lake Merced, one of the city’s 3 natural lakes. 

It was around when I turned 12 years old was when I actually swung a club and hit a golf ball for the first time. I don’t remember who asked who first, but I knew I was very excited to be a part of that aspect of my dad’s life. In the basement of our house, which resembles more like a cellar where you can barely stand up, was where my dad would keep old golf clubs, golf bags, shoes, balls, and any other paraphernalia you could think of golf related. Also of note, this area happened to be the place of his epic wine rack of wines he had collected over the years, with some bottles several decades old! Anyway, it was this dark and dusty cellar where my curiosity for the game must have been sparked and I started out using whatever clubs he had down there.

I started out accompanying my dad at the Olympic Club and having the unfathomable privilege to be able to hit an occasional golf shot with him on such a world-famous golf course. In conjunction, I believe it was the place in Southeastern Massachusetts we had been going on summer vacations to, which happened to have a golf course so easily accessible was probably the catalyst to ignite my passion for the hobby. We rented a house that you could literally step out the front door and walk on to the first tee of the golf course. What a stroke of luck there!

All of the sudden, it has been 25 years since that time in my life going down to that basement for the first time and picking up one of those old hand-me-downs that my dad let me use.

Today, it’s my competitive nature in wanting to be better and better each time I go out that has been my fuel for keeping me playing. As the years have gone on and the many dollars I have now spent on the sport, I can start to see where that quote my friend once told me can become a reality… I certainly hope I don’t start hitting the whiskey too hard now!

Being able get my score down is another story perhaps in another reality…