Stonebridge Golf Club : A Game of Sorrows

When you play the game for fun, it's fun. When you play it for a living, it's a game of sorrows. - Gary Player

I've got lots of loose threads to tie up. My golf group played its own version of the World Golf Championship in Mineral Springs, NC, a few miles from downtown Waxhaw, in Union County, North Carolina. For you city-dwelling Yankees, let's just say we played in the middle of nowhere, where you could hit-and-giggle to your heart's content, with nobody from the office mocking your languishing career. I understand languish.

The picture tells us why the course got its name. The "stone bridge" on the 574-yard par 5 1st hole is an homage to the famous Swilcan Bridge at the Old Course at St. Andrews. The picture is dated, so it doesn't reflect the current state of disrepair that has befallen the local version. If you visit the course as of last Sunday, you will find that weeds have overgrown the footings and there are cracks in the mortar. Large cracks. It was downright dangerous to cross that bridge because the stones are protruding and it didn't feel very stable as I stood over the creek.  All that chicken wire reinforced concrete made me feel like a real redneck.

It didn't help my mood that I had hit my tee shot OB on that hole. Still, there was a small victory in making that 20-footer to finish another ugly "shotgun" round with a pretty six. (We started on Hole #2, so it was a bittersweet ending to birdie number one, but suffer the indignity of a penalty, and last place in my flight.)

For the round, I hit two other tee shots which came to rest outside the area of intended play (Holes 4 and 7), resulting in a total of six (6) stroke and distance penalties.  There was another penalty shot at 13.  I hate penalties, but I suppose there's nothing to cry about shooting 86, considering the fact that the whole experience was so terribly sad. Ultimately, I am writing about a round of golf that was a completely subjective, inner experience. Whatever the numbers say, there is so much more that lies beneath the game.

Speaking of beneath, take a look at the "other" bridge at Stonebridge Golf Club, the wooden bridge that sits on the corner of the dogleg right 378-yard par 4 13th hole. Unlucky 13 was where I found my ball underneath the bridge pictured below.

What a laugh. You have to laugh when the golf gods imply that your game requires you to play a troll under a bridge. I took my penalty drop, so there's another undeserved lash of the whip, another stroke on the card, another story for the clubhouse, another stupid double bogey.

Why do I laugh at this divine comedy?  I might not play golf for a living, but I unquestionably sell golf for a living.  Ask yourself.  Why do the Rules penalize your mental lapses?  Why would your playing partner berate himself as a "stinking pig?"  Why, after a miserable round, would that last long putt drop?  Why would a 3-handicapper play in a flight meant for 6-10 handicappers?   Is there Honor among thieves?  What is a computer glitch, really?  Maybe somewhere, on some golf course, someone is cheating.  Whatever.

Sunday, I played with a great foursome, and enjoyed the company of an Evans Scholar, so the joys and the sorrows that make golf a game battled all day, and the battlefield is in the mind.  Despite the inevitable encounters with cool buddies and uncouth boors, one thing is certain about golf.  As Henry Longhurst said, it is an entirely voluntary affair.

The love of the game can often leave you feeling quite sad precisely because, like life, it is not intended to be, nor is it ever, fair.  It is what it is.  Without a sense of joy and a pocketful of good quotes, you will inevitably run the risk of being consumed by the game . . . and its sorrow.

© 2010 Roy Barin Santonil