For those of your who are not golf fans, I'll begin with a bit of recent golf history. A 40-year-old recently won the prestigious British Open, something that has been left to the younger generation of golf giants. Being of the age of 50 myself, it was great to see the old guy make good one more time. It also reminded me of a time when my father was that old guy trying to win one last time.
My father, for the last 20 years of his working life, was a golf course superintendent for a small course in Kentucky. He often referred to himself as "a high class dirt farmer." He grew up on a poor scrap farm, the oldest of 11 children. The ragtag assemblage of the family and their circumstances can at best be described as dirt poor. My father was also quite a competitive and successful sportsman. As a young man, he played baseball on a couple of semi-pro teams until his knees and back gave out.
At the ripe age of 34 he took up golf and that in turn circuitously led to his becoming a golf course superintendent. For anyone who has played golf, you know the frustrations of the game. You also know practice does indeed make perfect. My father rarely had time to practice between a 16 hour work day and being a father to four children.
So, it was somewhat surprisingly when I noticed my father carving out 15 minutes here and 20 minutes there to hit balls. He always was a decent golfer but never a great one. Being a youngster, I couldn't figure out the angle until it was the week before Labor Day. I realized my father had set about qualifying to play in a well respected and highly competitive match play golf tournament at his course. This came as a surprise to those who knew him. Even more surprisingly, he qualified to play in the championship division.
Over that three day weekend, my father got up at 4 a.m. He then came home six hours later, cleaned up and went back to the course to play his matches. To his credit, he won matches his first and second day to make the elite group of four for the final day.
On the final day, he again was up at the crack of dawn and did his day's work. Then, he when back out to face his toughest opponent yet, a strapping and strong 18-year-old with a slamming swing. The match fascinated the crowd. There was never a difference of more than a stroke throughout the match. It ended even after 18 holes. So, they went into sudden death, and that's when it happened...the responsibility of being the golf course superintendent and the desire to prove something clashed.
Two things spelled disaster for my father's carefully manicured greens, often referred to by many as the finest in all of Kentucky. He didn't want to forfeit so he did what he had to. He played the first hole of sudden death and at the end of putting pulled out the hoses and hand sprinkled the green for the time it took his opponent to walk to the next tee, he sprinted from the previous green to the next tee and continued for four holes of sudden death. At last, my very exhausted father missed a make able four foot putt and lost the match. I thought of my father as I watched the British Open and saw the "old man" win and just cried, for I knew he could have made that last putt.
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