Dear Amateur (and let it be noted that here I include those of any gender, although by condition only ‘the common folk’): whatever your levels of self-demand, golf is one of the few things you can afford to do badly – or even extremely badly – time and time again. Moreover, you can do everything right and still lose. You have to leave perfectionism on the first tee and adjust expectations. You have the luxury of making mistakes and even being a repeat offender. No one asks you to make mistakes quickly and without costing you money as in the world of business innovation.
Nor should this have consequences on your ego (whether or not it’s that of an old rocker). Bob Rotella, the renowned sports psychologist, should insist that those increasingly uninspiring ‘welcome kits’ at tournaments include leaflets reminding you that “if you tie your self-esteem and, therefore, your confidence, to your result, the game will always dominate you.”
If you have chosen this devilish sport (or it has possessed you), surely it is for reasons other than making a living (fortunately for most of us, because it would be a financial and even emotional ruin). When golf ceases to be a pure game, somehow, the pressure is not only for excellence but is contaminated with the pure desire for profit. Just ask Lee Trevino who, with that sharp and relaxed humour, explained very well that true pressure is “what you feel when you try to make a putt on which you’ve bet five dollars when you only have two in your pocket.” And that’s not to dwell on the hardships of Ben Hogan, who for too long lost money playing golf, having to live day by day, sleep in the car, and share sandwiches with his loyal Valerie (that emotional support that is often behind every great man).
Remember, dear Amateur, that golf not only doesn’t feed you, it is not the sport of perfection and it is not fair (although it demands you act as if it were). As Jordan Spieth verbalised: “You can execute the perfect shot and still end up in a divot” (and, as far as I know, despite popular clamour, neither the R&A nor the USGA are considering changing the much-debated rule to allow the more than deserved relief). That golf is an inherently unfair sport and forces you, like Scheffler in the PGA of 2025 or Jon Rahm in the Masters of 22, to hit a mud ball in the middle of the fairway, you have to accept it as part of its magic and the challenge you face every time you start a round.
For your idea of justice to be somewhat higher than Doraemon’s, let me remind you that many thinkers throughout history have tried to define what justice is (Aristotle included). And I leave that jab there as an incentive for you to keep reading instead of returning to social media. Give your mind a break and activate visualisation, foster discipline, and finish the article because your swing will thank you. Well, in the mid-20th century, Kelsen, a famous rationalist jurist and philosopher of law, asked himself almost every morning on his way to the University of Berkeley. He was not a golfer, and that’s why he could be a very prolific writer, but if he had been, he would have also concluded that justice and golf do not always go hand in hand and that golf exposes you to an illusion of control where you can only master your intention, but not the result. When your mind expects justice and, for example, good training necessarily leads to a good result and this does not happen, my dear golf enthusiast, you have to manage the emotional dissonance that occurs and, beware, your playing partners do not deserve nor have to witness certain reactions even in the safe harbour of a highly trusted environment.
What golf has united, let not a poor management of frustration separate. Draw on calm, concentration, and connection with yourself and, whatever scorecard you sign, surely someone will appreciate the example of attitude and, if I may say, white humour (which, by the way, should not be very different from how you handle yourself in your day-to-day life).
You would not even be allowed to have such intense emotional reactions, to use an elaborate euphemism for vandalistic, like those of Koepka in the LIV of Dallas, Clark in the PGA or US Open of 2025, or to blaspheme like Rambo in Valderrama even if you had played like them and/or were facing their same anguish.
Marcus Aurelius from the power of the Roman Empire, or Victor Frank from the absolute horror of a concentration camp, agreed on something that every golfer should eventually understand: you cannot control what happens, but you can decide how you react. As the renowned instructor Harvey Penick said with that simple and direct wisdom that characterised him: “a bad attitude is like a flat tyre, you can’t move forward until you change it.”
Surely, if you asked yourself the reasons why you play golf, they would be most prosaic and, of course, legitimate. However, I encourage you that in a game where broadcasts and chronicles abound with adjectives like sublime, excellent, imperial, regal, colossal, or superb, you cannot settle for explaining that you play it just because it’s easier to fix your swing than your life.
You have to honour your condition as an Amateur and that means playing for the love of golf, nothing more. That, moreover, will make you freer, like the truth (veritas, as they say at Harvard). If you also accompany it with passion, ethics, and personal satisfaction, then surely you can look the best amateur of all time in the eye: Bobby Jones. In his condition as a lawyer – because at 28, after winning the Grand Slam of his time, out of pure personal conviction, he hung up his clubs to don the robe – he was also the champion of how to unite the rigour and ethical duty demanded by law with the mental discipline required by golf. If for Mr. Jones golf was only a part of his life – and not his whole life – for you it should be just pure fun because, moreover, taking it too seriously and letting it devour you, even between shots, as Tommy Armour, the 1927 US Open champion, said: “It will break your heart.”
The one who ended up being the co-founder of Augusta National Golf Club and the Masters and one of those who surely could have lived off golf better than well, always wanted to have a career in which he could serve others. That allowed him to leave the game, as he himself said, “with a peaceful soul and without having betrayed himself. He played with respect, left it without asking for anything, and never allowed money to decide for him.”
Meanwhile, Hans Kelsen, who wrestled with the concept of justice, at that time thousands of kilometres from Massachusetts – where the 1925 US Open was held – and certainly, oblivious to golf, would surely have admired Bobby Jones more for his gesture of integrity than for his golfing achievements. In that tournament, Jones imposed a penalty on himself on the 11th hole for a slight ball movement that no one had seen and even stood firm when the referee pointed out that he was the only witness.
Because Kelsen, like Bobby Jones, would not have understood being congratulated for his honesty and, surely, he would have also supported the opinion that congratulating him for it would be like doing so for not robbing a bank. However, this powerful and radical gesture of sportsmanship challenged all of Kelsen’s theories, demonstrating that there are scenarios where justice is born from internal respect for the rules and not from fear of a sanction. The consequences of what Bobby Jones did are even more significant considering he lost in the playoff against Willie MacFarlane. And yet, or perhaps because of it, his name shines more than the solid silver cup.
Therefore, dear Amateur, when after a bad round, one of those that is jokingly said to be better than a good afternoon in the office, you ask yourself why you don’t sell your clubs on Wallapop, instead of thinking about that dopamine hit you wish you could repeat, understand that the golf course is the place where life brings you closer, even if only for a moment, to what you would like to be outside of it. And if, moreover, that day you played with someone who made you laugh, shared frustrations without drama, recommended a good book, gave you advice only when you asked for it, or celebrated their shot of the day as if it were yours, you will understand that sometimes golf can be, like the famous book by Delibes, Five Hours with Mario (if the game is slow): a conversation, even a silent one with another Amateur friend, interrupted only by a few shots.
