My Favorite Golf Stories

            The golf tour has been pictured by some as a humorless pursuit of the dollar by a bunch of young businessmen, but those of us who have spent any time with the pros, such as in the locker room while waiting out a rain delay, know this is simply not true.  Wit abounds among the tournament players and golfers in general.  Here are some of my favorite golf stories, their origins and actual characters long ago clouded by frequent re-telling.

            Ray Bolger was having a terrible time with his golf some years ago and asked his good friend, the late Porky Oliver, to give him some advice.  Porky watched Ray hit some balls, then said “Ray, I think you ought to lay off for about two weeks … then give up the game.”

            A golfer developed a wild streak and hit his ball far out of bounds.  Not having another with him, he asked his playing partner to give him one.  He promptly hit it out, too.  “Give me another ball.”  He got it—and lost it.  The same routine again.  Finally, his partner protested: “Say, these balls are expensive.”  Look,” the first guy replied, “if you can’t afford the game, you shouldn’t play it.”

            Tommy Bold once became incense when, at the age 39, a newspaper account accidentally listed him as being 49.  The reported tried to cal Tommy by explaining that it had been a typographical error.  Unbelieving, Tommy fired back: “Typographical error, my eye.  It was a perfect 4 and a perfect 9.”

            The golfer and his usual Saturday group were walking down a fairway when a funeral procession passed on a nearby road.  He paused, bowed his head and placed his cap over his hear, “That was an awfully decent thing for you to do,” said one of his companions.  “Well,” he replied, “It was the least I could do.  We were married for 41 years.”

            This is a true story.  Playing a casual round at my Bay Hill Club in Florida, I stepped on the tee of the par-three 17^th hole.  I decided to hit a two-iron, but the caddie insisted on a three-iron.  Against my better judgment, I hit the three-iron—into the water in front of the green.  “Give me the two-iron,” I said.  I hit another ball and it went into the hole.  I gave the caddie an I-told-you-so look.  Undaunted, he responded: “No, sir, Mr. Palmer.  I still say it’s a three-iron.”

            Another of the many Tommy Bolt stories.  Once, Tommy was having a particular bad time back in his club-throwing days.  Standing in the fairway of the 16^th hole, he was undecided what club to use for the 130-odd yards to the green.  He asked his caddie: “What club should I uses?”  The boy replied instantly: “The four-iron.”  Stunned, Tommy said “Why on earth would you say a four-iron for just 130 yards?” … “It’s the only club you have left, Mr. Bolt.”

            Two close friends were playing on day and one of them put his shot directly behind a big barn on the edge of the rough.  He was about to play a safe shot to the side when he pal suggested that, if they opened the barndoors on both sides, he could hit through the barn toward the green.  He tried it, the ball hit a bean, ricocheted back, struck his buddy in the head and killed him.  Weeks later, after recovering from the shock of the accident, he played that course again and wound up in exactly the same position.  Another friend was with him and made the same suggestion.  “No, indeed, I won’t do that again.  Last time, I made a seven on the hole.”

            When Jerry Barber was at the peak of his game, he had a phenomenal streak of putting success, particularly the week he won the PGA championship.  Some of the pros grumbled that he was “pretty lucky.”  Jerry, who probably worked on his game harder than anybody, had a ready reply: “Yeah, the longer I practice, the luckier I get.”

            They tell this one on Jack Benny.  He was questioning a caddie new to him.  “Do you know the course?  Can you help club me?  Will you help me line up my putts?  Can you find lost balls?”  When the boy replied that he could, Jack said: “Good.  Go find some and we’ll get started.”

            Finally, on a serious note, I have always treasured the philosophy of the great Walter Hagen about life: “You are only here for a short time.  Don’t forget to stop and smell the flowers on the way by.”