“I knew from the time I first saw you I was through with bar girls, and strippers, and motorcycle chicks.”
Roy McAvoy to Dr. Molly Griswold - From the movie “Tin Cup.”
Hitting the Sweet-spot:
Player’s Wives Make an Impact
“Hey, what’s up with Tiger?”
There isn’t a subject in golf, at least recently, that has been as relentlessly ground into dry powder as the struggles of Tiger Woods; specifically his performance anxiety in the last few majors, his position at the top, and the perils of getting in the “stuck” position.
By “stuck,” I mean his intention to get married.
Amidst this profuse commentary, the one angle that’s unrelated to swing geometry is the suggestion that his stunning fiancé, Elin Nordgren, is somehow responsible. Could be that some folks are still prickly at Eve for setting up Adam in Eden. Or, maybe it’s simply our society’s inclination for taking its cues from Hollywood.
“Women weaken legs!” implored Mickey, Rocky Balboa’s trainer, dismissing what that mousey little Adrien did for Rocky’s resolve and inside moves.
In “The Natural,” Roy Hobbs performed heroically with the luminous angel woman in attendance. When the sassy diva dressed in black started moving in, he stunk up the stadium.
Roy “Tin Cup” McAvoy had a beautiful psychologist fall into his lap and immediately lost his mind on the final hole of the U.S. Open.
Professional golfers, more than in any other big league sport, consistently acknowledge their wives in the success they achieve. However, the impact of a spouse or girlfriend on a competitive amateur golfer’s performance can be a bit different than what we hear from the Tour pro after he wins his first tournament and the $832,000 that makes all those days of surviving on faith, hope and “uh, oh – Spaghettios” seem worth it.
For the amateur however, the impact of a spouse can be boiled down to this: does she A) support, B) tolerate, or C) despise, his passion for the game and the pursuit of greater proficiency at it? Since this investment requires significant chunks of time and money, there are legions of women who feel quite justified spending significant time in the C camp, with - maybe - the odd weekend visit to the B camp. So, does it matter? What’s love got to do with it? “Gimmee, gimme good lovin!’”…..does this “good lovin’” make for fewer screw ups on the course?
Well, as we know, there are no such things as “gimmees” in tournament golf. And tournament golf - with its higher stakes, it’s peaks and valleys, its penchant for frustration mixed with rewarding slivers of light - is to marriage what casual golf is to, uh….casual relationships. It’s all about commitment. Spouse to golfer, golfer to spouse, golfer to short game, maybe lessons/counseling etc…..and none of it’s free.
Self absorbed competitive golfers are plentiful, but the brave women who dare to love us, unconditionally, without a martyr complex, are far from a given. Toiling amateurs and mini-tour grinders are, after awhile, not particularly appealing to women without a true love of the game, deep love for her man, or outfitted with two wings and a halo.
But love can be the pure, clean electricity that drives a guy in his E Z go past his own flaws and fears and pushes him in a direction where he can play his best golf. Love can be the seed and sand that replaces and regenerates what the game rips away, healing in its way, day by day. Corny? Far reaching? Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe it’s a little like the hokey theology in “The Da Vinci Code,” a sweet woman of goodness, purveyor of the sacred feminine, the clue to the missing piece of the puzzle – women as more than role players in the making of history as we thought we knew it. Yet, these ladies of light do not mind embracing a grace and tradition where they are only too happy to administer their unique form of feminine redemption to her man’s careworn soul - for those times when all our best efforts run afoul and lipouts abound and it rains too hard to play.
Like all that gooey stuff in books and movies; where somehow, someway, it is the unleashed power of a woman’s love that rallies her man to claim his due greatness and much pro shop credit.
Before we go too far, this should be noted. The serious golfer with the wrong woman makes for a bad partner in a money game. The serious golfer with the right woman, may still make for a bad partner but it won’t be because he’s a little jumpy over, say, having a boiled rabbit left on his porch. (The search for the right woman often uncovers a comical array of wrong ones.) And, of course, there are good players with wives in the C camp and bad players with wives in the A camp. Talent still rules and golf is not a school project.
So, the question remains and more evolve: Does the wrong woman hurt the competitive golfer’s game more than the right woman helps? How much? How?
It’s been two years since Tiger has won a major. And, it’s been about two years since he became serious in contemplating marriage with Ms. Nordgren. There’s a big difference in living with someone - as Tiger has stated in pointing to the two majors he’s won while cohabitating with Elin – and, promising to never be with anyone else ever again until you're dead. Is she a distraction? Is it s grave situation? It‘s bound to be bandied about.
For example, maybe Tiger occasionally returns a food item to the refrigerator, but… to a different shelf from whence it came? Yeah, and maybe Elin opens their state of the art refrigerator and can’t readily find the Kosher Dills because Tiger put them on a different shelf and her frustration from repeated pickle expeditions leads to her making a brief but harsh comment directed at her big bad Bengal and they squabble late into the night before a tournament, at say, Torrey Pines, and it all spills onto the golf course and Tigers caddy “Stevie” ends up advising Tiger on a program for positioning perishables which maybe distracts him from giving Tiger the accurate yardage to carry “Devlin’s Billabong” from some place far from the fairway due to a wayward stinger with his 3 wood (he got stuck) on the 72nd hole of the dadgum tournament.
Grave indeed. Watery grave - .for a Nike ball and maybe some abducted camera that “Stevie” would likely pluck from some sap in the gallery who dared to photograph a curt exchange between player and caddy. What hath these pickles wrought – and how many must suffer?
Who knows where it all can lead when married or engaged people dare to use….words, or even good judgment? My lovely and normally sensible wife once lambasted me while I was driving the family van – all for taking the shortest and safest route to Chucky Cheese’s Pizza. (Once I understood this was because she had a bad day at work, I immediately apologized for taking the shortest, safest way.) Indeed, marriage can turn things upside down.
If there is one true thing, this is it; one never knows, entirely, what someone is going through in a relationship - other than the two who are in it. And, only one person knows the true impact the whole thing has inside their heart.
But, whatever goes on in a world we cannot know, the single greatest reason so many suggest that “Elin is the problem,” is because Tiger’s Scandinavian angel has been favorably tapped by God. Because on her worst day, she easily transcends Laker girl loveliness. And, because she is undisputedly beautiful, imaginations kick into overdrive. Only reason, at all. Too much naked friction is the 19th hole throw away line, but the fabricated pickle jar crisis is probably closer to the day-to-day realities of married life. And echoes of the escalated marital discourse (arguments) resulting from those misplaced pickles can’t be in your head when you absolutely have to hit a fairway.
I have recently, and quite informally, posed this notion of a woman’s role and her impact on success or failure to a wide variety of competitive male amateurs in Wisconsin. “Does your wife/significant other Support, Tolerate or Despise your investment in competitive golf?” STD’s of a different kind…..well, maybe not so different in some cases.
To be sure, there are men who have established a virtual fortress around their golf games that, “no woman, no cry,” will ever penetrate. More than one top-shelf amateur has given me the exact same quote issued to a spouse about his commitment to competitive golf. “Don’t make me choose (honey/ darling/ dear), you may not like the answer.”
As for similar comments on the subject, some guys just say “It doesn’t matter anymore,” or “She better be used to it by now.” Some funny guys go with, “Who cares?”
Though pretty much the same words were often used, I sensed some of these statements were born from a longtime dog-whipped connubial apathy. Others commented with what I took to be a glint of spousal appreciation escaping from a face of labored non-expression. As if talking openly might jinx the delicate balance that the many waves of marriage have formed into something more precious than extra storage space.
Judging by non-verbal cues and statement follow-up noises, (chuckles, snorts, air passing through nose hairs etc…) a few seemed truly Gomer Pyle happy, (happy, happy! Happy!) Others seemed angry and resentful. Sometimes the exact same words were used - but with a different vibe – it’s all in the delivery.
One guy was scary, with a placid smile and the smooth, articulate manner in which he enunciated “it just doesn’t matter anymore….” I half expected to hear him add “….now does it Clarisse?” Hannibal Lector in a Hogan visor. Then he gazed into the middle distance, perhaps lost in the pleasure of an imaginary family tragedy.
Then there are other guys who actually took a moment to think about the question. Does your wife support, tolerate or despise your commitment to competitive golf? A few took a couple moments to reflect - then, fear taking over, asked that their name not be used.
Some of their comments:
* “When she decides to talk stupid about something just before I leave to play….I hate that. First bad shot I want to break my clubs one at a time.”
* “Golf is my thing. She knew it when we married. My thing is important.” (Rapid guffaws.)
* “I can’t stand the silent treatment when I come back from playing. Probably why she does it. Sometimes I think about it when things are going well on the course….I shouldn’t…. but then I think about the wet blanket waitin’ for me at home…it can’t help but affect your game. But….that’s my problem really.”
* “Been married 18 years. It used to be real bad. Then it was so-so. Now she’s addicted to the game, and it’s much better. Taking lessons and practicing. It’s better. Still, she never lets me forget I played on our 10th anniversary. I think she loves having that on me to this day more than she hated me playing then.”
* “I asked my wife if I could play on our anniversary in March. It was a warm day, Rivermoor was open and we had celebrated the night before. She said ‘yes,’ so I kissed her on the cheek and said ‘see ya in September.”
* “She’s very supportive. She favors the lifestyle to which she’s become accustomed.”
* “My wife is happy when I’m happy and I’m happy when she’s happy - and she’s happiest when I’m out of the house. So - I do what I can for her.”
* “When I get back from a round or a tournament, my wife gives me detailed descriptions of every chore she did around the house while I was gone. And sometimes, as I walk in the door, I’m treated to a tour de force performance of a harried, exhausted woman - dirt smudges on her face – tools in hand - reenacting some chore I was to do ‘whenever you get some time.’ I just applaud politely and say, ‘Bravo.’ Then I tell her once again that she has shown dramatic growth.”
* “Yeah, a little support would be nice…..” (Multiple) Followed, usually, with something along the lines of “…not gonna happen though. Or, “…ah what the hell difference does it make?”
* “She ain’t changing’, I ain’t changin’” (Multiple)
* “What?” (Multiple)
* “Wow. Some guys really let their wife affect their golf game? ‘Whipped puppies’ is all I can say.” (Note: this guy was later heard talking on his cell phone near the pro shop after qualifying for the State Am, He was apologizing profusely to somebody he referred to as “honey” and promising to “make it up to you….yes I will….. that shoe store…at Mayfair (mall)….Sunday…..no, I just told you, I won’t play….yes I did …I’m sorry if you don’t remember…..”) I must say, it creeped me out a bit. As I pulled out of the parking lot I saw that he was on his cell phone again. His face looked as though he had been forced to toke land-fill gases.
* “She’s the best.” (Multiple)
******
I don’t believe there is a one encompassing conclusion that can tie everything on this subject together without doing a full blown thesis. Variables abound, especially when kids are in the mix. The answers are different and changing for every couple, even when the exact same words are used. Maybe the most accurate response, unwittingly covering the most terrain in a single word is the, “What?” response.
To that end, I’ll leave you with the following story.
I had qualified to play in the U.S. Amateur Public Links Championship at Spencer T. Olin Golf course near St. Louis. It was 1999. I was playing a practice round with the infamous, portly, and nationally ranked forty-something amateur Danny Green, and a guy about the same age named Rich something. Both are from Tennessee and sounded like it - just dripping with Hee Haw.
They had several middle-aged good ol’homeboys hanging with them - to caddy and crack wise and keep things loose apparently. We were treated to some big Hees and Haws from them.
The subject of crabby wives came up and all but one of the Tennesseans prattled on about theirs. One of the guys swore up and down his wife understood the whole golf thing. The others disputed this with ruthless humor involving purported regular Saturday visits from a less than bright but supposedly well endowed Mexican pool boy they called Rickyboy Martin.
I could hardly understand them when they got the high-octane Hee Haw going, but it was hilarious nonetheless. Just hearing these guys drawl words like ‘marital infidelity’ struck me as funny as hell. My 15 year old nephew Jesse was caddying for me and he could hardly contain himself, which in turn made it harder for me to resist laughing harder. Someone said something about it sounding like I had a broken harmonica in my throat. Quite funny when said in the Hee Haw parlance.
Eventually I was asked to comment on the crabby wife subject. I said I didn’t have one anymore (a provisional marriage put into play about a year later) but that I was working on getting a new, prettier crabapple. “Someone to grow cold with”. They liked that. Yes. Me - bringing it.
Anyway, I asked the one guy who hadn’t said anything about a wife, if he too had a crabby wife. The fellas then blended hoots with their howls; like, ‘oh boy, here we go.’
The guy never even cracked a smile. With a straight face, in slow, fairly clear Hee Haw, he said, “Mah wahf ‘s mayne as a snayke and fatter ‘n Danny.”
Everybody laughed and talked at once. On a hot July afternoon, Hee Haw ha ha’s spilled all over the space we were covering between 11 green and 12 tee at the Arnold Palmer designed Spencer T. Olin Golf Course in middle of Madison County near St Louis. Then the guy continued, still the straight face, “Truth be told, when Danny bends over t’ mark his ball, if I’m lucky ’nuff t’ be in the right place….only way I can tell the difference ‘tween Danny and my wife is Ol’ Danny boy’s rumpass look downright temptin’.”
That’s when the Hee hit the Haw even harder and it just got silly after that. We were reduced to making inane jokes and laughed at everything for the remainder of the practice round. (Lipout? We decided it was called a lipout because it makes you pout. Can’t pout without a lip out.)
Immediately following our round, Ol’ Stone Face came up to me and, straight face still intact, said, “I don’t want God damnin’ me all t’ hell for talkin’ ‘bout m’ wife like I did - truth be told though - she don’t mind me golfin’ evr’ weekend, play some cards after too,” he then looked around as if someone might actually give a rat’s ass as to what he had to say, “and - well, …she ain’t never hit me neither.”
I bit my lip – hard. “Well then…” I finally stammered. “Congratulations…you’re a lucky man.”
Expressionless, he nodded once and walked away.
*******
“What?”
An impact made, through impact not made.
Profound? Maybe not, but it is telling.
Who then, can ever say, really, which way is best? What works for one couple might just be considered a misdemeanor for another. The health, humor and happiness in any relationship, of course, far exceed the importance of anyone’s relationship to par. Not that tossing in a few birdies into the rhythm of real life doesn’t have its own compounding power to make things better for everyone. There is a give and take at work here.
Ultimately, it’s that give and take that can keep a guy from “getting stuck,” and, it might just keep his wife from having to hunt down the kosher dills. Which is nice.