A Game Unlike Any Other
The Field Review: TFR-049
I’ve talked before about my habit of finding hobbies.
Like most kids who grew up in the early-2000s, I feel like I tried every sport out there. Standard ones like T-ball, flag football, basketball and soccer. But I also wandered into less traditional ones like ice hockey and lacrosse.
But there was one sport that I tried on multiple occasions, and hated it every time.
Golf.
I don’t remember who signed me up for the Licking County Junior Golf Association, but I somehow found myself on a tee box with no idea how to swing a club. I was in a fun foursome with some classmates, but I was by far the worst golfer in the group. Most of the time, I just picked up my ball mid-fairway to keep some semblance of pace.
It was bad.
To add to my frustration, my family held an annual golf classic every summer to celebrate my uncle’s birthday. My dad, uncles, cousins, and I would meet at a local course and play a round together.
This was around the same time I added a few four-letter words to my vocabulary, and the golf course became the perfect place to test them out. During these outings I was told to play “happy golf,” which usually meant tee off, drive the cart, then meet everyone on the green for what amounted to 18 holes of putt-putt. I was basically a golf cart chauffeur with a bad attitude.
One of the last times I played, I swore I’d never touch a golf club again.
And I meant it.
Until I didn’t.
For years, I believed in Happy Gilmore’s apt description of golf, that it required ‘goofy pants and a fat ass’ to be good.
That was until a good friend invited me to join a scramble for his bachelor party. (Ken, I blame you for this addiction.)
Determined not to embarrass myself, I went to the range and asked for two jumbo buckets. That’s roughly 350 balls. My hands started blistering around ball 150 but something clicked during that first session.
I still wasn’t good, but after hitting a few surprisingly good wedge shots… I was interested.
Golf Is Boring
I’ve seen a couple people on social media (including Substack) say golf is boring, expensive, or a waste of time especially when it coincides with hunting season. These are the same people who will sit in a tree stand from sunup to sundown without seeing a single deer, dressed in hundreds of dollars of camo with a four-figure bow in hand.
I hate drawing obvious comparisons, but there are so many to draw.
Golf, like hunting and fishing, requires exacting focus. It’s not just about executing a physical motion. It’s about being fully present in every moment. You have to quiet the noise, settle your breathing, and let your body do what your mind has already rehearsed a hundred times.
You have to notice the small things. Your body positioning, the slope, the wind direction because the margin between success and failure is razor-thin. Too much tension, and you blow it. Too little, and nothing happens at all.
There’s no room for distraction. If your head isn’t in it, you’ll miss your shot literally and figuratively. And if you’re playing by the rules, you only get one shot that counts. No redos. No mulligans. One swing, one chance.
Like bowhunting, previous mistakes have no bearing on your next shot. You don’t get to carry over frustration. You don’t get to make excuses. You just reset, and go again.
Golf is also a sport that rewards problem-solving. When you end up in the bushes, behind a tree, or stuck with a bad lie, you don’t get to start over. You have to find your way out of trouble, one stroke at a time.
Every golfer makes mistakes. What separates the good from the bad is how they recover.
Golf is you versus variables. You versus the moment. You versus yourself.
Last week in The Field Review I wrote about competing with yesterday’s version of me. That whole piece could’ve been about golf, but I held back because I knew this one was coming. Timed, appropriately, with the final round of the Masters.
The Pinnacle of Golf
The Masters is the closest thing golf has to a Super Bowl, except it lasts four days, and more than half the world has no idea it’s happening.
It’s not just a tournament. It’s a time capsule. The same course, the same jacket, the same white jumpsuits on the caddies. The same azaleas blooming behind Amen Corner. It’s the only major championship played at the same venue year after year, and with that repetition comes reverence. Augusta National doesn’t evolve with the times, it forces the times to slow down once you get inside the ropes.
There are four majors in golf. But the other three—The Open, The PGA, and The U.S. Open—feel more like conference championships. The Masters is the pinnacle of golf. It’s the one win every golfer dreams of. The one every great career is measured against. You can win the others, and you’re a major champion.
But if you win the Masters, you’re immortal.
Everything about the Masters is intentional. You don’t buy your way in. You hope to win the ticket lottery. You don’t scroll through dozens of ad placements or hear shouty commentators fighting for airtime. There are no naming rights, few logos, and no distractions outside of the game. They could have cashed in a hundred times over. But they don’t.
Augusta National doesn’t just protect its brand, it protects the game itself.
It’s a curated experience in a world that’s obsessed with more, louder, faster. Inside those gates, everything moves slower. Quieter. More precise. Even the roars feel different.
And that’s the beauty of it. The Masters doesn’t chase attention because it has already earned it.
It’s one of the few places in sports where the storylines are about more than stats. There’s pressure, but there’s grace. There’s competition, but there’s a code. It’s not just about winning. It’s about how you carry yourself while trying.
Why I Play
I’ve fallen in love with the game of golf for many reasons.
Like many of my hobbies, it’s hard. Which is usually a good sign of an activity that matters. Golf rewards patience. It rewards honesty. It rewards the ability to recover after everything’s gone sideways.
It’s a game where you compete against variables but mostly, against yourself.
It’s a social game.
It’s a solo game.
It’s a game built on balance, and one that can be played no matter whether you’re 28 or 78.
And some days, it doesn’t even feel like a game.
It just feels like life.
From My Desk:
What I’m Thinking/ Doing: Surprise, watching the final round of The Masters. Pulling big for Rory McIlroy to win this afternoon and finally complete the major Grand Slam.
On Deck for Monday: Back at it. Did you know that workplace productivity oddly drops 97% during Masters Week? That’s weird. But I could definitely see myself getting more stuff done this week.
From The Field Review Archives:
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Venture Onward,
Jack
Enjoyed this, Jack. I’ve never played golf and absolutely hate watching it. But I will say, the Masters is a bit different. Every golfer pours everything they have into playing well there. I’m sure most every pro golfer who has made it would say they have played their best golf at some point during the Masters. It seems to bring out the best in everyone and it makes for some amazing golf.
And Rory won! I don't usually watch golf, but did so today with my hubby. It was a worthwhile way to spend our afternoon. I'll never be a golfer, but my dad and brothers love the game, as do you. Great article.