A Good Day for Bad Golf | The Denver Driver
For about 15 years, our friend Pat has put on an annual golf tournament, and Henry has had one of the best jobs in the field. He’s the “cart girl,” driving around and handing out d
For about 15 years, our friend Pat has put on an annual golf tournament, and Henry has had one of the best jobs in the field. He’s the “cart girl,” driving around and handing out drinks. He loves it, and we love having him there. But somewhere along the way, Henry decided he wanted to play, too. The problem was that the idea terrified him. Being around a bunch of friends on a golf course was one thing. Having those same friends watch him try to hit a golf ball was another. Pat got us together to help. We chipped in with used clubs and got Henry lessons, and suddenly playing in the tournament became a real possibility. So did the possibility, in Henry’s mind, of embarrassing himself. As we got closer to teeing off, I could feel how much pressure he was putting on the day. I wanted him to enjoy this thing we’d all helped him get started doing. I had a music playlist ready and kept the jokes going, trying to make the first tee feel a little less intimidating. There would be bad shots. We all knew that. I wanted him to know they wouldn’t ruin anything. And when they came, they didn’t. We laughed them off and encouraged him. There was no reason for a missed shot to become a big event. We were out playing golf together. I played really well that day. Calm, confident, comfortable. I wasn’t spending much time wondering why. I was enjoying myself. Then I went to Red Rocks Country Club for Links Fore Liam and apparently brought an entirely different golf game. For the first 12 holes, I couldn’t get much of anything to work. I was slicing, which I never do. Then I’d duff one or top one, and whatever I thought I’d figured out from the previous shot didn’t seem to apply anymore. I kept looking for something to adjust. By the time I stood over the next ball, I had too many possibilities in my head and very little confidence in any of them. I told the couple paired with us that I was having an off day. That was the calm version. Inside, I was starting to freak out. I couldn’t understand how something I’d done so comfortably in one tournament could feel so unfamiliar in the next. Somewhere in all that frustration, I thought about Henry. I hadn’t needed him to hit good shots for us to have a good day. I’d been happy to help him laugh off the bad ones and keep going. But now that I was the one struggling, every shot seemed to require an explanation. I was trying to solve my golf swing while also trying to enjoy a round, and the solving was taking up a lot of room. It didn’t help me play better to keep interrogating every miss. It also wasn’t especially fair to give myself less patience than I’d so easily given a friend. Remembering that didn’t instantly straighten out my shots. I was still frustrated. But I was also at Red Rocks on a gorgeous fall day, playing with a couple I was enjoying getting to know. Even while I was playing badly, there were plenty of reasons to be glad I’d come. I had a few drinks at the turn, and I did feel more relaxed. Eventually, over the last six holes, I started playing well again. I’d love to tell you exactly what changed, but I don’t know. There wasn’t one adjustment that unlocked everything, and I’m not going to give myself credit for some great mental breakthrough. It took me most of the round to settle down. What stayed with me afterward was how much easier it had been to make room for Henry’s bad shots than my own. Before his round, I’d put thought into the music, the jokes, and how to help him feel comfortable. I wanted him to leave wanting to play again. That seems like a pretty reasonable thing to want for myself, too.
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