Chipping Away at Self-Esteem Is Part of the Fun of Golf

It’s been said that a person’s true character is revealed when playing golf, but don’t you believe it. There’s some wiggle room. A recent outing leads me to conclude that my personality has been grossly misrepresented, all because of certain golf course tendencies. I’m here to set the record straight, just in case you stumble upon me on a local course.

This all began when I overheard a friend, with whom I played last weekend, telling another of our friends about our golf game. She went on to describe (leaving nothing out) my various bursts of fuming and muttering, pouting and sulking, putter-tossing and driver-smashing. Based on that, she told our friend that I had had a terrible Saturday afternoon on the course.

She couldn’t have been more mistaken. To the contrary, I had a great time. In fact, I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever had a terrible time playing golf. Maybe some of those days in Nebraska when it was 45 degrees, but never in California. Some of my most enjoyable moments have come on a golf course with friends. Next to hitting the snooze alarm, it may be my favorite hobby.

Yet, my friend’s insistence that I was miserable forced me to re-create the round in my head and try to imagine what it looked like to her. I remembered the 4th hole when I was just off the green in regulation and then stubbed consecutive chip shots. I remember saying something to her along the lines of, “I can’t begin to tell you how much I despise myself right now.�

On another hole, after yet another pitiful shot, I said something like, “No one who has played golf as long as I have can possibly be this lousy. I stink!�

After missing another makable putt, I turned to her and said, “A simply pathetic excuse for a golfer.�

I vaguely remember stalking off one green, lugging my bag to the next tee box, dropping it to the ground with a ceremonious rattle and turning my back on my other three playing partners, who had already maintained a safe distance. To them, I probably resembled the golf course equivalent of the troubled loner--the Unabomber and Lee Harvey Oswald rolled up in one tightly wound bogey-shooting package.

The coup de grace may have come on the back 9. If memory serves, I quite possibly made reference to the fact that I was retiring from golf, effective immediately, and that no one would ever see me on a course again.

That was what my friend saw last Saturday. After reliving the highlights of my round and then considering her remarks to our friend, a light went on in my head: “Hey, she believes that stuff I say out there.�

I realized that what I take as mindless yammering, she takes as a true reflection of my state of mind. When I say I’m filled with self-loathing after flubbing a bunker shot, she feels bad for me and wants to ease my pain. All it means to me is one more bad shot in a lifetime of bad shots. To her, I probably sounded like a guy on the brink. I’m probably lucky she didn’t call the mental health authorities to pick me up at the 18th green.

I told her not to take me so literally. “It doesn’t mean anything,� I said. “It’s just blather.�

That seemed to make her feel better. She was happy I wasn’t miserable.

I went back to my desk, though, and immediately felt miserable. Gosh, if she thought I was having an awful time, she probably was, too. She just wanted to go out and have fun playing golf, and she winds up playing with a self-loathing psycho. How much fun could that be?

Without trying to, she taught me a lesson. I’m going to be more guarded in trashing myself on the course, if only for the sake of others. When I start hating myself for lousy shots, I’m just going to keep it to myself.

When playing with strangers, it might be a good idea to hand out something resembling a business card on the No. 1 tee.

The card could say something like: “During the course of today’s play, Mr. Parsons may exhibit childish outbursts of self-directed anger or frustration. He may even go so far as to say he hates himself. He doesn’t. What he really means when he says that is that he’s displeased with his last shot. Please, do not take anything he says seriously. It’s just his way of letting off steam.�

As for my friend, she just has to learn that when I say I’m having a terrible time, that only means one thing:

I’m having a great time.

Dana Parsons’ columns appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.