Originally posted by don_budge
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As I was laying in bed, I was thinking. What kind of person plays these two games? Psychology Today analyzed tennis and golf thusly; in tennis the racquets symbolize swords and the balls the contestants testicles. The players are trying to castrate each other. Nowadays this analogy seems to be a bit dated as the players using the oversized racquets are more bludgeoning each other than surgically removing the family jewels. But in yesteryear...the parry and thrust was much more apparent. Each going viscerally at each others weakness. The analogy of golf was trying to avoid committing suicide.
What kind of person is so mean and so cruel that he thoroughly loves and enjoys castrating his opponents? What kind of person can face the prospect of potentially committing suicide routinely on the golf course? The thought that I so passionately loved both sports gave me a start. I spent the night in a restless moral dilemma. The sting of the double bogey fresh in my mind. When I aced the hole on Monday, I felt virtually nothing about the result. What I did feel was what doctorhl wrote..."the pursuit of fluidity, absence of effort, poetry in motion". Although my partners both were celebrating and offering me the obligatory high fives...I felt nothing. No joy. Just grim satisfaction of a good swing. I knew that this sort of success is short lived in golf. Something will always come along to even things up. That is...until you master the game. Until you master yourself.
So it goes. I wonder how much longer I can tolerate this reality. This constant masochism. Self mutilation. I'm too old for this...or am I? I think the answer lies somehow in not caring. To divorce yourself of all anticipation and retrospect. Simply staying in the moment. Accepting. The good and the bad. It's a terrible struggle. Recently a PGA professional who was enjoying some rather good level of success committed suicide. Fulfilling the Psychology Today prophecy. Another female professional is retiring somewhat prematurely citing the cruelty of the game. The hard work. The limited rewards coupled with high expectations. I couldn't imagine playing either sport for a living. Your very existence based on your ability to survive on a day to day basis in such a competitive occupation. Cruel games.
So I played the same hole twice and averaged par for both days. Six shots for two times played. A measly par three, yet the highs and lows both taking their toll on my fragile psyche. The one thing that I did do as I was leaving the green when I hit the hole and one...I looked up at the sky and said, "thank you Lord, thank you Jesus". It was an act of God and nothing about my ability or skill set. It was either fate or just a coincidence. As luck would have it.
Today I am playing a match for my club. The Knistad Golf and Country Club here in Sweden. At seventy years old I should be playing in the seventy and over team but I chose to play on the sixty and over team. An aquaintance said to me when I told him that..."making it harder on yourself". I said, "no, I am making it harder on the younger guys". I am in the top three in scoring over the course of our matches. But there isn't a shred of satisfaction. Only greed. Greedily wanting to be more perfect...or less flawed. All in all...a complete waste of time in the big picture of the world. Completely meaningless. Yet somehow...it helps me to cope. It lifts me up for a moment only to cruelly beat me down. I guess I can take it. Just to live to play another day.

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