EPisode 6

THE ROUND:

A short story about two friends, one stranger, and eighteen holes of advice nobody asked for. 

Let me set the scene.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The birds were chirping, the sky was clear, and the only thing on the agenda was a round of golf. 

Golf is the only activity people willingly spend thousands of dollars on despite being terrible at it. Honestly, the only thing I can compare it to is life.

One good shot can convince you everything is finally turning around. 

Men turn 25 and suddenly golf becomes their entire personality. 

You’ll catch guys taking practice swings in grocery store aisles while their wives pretend not to know who they are. 

My friend Johnny and I were headed to play a full round of golf. After five hours playing with your friends you still don’t know how things are going in their life.

Most people start golf with “How are you?”

Responses: 

“Good.” 

“Good, thanks.” 

“Another day.”

After that detailed catch up it usually becomes hours of drinking and looking for your ball in the woods.  

I met Johnny at the driving range to warm up for the scavenger hunt, I mean round of golf. 

I hadn’t seen Johnny in about a year, so naturally I was excited to catch-up. 

“Johnny, you look great man, how’s life?” 

“Good, same shit, different day. What about you?”

“Same.” 

I always loved catching up with Johnny. Within thirty seconds we had fully updated each other on life.  

We were getting paired up with a random person today, as there were only two of us.  

I hated playing with people I didn’t know as I wasn't a good golfer. We got paired with a guy named Thomas. Thomas was 65 years old, a retired therapist, and unfortunately for me, an incredible golfer. 

In golf terms, Thomas was a “Stick.” 

Calm. Consistent. Miserable to play with if you suck. 

The first hole told Thomas everything he needed to know about me as a golfer. Johnny stepped up first and hit a perfect shot, right down the middle of the fairway. The kind of shot that tells me he's probably taking lessons, but I'm not sure because he didn’t disclose that information in our detailed catch-up minutes earlier. 

Then I stepped up. 

I made contact and hooked it right... 

Right, out of bounds. 

I turned and said,

“I’ll drop with you, Johnny.”

Thomas watched silently. 

Not angry. 

Not judgemental. 

Just internal realization that his relaxing Saturday had been ruined. 

“Slow your back swing down,” he said.

Simple enough. 

The problem with advice during a round is that it causes several issues. Now instead of golfing poorly naturally, I was thinking about the advice and golfing badly mechanically. 

By hole three, Thomas decided I was his new “client” he needed to fix. 

“Grip.” 

“Tempo.” 

“Head down.” 

“Rotate your hips.” 

Every hole felt less like golf and more like I was sitting in his therapist chair. But out here instead of diving deep into my mother issues, we were diving deep into my golf issues.

Meanwhile, Johnny is playing like prime Tiger Woods. 

Thomas never corrected Johnny. Never adjusted anything. Not even suggested a minor improvement. 

By hole five Thomas and Johnny were best friends and I was just some guy who sucked at golf along for the ride. 

Johnny was opening up to Thomas like I've never seen. They were talking about their favorite courses, life, marriage, siblings, and work. 

At one point I walked back from the woods and found Thomas helping Johnny unpack his recent break up, which I didn’t know about. 

By hole eleven my score had already passed one hundred and I had fully stopped caring. Golf became less of a competition and a visit to hell alone, because my best friend was now best friends with a 65 year old named Thomas. 

By hole twelve I was three transfusions deep trying to block out Thomas from my mind. 

Then came hole fourteen. Johnny hit a beautiful shot and casually asked Thomas: 

“Anything I should fix in my swing?” 

Thomas looked at him for a moment. 

“No, it’s perfect.” 

Then he pointed at me. 

“Your friend though…he’s got some things to work on.” 

By this point Thomas started treating me like one of his failed clients. 

The strangest part was how protective Thomas had become of Johnny. 

On hole sixteen I actually hit a decent shot. Not incredible, but definitely respectable. 

The kind of shot that deserves a polite “Nice Shot.”

Johnny gave me one. 

Thomas said nothing. 

Then Johnny immediately stepped up and absolutely destroyed a drive into the wrong fairway. His worst shot of the day by far.  

Silence. 

Thomas looked away like a parent refusing to acknowledge their child made a mistake. 

At that moment I realized Johnny had fully become Thomas’s favorite son and I was the unwanted step-son.  

Then finally came the eighteenth hole. 

After five straight hours of advice, corrections, disappointment, alcohol, and emotional abandonment… 

I hit my best shot. 

Perfect contact. Straight down the fairway. Clean. Pure. 

Arguably the best shot of my life. 

I stood there. 

Nobody saw it. Not a single person on that golf course witnessed it. 

Thomas was walking to his ball with Johnny, mid sentence, hand on Johnny’s shoulder talking away. 

And maybe that’s why the shot finally worked. Because for the first time all day nobody was trying to fix me. 

No tips. No corrections. No, 

“Slow your backswing down!”

Just peace. 

Golf is funny like that.

You spend five hours humiliating yourself in front of strangers, losing expensive equipment in the woods, developing mild alcoholism, and watching a retired therapist slowly steal your best friend.

And one good shot convinces you to come back and do it all again next week.

Nobody Asked. Now you know anyway.