‘Getting back into the swing of golf is worth it’

The American author Kurt Vonnegut told a story about the joy of going to town to buy an envelope.

While his wife wondered why he didn’t bulk-buy a box of envelopes to save himself the hassle, he looked at his excursion as the chance to meet people and experience life.

“The moral of the story is, is we’re here on earth to fart around,” he said.

“And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don’t realise, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals.”

I would never claim to be a writer in the same stratosphere as him but I try to apply some of the same principles he mentioned, especially when it comes to buying books.

I’m lucky to have some great independent bookshops near where I live and the beauty of looking for one thing is that you’ll probably happen on another.

On a recent trip to Bandon Books Plus, the title I was looking for was not in stock – Gerry Fitzgerald, the genial Kerryman who runs the show, will always order in what is requested – but I happened upon a 30th-anniversary edition of To The Linksland, by Michael Bamberger.

While the golf section of my bookshelves is well-stocked, I had never heard of this one before – somewhat shamefully, given the various glowing testimonials therein.

In the book, Bamberger recounts how, newly married, he and his wife Christine spent most of 1991 in Europe, first as he caddied for touring pro Peter Teravainen and then as he went on almost spiritual journey of rediscovery, at famous courses as well as those far from the beaten track.

A good writer can make you feel the same things that they feel and, as Bamberger described the oneness with nature he found while playing at St Andrews, Auchnafree, Dornoch and Macrihanish – where he broke 80 for the first time since he was a teenager – I felt the familiar pull towards the fairways.

Bloodsport in my 20s

With reporting on GAA incompatible with playing any team pursuit to a level of commitment beyond the occasional five-a-side, golf quickly took hold as my bloodsport in my 20s – my age, but also the area where the handicap began to head during a necessary prolonged period of suffering before things began to click and there were some welcome falls.

I won’t resort to well-worn clichés about golf being an allegory for life in that it’s not always fair and you have to deal with the bad bounces and just get on with things.

What I will say is that what brings you back – apart from the one guaranteed good shot in the last couple of holes, which is like a gateway drug – is the desire to test yourself and find a way to improve. There are no team-mates to blame, or hide behind; just you, trying to get a ball closer to a hole that sometimes feels a bit too elusive.

Most of my mid-to-late 30s saw work and family life understandably relegate golf back down the list of priorities. Each year would bring a new resolve to justify the financial outlay but, by and large, the golf wet gear and umbrellas saw more action covering matches in the rain than in their intended habitat.

But this year will be different – and writing that publicly puts that bit more pressure on to deliver on the promise.

Already, I’m catching myself taking practice swings with the mop and visualising the perfect round when I’m supposed to be working. The weather hasn’t played ball yet but that only increases the anticipation.

You might think that, when I do get back out there, I’ll be putting too much pressure on myself to perform but that’s the other part of the resolution: to simply focus on the next shot and then to let it go.

The weather-enforced downtime has brought my back to another book, The Inner Game of Golf by W Timothy Gallwey, and rather than getting bogged down in technical thoughts, he promotes staying with the ‘back-hit-stop’ of the swing to avoid thinking of anything else.

Ideally, the year would involve exploring the great Irish links at places like Waterville, Ballybunion, Carne, Portmarnock and Portrush, but we won’t raise expectations too much.

Above my desk in the office – where I notionally do most of my work but which has realistically been relegated to second behind the kitchen for the multi-tasking reasons that have restricted golfing opportunities – I have a framed picture of Paul Broadhurst hitting the opening shot of the 2009 Open Championship.

I’m not a massive fan of the English journeyman or anything but I love the image for a couple of reasons.

On the one hand, there is the fact that this is the oldest and most storied professional golf tournament in the world but there is barely a handful present at that hour; but also, the dawn light imbues the image with a sense of new beginning.

There’s always another round to look forward to and it is that one, that next shot and the perfect swing, which is the one you’ve been waiting for.