I'd always had the impression that golf was something of an esthete sport, what with the collared polo shirt tucked in to khakis with belt. And like the buttoned up dress code, I believed there was a sense of decorum that set the sport apart from others. Add to that the fact that as a child, my grandfather told me golf wasn't for girls, I was excluded from the course. I was wrong. And so was my grandfather, sort of. Here's the deal:
From yoga mom, I became golf mom. Schlepping the nine-year old boy to golf camp over the past three weeks, I surrendered to his budding interest in the sport. I know nothing about the game leaving the particulars to the boy's golf loving father. But when asked to deliver, I do. So, day after day, thanks to The First Tee with its mission to "promote character development and life-enhancing values through the game of golf," the nine-year old hit the links. He received daily instruction, practiced whacking and putting golf balls to his heart's content and he regularly played nine holes at one of the City's outlying pastoral play stations.
Fast forward to his final day when the nine-year old and his co-campers were invited to Westchester Country Club (WCC) and the Professional Golf Association (PGA) Tour's inaugural FedEx Cup playoffs. The day, thanks to Barclays, promised interaction with the pros, a look at a less scrappy course, some practice and a bag full of swag. Although inclement weather forced the group into a corporate tent, my guy was not disappointed. In fact, he was elated. He came home, not only with treasures memorializing his day in the country but also with a fist full of passes to the weekend climax. In a discussion about with whom he would share his booty, the boy's (over)joy was contagious. He said with an ear-to-ear smile, "Mom, this PGA Tour ticket is my gift to you." Perfect, I thought to myself since I don't care about golf but I do care about my boy. Time to figure out what the fuss is about.
And to the Country Club we went. While the pros appeared tidy, the fans were less so. Yankees hats, Mets caps, collarless shirts and flip-flops. Of equal insult to this mother of virtue came when a golfer hitting with his "wood," shaved the ball to the right (of the green), hit a tree, and he let loose with the language. And he wouldn't stop. Not that the nine year old hasn't heard the words before, but here we were, watching one of his idols play the game of his dreams and the guy has a gutter mouth. And then the pro spit. He repeatedly spit. A lot of guys spit. Ok, they weren't spitting on the greens rather the fringe or maybe the rough, but oooo. Next offense came when a caddy lit up a cigarette while his pro was on the green. A young guy. And another spectator nearby let one rip. Those guys holding the "QUIET" signs mustn't be referring to swears or farts.
But as in anything, there are lessons to be learned. Women are welcome on the course. I met one of the player's mothers, a professional golfer in her own right. Another woman, an athletic looking tan, blonde beauty who wore madras shorts and a tank top turned out to be a friend of one of the pros. She'd played varsity golf for her college, graduated recently and when she isn't course side, she works a desk job at a private investigation company. CSI in the making. These supporters, the aforementioned casually dressed guys and the women, were friendly, welcoming and just plain folk. Meanwhile, the golfers are focused, they are dedicated, and they've got game. Can't keep the nine-year old sequestered from some of the less savory realities of life, ie swearing, spitting, smoking, etc. What's more, to my knowledge, the golfers weren't breaking any laws like Michael Vick or other athletes have been accused as of late.
Throughout a beautiful day in the country, we were welcome to wander the rolling greens of a course that years ago might not have offered such a warm reception. The sponsors, though I'm not their target, they spoke to the everyman. To borrow from an advert in the portable loo, "Your going problem could be a growing problem," "if you aren't going, you aren't growing." So, to the nine-year old, I say, go and grow young golfer. Since I can't beat 'em, guess I'll join him. It's inclusive after all.