Competing Against The Old Man (Reprise)
I was recently corresponding with another writer about blogs, which prompted me to review the entries I've made in my own blog over the years. I noticed that an entry I made a couple of years ago which contained a link to a story I submitted to the Golf Canada website was no longer valid. The piece was titled "Competing Against The Old Man" and was one of the most popular stories posted on their website that year. So, I decided to post the story again below. I hope you enjoy it.
Competing Against The Old Man
My father was a fairly good golfer – not a great one – but a good one. He played to a ten handicap when I first started caddying for him when I was ten years old. We used to travel to play in tournaments at various courses in the Ottawa valley and these were some of my favourite times spent together.
My father taught me to play golf, although he also enrolled me at various junior golf camps at our home course in Renfrew, Ontario. We were fortunate enough to have the great Ernie Wakelam as our professional when I was a kid. He must have been almost seventy years old at the time, but he loved to teach kids about the game. He was a master of the short game. He could hit a simple bump-and-run up to within a few feet of the hole. But he could also hit it almost all the way to the hole, take one bounce and then stop on a dime. Next, he’d hit the shot half-way to the hole, take one bounce, check, and then release about five feet to the left. Then he’d hit the same shot and have it spin to the right. All with a seven iron, not the custom ground wedges with deep grooves available on the clubs today. It was magic.
As I grew through my teens, I would always strive to beat my father. Even though I could out-drive him by twenty or thirty yards, he was also good around the greens. I don’t know how many times I would be looking at a ten foot putt on the last hole to win and he’d be off the green facing a difficult up-and-down. He’d chip it in and I’d miss the putt. And he would win – again.
It was so frustrating. My handicap was a couple of shots lower than his, but I could never manage to beat him when we played together.
I remember the day that I finally did beat him in one of our father/son matches. He was off his game that day and it wasn’t even close. When we finished the round, I was surprised at how happy he was that I had finally defeated him. Rather than being ecstatic about the win, I felt a little sad. The bubble had burst. My hero had fallen.
We didn’t play much together after that and I never really understood why. Whenever I’d ask, he’d suggest that I go play with some of the younger guys. I wish we had played more rounds together, regardless of who won.
When Jack Nicklaus won the Masters in 1986 at the age of forty-six, I called my father and we shared the thrill of watching the “old man” get it done once again. For some reason, it felt like we were cheering for Dads everywhere to beat the young up-starts as we watched Jack on that day.
My father is now gone and I’m now over sixty years old myself. My oldest son is a golfer and the father/son competition is on once again. I’m still a better golfer than he is and I give him a few shots to make it fair, but that doesn’t stop him from trash-talking that it’s just a matter of time until he beats me. I won’t admit it to him, but I’m actually looking forward to the day he does. I just hope he’ll still want to play with the old man when he has to give me a few shots to make it competitive.
Competing Against The Old Man
My father was a fairly good golfer – not a great one – but a good one. He played to a ten handicap when I first started caddying for him when I was ten years old. We used to travel to play in tournaments at various courses in the Ottawa valley and these were some of my favourite times spent together.
My father taught me to play golf, although he also enrolled me at various junior golf camps at our home course in Renfrew, Ontario. We were fortunate enough to have the great Ernie Wakelam as our professional when I was a kid. He must have been almost seventy years old at the time, but he loved to teach kids about the game. He was a master of the short game. He could hit a simple bump-and-run up to within a few feet of the hole. But he could also hit it almost all the way to the hole, take one bounce and then stop on a dime. Next, he’d hit the shot half-way to the hole, take one bounce, check, and then release about five feet to the left. Then he’d hit the same shot and have it spin to the right. All with a seven iron, not the custom ground wedges with deep grooves available on the clubs today. It was magic.
As I grew through my teens, I would always strive to beat my father. Even though I could out-drive him by twenty or thirty yards, he was also good around the greens. I don’t know how many times I would be looking at a ten foot putt on the last hole to win and he’d be off the green facing a difficult up-and-down. He’d chip it in and I’d miss the putt. And he would win – again.
It was so frustrating. My handicap was a couple of shots lower than his, but I could never manage to beat him when we played together.
I remember the day that I finally did beat him in one of our father/son matches. He was off his game that day and it wasn’t even close. When we finished the round, I was surprised at how happy he was that I had finally defeated him. Rather than being ecstatic about the win, I felt a little sad. The bubble had burst. My hero had fallen.
We didn’t play much together after that and I never really understood why. Whenever I’d ask, he’d suggest that I go play with some of the younger guys. I wish we had played more rounds together, regardless of who won.
When Jack Nicklaus won the Masters in 1986 at the age of forty-six, I called my father and we shared the thrill of watching the “old man” get it done once again. For some reason, it felt like we were cheering for Dads everywhere to beat the young up-starts as we watched Jack on that day.
My father is now gone and I’m now over sixty years old myself. My oldest son is a golfer and the father/son competition is on once again. I’m still a better golfer than he is and I give him a few shots to make it fair, but that doesn’t stop him from trash-talking that it’s just a matter of time until he beats me. I won’t admit it to him, but I’m actually looking forward to the day he does. I just hope he’ll still want to play with the old man when he has to give me a few shots to make it competitive.
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