“I golf, therefore I am.” This quote is not attributed to any philosopher in particular. Most of you will come up with it on your own (while slamming Bud Lights and trying to amuse yourself during a six hour round snail-trailing Jack Hack and Shirley Shanks-A-Lot.)
But after your clever philosophizing turns to impatience and then anger (it takes one more beer and three more shanks from Shirley) you will inevitably start asking yourself, “Why do I do this every weekend?.. It costs me hundreds of dollars, most of my pride, and years off of my life!”
I’ll tell you why – It’s in your blood. Golf is a barbaric, atavistic sport disguised to look civilized and sophisticated. But au contraire, my fancy waggling Jay Gatsby, you are not the first man to run around in the wilderness swinging a club. You are just a little better dressed.
Neanderthals Were the First Golfers
Neanderthals weren’t the first Homo sapiens to walk the earth – they were just the first ones to hang around long enough to really enjoy themselves (thanks to some clever tool making). The poor folks that preceded them only stayed a short time, never making much of themselves. If they could communicate with one another they probably said something like “Man alive, these deer run fast!”
The tools you use to wack that ball around the links every weekend are slightly less crude than those used by the Neanderthals. Moreover your life doesn’t depend on you steadying your nerves and draining that 3 foot putt (that will finally beat Frank and quiet his incessant yapping.)
Gog, on the other hand had a little more pressure. He’s had to slump back to the cave and explain to Mrs. Gog why the family is stuck eating rabbit poop again.
“Look Honey, I almost had it. I made a really good swing – I just barely missed it!”
“Oh no, not again! Did you keep your head down?”
Only after hours of painstaking practice, (and tips from every caveman in the neighborhood who thinks they know the secret) Gog would realize that if he could control his emotions, release all tension in his muscles and not swing over the top – he could be very successful. Soon he was hanging out in the clubhouse preaching his own tips and yapping relentlessly.
Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow
Then one day as easily as it came, it just went away. How could something he had just mastered disappear overnight? It was like he never came home with one single rabbit, deer, or poached salmon with grilled onions and capers.
Miserable and disheartened he would tell all of his friends he was quitting and put his long spears, sharpened rocks, and wood-shafted clubs on Craigslist. Only to later come to an epiphany (after a nice bottle of Cavernet and some twigs and cheese.)
“It’s the challenge that I miss. (Hiccup.)” He would tell Gogget. “I can never master it, and it drives me crazy, but I love trying. I am a hunter, therefore I hunt!”
“That’s nice dear. Does this mean we don’t have to eat anymore sticks?”
