In my head, I can still see my golf buddy Gerald bent over a divot in the green grass, a small two-fanged tool in his hand, carefully repairing the groove he’d just made with his club. He always kept one available in his pocket – he was a respectful golfer – and even brought it out to clean up my spots.
He was using a divot repair tool on the depression he had made on the fairway after he struck the ball (some of us make them without even touching the ball). I was at an auction recently when I came across a bowl of them along with some golf ball markers. I doubt if they were someone’s actual collection – although five of any item, in my estimation, is a collection.
They were probably the lot of some serious golfer who picked them up the way we golfers pick up errant balls on the course. You know you’d eventually need one, so why not just take a few when you came across them.
The bowl held a handful of divot tools, and plenty of ball markers of different colors and sizes. The items advertised golf shops, country clubs and local businesses (one even had the old Bell Telephone logo). Together, they produced a travelogue of this golfer’s jaunts to test his or her game, even in Las Vegas.
The Vegas marker reminded me of a trip that my auction buddy Janet and I took some years ago soon after we completed golf lessons. We found a course – I believe it was Angel Park’s Cloud 9 – that recreated some of the most famous par-3 holes in the world. The course wore us out, but we got our confidence and spirits back when we found a municipal course that respected us as beginners.
I had never had any interest in golf – it seemed such a boring sport to me: hitting a small ball, walking the course, no fun – until I actually got onto a course, swung that club and sent the ball flying. It was an exhilarating experience to watch as that tiny ball tried to find the green, dropping as close (or as far away, in my case, which wasn’t so good) to it as possible. Then the hard part awaited me.
Boring? Not at all. Relaxing? Yeah. So what that I wasn’t great at it, but I wasn’t bad, either. The way I played it, I only competed against myself and the next swing could always be better than the one before it. In a way, it was like life; as long as you’re alive, there’s always hope that something better could be around the next corner or you could make it better.
I’ve always looked at golf that way, and because of that I’ve enjoyed the game.
Janet and I used to practice every Sunday morning at one particular driving range, manned by a gentle and patient soul named Frank. He took a liking to us – the place didn’t draw many women – and would come from behind the counter and offer us pointers on our swing. For me, it was also my putting (I was awful at that part of the game). We also got to know his friend Coach, and I tagged along with him and his buddies on a few golf outings. Unfortunately, Coach died in his sleep one morning on his sofa.
Frank never talked to us about divots, nor did our golf instructor. I suppose it was just one of those things you picked up along the way. Gerald would do it deftly, noting that it was the proper thing for a golfer to do. I’ve played at some courses with so many divots that it looked like squirrels had been crazily digging for bulbs.
I always thought divots were a bad thing, but after researching found that they were not. In fact, according to several websites, your divots can tell you a lot about your swing – and how to fix it if there’s a problem.
Apparently, there’s a right and wrong way to repair them (this video recommended that you push the ground in and not pull it up, and then pat it down with your putter). One site noted that cleaning them up was just plain good golf etiquette. I agree. Left untended, they can make the course look ratty and tacky.
Neither Janet nor I play golf as often anymore. She hurt her back a few years ago, and I think she finally got rid of her clubs and then her shoes. A left-hander, she had searched hard for those clubs. Too bad, because we really loved playing the game (well, she beat herself up a lot) – almost as much as we enjoy auctions.
I still have my clubs, my shoes and too many golf balls to count. And I still have hope that I’ll return to the game that I grew to love. These days, I just can’t seem to find the time to go hit a few balls at practice and to visit Frank. Or participate in that hospital charity golf outing I had gotten involved in a few years ago.
I could easily fall back into golfing, though, because I know someone who’s always trying to strike up a game or practice with some of us by email. Last summer, she participated in an anniversary open sponsored by the first black women’s club in this country, the Wake Robin Golf Club that was founded in Washington, DC, in 1937.
As for the divot repair tools and ball markers at auction, I didn’t buy them but I’m sure that someone did. But how many of them do you need? For someone like me who hasn’t picked up her clubs lately, none.
Great post!
Thanks, Brett.