Scott, my golf guru, has said many wise things to me on a golf course. Swing thoughts and strategy and decision making.
He has also advised me to “grow the legend” wherever possible.
This means that when faced with the choice of a safe, high percentage shot or an exceedingly difficult, low percentage, possibly remarkable shot, always choose the latter. Even though your score might suffer, scores are quickly forgotten.
Remarkable shots are remembered forever.
I like this philosophy a lot.
Here’s the problem:
My legend isn’t entirely legendary, at least when it comes to the golf course, and quite possibly throughout much of my life.
In the years I’ve been playing golf, I’ve killed a bird mid-flight with a tee shot. Hit a duck on the side of a hill. Hit a ball that traveled 130 yards on a 90-degree arc around a stand of tall grass, over a pond, and into a pipe on the other side. I’ve hit the side of a barn. Hit the side of a house. Hit myself with a ball twice on a ricochet off a tree.
I once hit six consecutive shots into a condo complex in Bermuda, each shot landing within several feet of the other. I’ve hit multiple balls into multiple ponds, streams, and rivers many, many times.
I once hit a tee shot that somehow ended up 100 yards to the right, slightly behind me, onto a green where four guys were putting.
“Putting for eagle?” one of them asked with a smile.
I once hit a ball out of a sand trap straight up into the air. I looked up and couldn’t see the ball, so I asked my friend, Andrew, who had been watching the shot, where it had gone. Then the ball came back down, landing on the brim of my hat, resting there for a moment, before gently rolling off my hat and into the divot that I’d just made.
Andrew witnessed the entire thing and might still be laughing today.
I’m legendary on the golf course, but not for the reasons a golfer wants to be legendary.
On Sunday, I had a chance to grow the legend yet again, With one hole to go, I was beating my friend, Andrew, by two strokes, playing one of the best rounds of my life despite being unable to hit my driver. It has been a long, long time since I beat Andrew in a round of golf, and a two-stroke lead is sizable with one hole to go.
It’s hard to lose or at least tie with a two-stroke lead on the final hole.
I shot an 11, growing the legend once again.
After requiring only 40 shots to complete the first eight holes, it took me 11 to complete the last hole.
There were lots of reasons for this disaster:
An errant tee shot put my ball under some trees off the fairway, which wouldn’t have been disastrous except the ball was also in a hole, making my second shot a miserable little thing.
My third shot was fine, but now I was facing a blind shot over a hill. Andrew told me that there was a stream on the other side and advised me to lay up. I heard “stream” and thought that even if I hit a bad shot, the chances of landing in a stream were low.
I hit a less than ideal shot, walked over the hill, and discovered that Andrew’s “stream” was a large pond.
He had forgotten that it was a pond.
Outraged, my next shot barely made it across the pond, requiring me to stand in the muck on the other side and hit my ball out of leaves and mud It was such a ridiculous spot that Andrew thought I should take a penalty and drop. I chose to hit, and though I managed to get the ball out onto the fairway, it traveled only 10 yards.
Eventually, I three-putted for the first time that day – mostly because I had lost my mind – for my 11.
A truly legendary hole.
Beating Andrew would’ve been fantastic.
Finishing with a 44 or even a 45 would’ve been excellent, especially considering I failed to land a fairway with my tee shots.
But somehow, Scott is right. Growing the legend, even when that legend isn’t one of excellence, is probably the way to go. Had I beat Andrew on Sunday and managed my lowest score ever, it would’ve been thrilling and even memorable, but somehow, the 11 seems better four days later.
I grew the legend on Sunday, as my guru Scott advises.
Just not the kind of legend that most people – including me – really want.
Here’s Andrew’s pond, by the way.
