We are all flawed human beings. We make unintentional mistakes, and I imagine no one who reads these words who has not also made intentional mistakes. Certainly, that is true of me as I write.
Golf challenges our flawed human nature. No other sport I know of holds such a high standard of honesty and integrity as golf. We have seen so many times on television that the professionals call penalties on themselves over minuscule, undiscernible violations. We stand in awe of their honesty – and then hit the links ourselves. Whether a casual round or one in competition, the call to integrity rears its head. Small and large temptations to fudge present themselves. What do we do?
I have not been perfect in this realm, but two occasions remind me of who I want to be. The first was in a club championship. It was a mediocre round. On the 12th hole (I remember it like yesterday!) I drove the ball just off the fairway in the left rough. I walked right to where my ball landed and saw it clear as day. I hit up towards the green, played the hole out to a bogey, and then bent to pick up my ball out of the hole. It was a Titleist, like my ball, but it was not my ball, as the unusual markings made clear. I froze as the dilemma presented itself. I could go on. No one else knew, nor would it really matter in the grand scheme of things. I was not going to win. The consequences of being honest were substantial. I considered my options momentarily, then told my playing partners that I inadvertently played the wrong ball. Since I finished the hole, the penalty was disqualification. I then took my ball and began the walk of shame back to the clubhouse and watched as the professional put up a large red DQ by my name on the scoreboard. My tournament was over.
The second time was more recently in a State senior tournament. I had perhaps my worst round ever in competition, starting with a triple bogey. On the third hole, I hit a slight draw that bounded left near the out-of-bounds. I teed it up again, overcorrected, and hit towards the right woods. My first ball was out of bounds by two feet. My second found its way 3 feet into the woods. I chipped out but hit a small branch, and the ball dropped straight down. I chipped out again, duffed a ball into the hazard in front of the green, and eventually three-putted to finish the hole. My playing partners knew it was a bad hole, but they were immersed in their own issues. After holing out, they asked me my score. The moment of truth. “An eleven!” “Really?” my partner said. “I had no idea.” My worst hole ever in competition. Totally humiliating. If I had said 9, no one would have given it a second thought. But I scored an eleven.
In golf, the temptation is always there. Roll the ball in the rough. Quickly take that four-foot gimme. Posting slightly advantageous scores or not posting a score. And, of course, many more egregious examples. We have all played with people who clearly fudged the rules. In the end, golf is a game, and the stakes are minimal, except for our internal integrity barometer. Who we are on the course usually shows itself when we are off the links. Fudged truth. Corners cut. Taxes minimized. Honesty and Integrity play out every day.
Golf is a visceral opportunity to set a higher personal standard. With intentionality and resolve, we can decide to play by the rules whether someone sees or doesn’t see. Then, we take that same resolve and apply it to the details of our lives, conversations, and relationships. That small decision can shape the trajectory of our lives. I wonder, had I not called the DQ on myself many years ago, what would be the downstream impact of that decision. Maybe nothing. Maybe it may have sparked the choice to do it again, and again. Golf is not only a game. Golf is life. How will we play?
