One of the beauties of golf is the memories that it creates.
I’ve played a great deal of basketball in my time, for example, but singular games of basketball rarely etch themselves in my mind. There are a few, of course.
Last second victories and defeats.
Games in which I went to war with an opponent under the basket.
The time my best friend ran me into a wall – head first – during a game played as a part of my bachelor party.
The game that ended in a fist fight between me and Paul Theroux at Roosevelt Park. The other game that ended in a fist fight between me and Pail Theroux at Roosevelt Park. The game that ended in a fist fight between me and Paul Theroux at Tupperware Park.
I could list a dozen more. Still others involving fist fights.
But golf has a singularity to it. Every shot has the potential to create a memorable moment. Every conversation has the possibility of becoming unforgettable. You see and hear things on a golf course that remain with you forever.
My friend, Dan, began playing golf with me and my friends a few years ago. In the midst of that first season, he noted that we seemed to have a story associated with every inch of our favorite golf courses. No matter what tree we stood beneath, what pond stood beside, or what green we stood upon, we had a story.
It’s true. Golfing makes memories.
On Sunday, for instance, I played golf with my friend, Jeff. As we walked the course, we talked about a number of important and trivial things. Many will ultimately be forgotten, but at least two will be remembered by me for sure. Moments of conversation that were meaningful enough to last a lifetime.
We watched an older man proceed – once again – to cut ahead of every golfer on the course (including us), playing through every group like he owned the place.
Fodder for another fist fight story, perhaps, if he wasn’t so old and I was a little stupider.
On the 14th hole, we halted our tee shots to allow a coyote to sprint across the fairway. A couple minutes later, the coyote returned, sprinting in the opposite direction.
“Probably went to the store for milk,” Jeff said.
I watched in disbelief as Jeff put five balls into a pond on the 16th hole, including three from the drop zone. This is something I am perfectly capable of doing myself on any given day. In fact, another friend later reminded me that I put 6 consecutive balls into a condo complex well off the fairway and out of bounds while playing in Bermuda last February because I got stubborn and refused to alter my swing or take a drop.
But Jeff?
This never happens to Jeff. He rarely puts a single ball in the water. I’ll never forget it. The resulting 13 on the par 3 gave me an unprecedented lead in the match with just two holes to go.
I then lost that lead and ultimately the match when Jeff sank a long par putt on 17 and I did not, bogeying the hole. Then on 18 I botched my chip onto the green by overthinking things, then I two-putted for a double bogie.
Jeff parred again.
I lost by one stroke, even though Jeff was 10-over-par on a single hole.
Another memorable moment that he will never allow me to forget, even if I tried.
There are many reasons why I love golf, but one of them is the possibility that every every swing and every step might yield a moment with a friend that will last a lifetime.
