The Handicap and the Ego

Whether you find comfort on the links or on the couch watching the Masters, golf season is here for everyone. With the new season upon us, I’m sharing an essay from July 2023 about how this delicate sport can make us fragile, coming to grips with the illusory feeling of mastery.

Enjoy!

On July 5th, 2022, I had achieved personal greatness. The fireworks from the previous night had halted, but on the golf course - Saddleback Golf Course in Firestone, CO - I had recreated my own. My final putt on the 18th hole nestled at the bottom of the cup, completing my 72nd and final stroke of the day. This 9 handicap golfer had just completed his first ever even par round. I wrote another article to dive deeper into the specifics of that round; But for this piece, just note that achieving this benchmark associated with the height of recreational golf bestowed a newfound responsibility, as if I had received a rare key to unlock greatness.

From my even par round, I wanted to harness the enlightenment from “perfection” by becoming an even greater player. Succumbing to the itch any golfer would have after shooting a personal best, I practiced at the range even more diligently and astutely than before. Much to my delight, months of great golf continued. 

I encourage you to imagine a prototypical romcom montage. The different clips display the progression of a couple's relationship evolving across sunny, summer settings - perhaps with a gleeful Beach Boys ditty playing in the background. This joyous passage of time best represents my ensuing two months - a spree of good vibrations spread throughout many beautiful courses across the country. 

I trekked to courses in Western Colorado, Utah, Ohio, and Pennsylvania - all while playing the best golf of my life. 

Like a traveling showman mesmerizing the friends I visited, I continued my mastery on their home turf. In a total of 26 rounds, I shot in the 70s 21 times - dwindling my handicap down to a 4. 

The final vestige of this scene was in late September. I was in Pittsburgh for a work trip and my boss invited me to the gorgeous Pittsburgh Field Club - the first private club and best maintained course I had played throughout this run. With fairway contours and intricate hazards unlike the public courses I had played, not to mention greens as fast as Augusta, I had one of my most complete rounds ever - shooting a 79. Before the first tee, I had talked a big game to my boss and by the final putt, I had backed up my word. I remember walking into the clubhouse absolutely beaming - I had indeed become a great golfer. 

Montage fades out ...

When I returned to Denver, the changing autumn weather brought an excessive amount of wind. Not necessarily one to enjoy golf in 20 mph gusts, I only played once in the next two weeks - a relative relapse for someone who was just on a bender. 

Later in October, my dad flew out to Denver for the Jets-Broncos game and we kicked off our weekend with a beautiful sunny day of 45-degree Front Range mountain golf. (Because of the elevation, a sunny 45 feels closer to 60). 

I was excited about playing this course with my dad, but after playing a few holes, something about my game felt amiss. I was playing “fine” - a game with the same tepidness as one uses to respond to small talk. In other words, no six footers were trickling in and I was missing greens en route to frequent 2 putt bogeys. 

I shot an 82, but within that score I never put a string of great holes together. There was no heat check or flow state; I never truly got comfortable with the swing and hence I played alternate bogey-par golf.

It’s easy to let go of one mediocre round, but this type of play soon became a concern. Come early November, I had already played a few more discouraging rounds, as my scores trickled from the low 80s towards the mid 80s. I felt like something negative was percolating.

No panic button yet. It was something benign - an issue that required a tune up, not a tear down.

Over the next two weeks, I took three lessons. The initial two lessons addressed my iron play - which had been affecting my approach game and making me utterly hopeless on Par 3s. The third lesson addressed a more recent burgeoning issue of the driver yips.

In the previous two rounds, I had duck-hooked some tee balls which were extremely detrimental - leading to penalties that raised my score. My once faithful draw off the tee had become so inconsistent, I was now ready to accept the reluctant dive for a new driver swing all together. As if pursuing a new haircut, I requested the new high, tight fade - the one the cool kids, aka the Tour Pros, have. My instructor advised me to tee the ball higher, open my stance, and center my clubface at impact. What could go wrong!

Given some early snowfall in mid-November, I was relegated to practicing this swing indoors - using only Trackman data and “feel” as barometers for this new swing’s progress. But soon enough I’d be able to play on the course, as I was headed to Sarasota, Florida for Thanksgiving to see my folks…and obviously to golf.

I flew out of Denver International Airport Tuesday night before Thanksgiving, anticipating the tee time my dad had booked for tomorrow. What I was apprehensive about was the tee time itself - 6:45 am. Aka 4:45 am local time.

Barely conscious because of the jet lag, my dad woke me up for golf with my body thinking it was 3:30 am. 

He and I paired up with two of his friends, both of whom had already heard about my golf skills. I aimed to backup the rumors and exceed their expectation, like I did with my boss in Pittsburgh, but my focus had predominantly shifted towards playing with this new driver swing. I step up to the first tee - new tee height, open stance, the whole kitchen sink. And wouldn’t you know it…. The ball went 50 feet. 

You can think of a second montage - the one where Benny Hill theme music follows me throughout the round - one senseless tee shot after another. Hooks, dribbles, popups to the infield - I was physically everywhere and existentially nowhere at the same time. 

When the agony finally culminated in a score of 84, I initially felt fortunate that some of the generous football-field wide fairways prevented that number from being a lot worse. 

Throughout the round and during post-round drinks, I continued to battle the internal dissonance golfers face when they’re “working on a new swing” but still have pride to uphold on the golf course. I know I need reps with this new swing, but I also expect to play well. I can’t separate the “work in progress” self from the “work is completed” self.

For the first time, I thought about my ego and how it was fumbling this juxtaposition. 

On the twenty minute drive from the golf course back to my parent’s place, I tried comprehending everything. Initially dabbling in minor ruminations about the day’s round, I proceeded to bear overarching concerns about the my game’s recent six week plunge. I then took a birds eye view about this whole golf endeavor - what’s the point of working hard to play well if it becomes sound and fury? Perhaps I should’ve spent fewer hours golfing and tried other outdoor activities, like mountain biking or fly-fishing

I arrived back in my parents’ place with this negativity silently simmering. All of a sudden, with a trigger I can only imagine forming from a wave of sleep deprivation, I snapped. 

My delirious mind morphed into that of an angsty teen - the confusion had manifested into rage. I went to my room to wallow in darkness, but even with shades drawn it was too bright. I opted for the windowless closet and sat isolated for 45 minutes - blasting heavy thrash metal in my Airpods. 

I wish I could tell you that this overly dramatic action was rock bottom and the “man in the hole” story arc begins to bend upward here. And yes, it was rock bottom….but only for my juvenile behavior. My golf game continued to hit new lows. 

After Thanksgiving I flew back to Denver but, almost masochistically, I returned to Florida a month later for Christmas break to try this golf-thing again. The situation got even worse. My golf swing had lost all semblance of coordination, tempo, or rhythm. I carded a 91 at my parent’s local course and at a few more luxurious courses I shot the classic score of I’m not keeping score anymore - which means I would have scored over 100. 

With those rounds early enough on vacation, I figured that was enough punishment. To hell with this sport! Time to focus on family, beaches, and other non-soul sucking activities.

Let me enjoy the warm weather, because soon enough I’ll be back in cold Colorado - which mercifully means no golf anytime soon. 

Happy New Year!

I began 2023 by shelving any swing-related practice, but that didn’t mean relegating the idea of golf altogether. I wanted to carve out time to analyze, in a calm and nonjudgmental manner, what happened during this plummet from grace. 

How did a mid-70s scorer who had control over his game become a hacker? How did the guy who prided himself on two years of devoted play and practice become no different than your buddy who plays five times a year?  

I thought it was most important to find the root of the frustration - why this poor play wreaked havoc on my emotions. Turns out that my golf ego, in alignment to my identity, is tied to my scores and handicap. Therefore, this undoing of my identity had become a very unsettling and dissonant feeling. I needed to dissociate scoring from this identity.  

I also learned that this ego had disallowed me from separating my two on-course selves - my “practicing” self and my “ready to play” self. Back in November and December, I was trying new swing techniques and should have treated my play like a pitcher treats Spring Training; Admitting that some margin of failure is inevitable in the pursuit of fixing a skill.

On the range, it feels great to practice because any failure to launch won’t penalize me. But on the golf course, if I hit a ball out of bounds, it leads to a double bogey. Meaning I’m unfortunately already halfway to my handicap…maiming that ego of mine. 

I reflected on my response towards playing poorly, finally seeing how this anger was preventable. It had culminated as a snowball of frustration, building upon itself with exponential detriment. 

Perhaps I would’ve been best served to reflect on this frustration a few months prior, because then I could have avoided this unnecessary spiral. It would have behooved me to compartmentalize the frustration into separate domains: 1) the frustration of my play regressing and 2) the frustration of, now knowing what I need to do, not being able to execute. 

Unfortunately, I had compounded the frustration and lumped it as an overarching “frustration towards golf”. This discombobulated headspace led to an all-encompassing anger towards golf which bred worse shots - leapfrogging from just the lousy driver to chunking irons, blading greenside chips, not committing to putts. 

Anger is truly a cloud for the mind, preventing me from clearer comprehension and a barrier from seeing any light. 

This time of reflection where I let out all my insecurities, grievances, and labels was much warranted. It can stem beyond golf, but of other aspects of life. Whether one loses a job, gets out of a relationship, fails in areas one’s been accustomed to succeed ... your identity of feeling king is shattered. 

What’s wild is you still don’t know the power of time and resiliency. If you feel like you lost your identity, is this loss permanent? Could it be a temporary disappearance or a slump?

In this time of crisis, I let go of my ego - not just my golf ego, but my stubborn personal ego. By stepping out of my own head I was finally able to listen to what friends, dad, and my golf instructor had been telling me for months: “You didn’t lose your ability to play excellent golf. You just need some time off.”

The January winter was brutal - one of the coldest in Denver’s history. During previous years, I was able to golf in 30 degree weather, but the relentless snowfall piled on, shutting down courses for weeks. Without the option to even contemplate playing, I was able to focus on skiing and other snow activities. 

The harsh winter was a blessing in disguise, because it took my mind off golf altogether. This put me in a placid mindset with an acceptance that once golf season approaches, I’ll revisit some of these ruminations about the state of my game. 

A month later, with a current clearer headspace and without a fervent obsession, I was ready to plan a pathway to improve. Still shying away from anything relating to holding a club (lessons or hitting balls at the range), I purchased Arccos - a data feedback device that tracks your on-course shot dispersion and yardage, also functioning as a virtual caddie. 

Enter mid-March and with hints of Spring around the corner, I start golfing again. Given my love of numbers and this desire to quantifiably track improvement, it shouldn’t be a surprise that I took up golf mid-March not because the weather was necessarily nice, but because March 15th is the official start of the Colorado Golf Association’s season. In other words, my scores would officially count towards my handicap. 

I continued to understand how the chase for a low handicap had eaten up an unhealthily large slice of the pie chart of why I play. 

Therefore, I began to switch it up - no longer playing from the back tees, but from the next tees up. 

It’s worth noting that after my immaculate round last year, I began playing from the tips. Not just because I felt like my game at the time warranted it, but because playing from the farthest tees helps the handicap. It’s counterintuitive because the longer the course, the harder it should be to score. But my logic was if I shoot the same score from the tips instead of the up tee box, my index will go down 2-4 strokes. 

Playing the course at its longest length was always about my handicap. But now, instead of acting from what will help me with the lowest index differential, I targeted what will help me enjoy golf more. 

With peace of mind on shorter holes, it was enjoyable to find my drive closer to the hole and have more stress free shots. I was quietly regaining confidence in my game plus something about being on the same tee box as my friends provided more time for camaraderie, jokes, and ball-busting - harder to do that when I’m teeing off 40 yards behind them. 

I was putting together good holes which turned into good strings of holes. There was a trend of playing a good first six hole or even front nine, only to falter after the turn. To prevent this dropoff, I thought about increasing my stamina - so I started lifting weights and running more. 

I got in better physical shape and stronger back nines followed suit. Plus the analytics from Arccos were giving me guidance. By showing me that I was 5 yards shorter on average for all my clubs, I adjusted accordingly and hit more greens in regulation. 

Playing closer tees and maintaining high willpower for all 18 holes - my scores were circling back to the ideal number. 37s and 38s on nine hole rounds; 78s and 79s on eighteen hole rounds. 1-3 birdies a round, 0-1 double bogeys. 

Slowly but surely, by mid-June, I finally recognized the player from a year ago. 

By realigning my identity and subduing my ego, I had learned to love the game again. Within all of golf’s turbulence comes reward. 

Through this I had resurfaced as a great golfer again. 

So there it is - the eventful, chaotic, whirlwind of a full year since I shot even par. 

The fact I had reached heaven only to come back to earth (with a pit stop in hell) taught me the correct approach to return to glory. 

When you’re grinding to get to the top, it’s effort that matters most. But enduring lessons for sustained growth are learned through failure. 

Having said that, I still wish this year didn’t have quite the oscillations of highs and lows. I would’ve loved this past year’s rounds to be a smooth voyage without a plot of riches-to-rags-to-riches. 

I could have happily written this from an alternate universe, where throughout the year I remain a 4 handicap, deciphering some different morals along the way. Or perhaps I’ve become a scratch, competing in US Open qualifiers. 

But no matter how good I can be, my understanding of golf is that you’ll go through streaks and slumps, with inconsistencies as rapid as one round to the next. After all, that’s why the USGA handicap comprises only 40% of your rounds (your top 8 scores out of every 20 rounds).

As I’m writing this in real time, I check my previous article and notice I didn’t write the word “ego” once. Removing that word is symbolic of achieving my highest level of enjoyment on the golf course, which in turn will allow me to play my best golf. 

I just need to do a better job of reminding myself next time I’m playing poorly, that it’s just a funk, not a permanent endgame. So long as I take care of my attitude and take responsibility for my practice, only my ego can get in the way of my potential.