Old Golfer Quotes

The Sometime Sportsman Greets the Spring by John Updike When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens, And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing, Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing. This year, he vows, his head will steady be, His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal; And so they are, until upon the tee Befall the old contortions of the real. So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from Hibernal months of television sports, Perfects his serve and feels his knees become Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts. Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss, Which shall be high, so that the racket face Shall at a certain angle sweep across The floated sphere with gutty strings—an ace! The mind's eye sees it all until upon The courts of life the faulty way we played In other summers rolls back with the sun. Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.

Tennis is the sport in which you talk to yourself. No athletes talk to themselves like tennis players. Pitchers, golfers, goalkeepers, they mutter to themselves, of course, but tennis players talk to themselves—and answer. In the heat of a match, tennis players look like lunatics in a public square, ranting and swearing and conducting Lincoln-Douglas debates with their alter egos. Why? Because tennis is so damned lonely. Only boxers can understand the loneliness of tennis players—and yet boxers have their corner men and managers. Even a boxer’s opponent provides a kind of companionship, someone he can grapple with and grunt at. In tennis you stand face-to-face with the enemy, trade blows with him, but never touch him or talk to him, or anyone else. The rules forbid a tennis player from even talking to his coach while on the court. People sometimes mention the track-and-field runner as a comparably lonely figure, but I have to laugh. At least the runner can feel and smell his opponents. They’re inches away. In tennis you’re on an island. Of all the games men and women play, tennis is the closest to solitary confinement, which inevitably leads to self-talk, and for me the self-talk starts here in the afternoon shower. This is when I begin to say things to myself, crazy things, over and over, until I believe them. For instance, that a quasi-cripple can compete at the U.S. Open. That a thirty-six-year-old man can beat an opponent just entering his prime. I’ve won 869 matches in my career, fifth on the all-time list, and many were won during the afternoon shower.

People who don’t play golf pro to envy their golfing neighbors, admiring it as a nifty game you can play to a ripe old age. What they don’t understand is that we don’t keep playing because we can; we play because we don’t know how to stop. It lands in our hands for just a moment before slipping through our fingers, and we grab for it again and again. It’s a shell game, a music man, a three-card monte from which we can’t walk away. Once in a while it glances back at us, and it’s achingly beautiful. A siren? Perhaps. But those sailors at least got the closure of wrecking on the rocks. Golfers find the rocks and just drop another ball.

Sit with this painful comparison for a moment. In a predominantly Muslim country, a brand-new church pioneered a kingdom work that saw thousands of new churches organized in two decades. Meanwhile, in a country where religious freedoms are legally protected, many denominations—with thousands of paid clergy, vast resources, hundreds of thousands of members, and beautiful buildings—saw a decline in their numbers across the board. It’s a bit like being an unsuccessful lifetime golfer and watching video of a five-year-old child hit a hole-in-one. You’ve worked your whole life and have never achieved what someone just starting out has already achieved.

The crowd began to murmur in the indistinguishable syllables of backstage banter. As the ball ascended, so did the volume of the murmurs. Words could be made out. Then phrases. “Lovely golf stroke.” “Super golf shot.” “Beautiful golf shot.” “Truly fine golf stroke.” They always said golf stroke, like someone might mistake it for a swim stroke, or—as Myron was currently contemplating in this blazing heat—a sunstroke. “Mr. Bolitar?” Myron took the periscope away from his eyes. He was tempted to yell “Up periscope,” but feared some at stately, snooty Merion Golf Club would view the act as immature. Especially during the U.S. Open. He looked down at a ruddy-faced man of about seventy. “Your pants,” Myron said. “Pardon me?” “You’re afraid of getting hit by a golf cart, right?” They were orange and yellow in a hue slightly more luminous than a bursting supernova. To be fair, the man’s clothing hardly stood out. Most in the crowd seemed to have woken up wondering what apparel they possessed that would clash with, say, the free world. Orange and green tints found exclusively in several of your tackiest neon signs adorned many. Yellow and some strange shades of purple were also quite big—usually together—like a color scheme rejected by a Midwest high school cheerleading squad. It was as if being surrounded by all this God-given natural beauty made one want to do all in his power to offset it. Or maybe there was something else at work here. Maybe the ugly clothes had a more functional origin. Maybe in the old days, when animals roamed free, golfers dressed this way to ward off dangerous wildlife. Good

Maybe the ugly clothes had a more functional origin. Maybe in the old days, when animals roamed free, golfers dressed this way to ward off dangerous wildlife.

The first driver is Novelty. If everyone has already heard of it and it is not novel, there is no reason to refer it to someone... You can actually have Novelty be present in some degree with almost any product, all the time, even old established products... It needs to give people a chance to tell their friends and family about this distinction that makes them look good, because their friends and family would not have heard of it before. ... The next aspect is Utility. In other words, will the majority of the people you mention it to have a use or need for it... Whenever possible it is best to target networks that are both broad and deep. A broad network is one with a large number of members. The more critical aspect however is depth; this represents the frequency of communication within this network or their structures for sharing information. An example of a network that is relatively quite deep would be golfers. Not only do fellow golfers frequently discuss their sport, they have magazines, television shows, newspaper columns and specific locations to indulge their interest. ... The third characteristic is Dependability. If something is seen as unreliable or inconsistent, you will not refer it. Why not? It would not make you look good. It is not that it is 100% failure free, but rather that it performs exactly as expected.... The fourth characteristic is Economy. Economy does not mean cheaper necessarily. It is just that it has a better value and you get more of what you wanted out of it. Very often what you get out of Economy is image. We are not really buying products and services, we are shopping for approval.... Strangely, a Hummer is going to be economical for some people. There are very few vehicles that get the kind of attention a Hummer gives.

meeting and three hundred people showed up. They said, ‘We don’t care how many Japanese die of pneumonia, we don’t want your bloody changing room.’ Every change is resisted, regardless of its merits. So Beveridge is not a popular chap.” It would be hard to imagine Old Tom getting worked up about changing rooms. He was a man who walked to the sea every morning, including the winter months, and went for a quick dip—three strokes out, three strokes in. It was his elixir. Then he’d walk across the first and last holes of the Old Course, dripping, and return to his flat above his shop. “The Old Course is a phenomenon,” Beveridge said. “The New Course is a better course, per se, a better test of golf, but you cannot convince the people of that. It is simply not the Old Course. People have been conditioned by books and articles on the Open to think of the Old Course as truly the Home of Golf, as the course every golfer must play, as Mecca. They come here with this great feeling of anticipation, with this idea that they’re going to savor their every shot, and document a goodly portion of their round on film or videotape. They must complete every hole, no matter what kind of score they run up, so they can have all the boxes in their scorecard filled up, so they can keep their scorecard. They’ll say, ‘I shot a hundred and thirteen on the Old Course, and I counted every last stroke.’ “The ultimate beauty of the Old Course is that it is not fair, and in that it approximates life. You can do all the planning you like, but in the end the Old Course has the final say. If you make a shot, you must accept the outcome. You can’t play it again. That is preparation