McIlroy is Human, Golf is Inhumane

All of us who have ever chased the little white ball around the greener pastures can certainly relate to Rory McIlroy when he walked off the course at the Honda Classic.  Golf is like that. Whatever personal problems or foibles or quirks one might have are always revealed on a golf course.  Golf is cruel.  The game will expose you, sooner or later.

Need examples?  A hot head will eventually throw his club. A passive type will lay up.  A neurotic will miss a two foot putt. The bold will go for it. The dumb will do the same. The patient will shake it off.  The impatient will compound the previous mistakes.  Get it? Name a character trait and there is a situation in golf that will reward, or exploit negatively, whatever demon or virtue which lies in each individual personality.

Will Rogers said, “I never met a man I didn’t like.” Alan Massengale says, “I’ve never met a man that I didn’t know, after eighteen holes of golf.”

The most famous golf walk off was of course Bobby Jones at St. Andrews in 1921 at the Open. In the 3^rd round at the 11^th hole he was in the bunker.  And after four swats at it, he was still in the bunker.  “Cheerio old boys, I’m outta’ here,” Bobby said at the time.  Or something like that.

You see, the early Bobby Jones was not the most gracious golf god who ever lived.  He was a petulant hot head.  The British Press said at the time, “Bobby Jones is a 19 year old boy.  An ordinary boy.”

Rory McIlroy is no boy.  But he has risen to number one in the world at an astonishing young age.  He’s 23 now.  This means it hasn’t been the usual development for him socially or personally at all.  Unless you consider normal the fact that the majority of his life has been spent hitting 100 buckets of ball a day since he was knee high to a cat’s butt.

He’ll be fine if he will remember what my father once told me on the golf course when I wanted to walk off.  You see, my fiancé had just broken off a relationship.  (There are rumors McIlroy is having female relationship difficulties, but who knows.  It’s probably a combination of many factors). I was playing like crap through nine holes.  And, as an aside, my father’s favorite thing was to play golf with his son.  This was not working out.  So, at the turn, he asked, “What in the blue blazes is your problem son?”

I told him about the girl.  And I waited for his worldly, cuddly, sage understanding and guidance through my tortured and obviously distraught demeanor.  You know, maybe big hug or something?

Dad said quite succinctly, “Well, son, that’s too bad.  Hit the ball.”

I broke out in a laugh.  And then I played a great back nine.  There, in a few words, is the essence of life to me.  Just keep hitting the ball.  Everything will work out.  Right Rory?