Pitchmarks #25 - 17th December 2023 - "A few words..."

Studies suggest that public speaking is the biggest phobia for Americans, with a quarter of those interviewed in a 2014 Washington Post survey confirming that “they fear speaking in front of a crowd”. I know how they feel, and wonder if the other three quarters of the sample were so petrified of the prospect that they daren’t even broach the subject, as if it would invoke danger, like mentioning the real name of “The Scottish Play”, or referring to “the sh*nks” (sorry!).

So an invite arrived to attend a golfing dinner in London, and say “a few words”, and somehow I accepted this flattering invitation, and somehow I survived, though the speaking bit was difficult. For I’d written - last minute of course - a script of sorts, but when writing you have the chance to take your time, digest the words, edit it down. You get a second chance, a Mulligan. But in public speaking, and in golf, once you rise to your feet or take your stance, all eyes are on you and there are no reloads.

And in that lies not only the terror but also the beauty of such moments; they give us the chance to step out of our comfort zones, though I felt the other night when the sound of the tapped glass fell away as if the dinner jacket had also done so, and I was standing naked in front of a firing squad. I didn’t sh*nk it, but let’s just say the sweet spot remained intact.

This blog turned two years old the other day, and an hour ago I was staring at a blank page, wondering what to say about this landmark. Wondering what I had learned in all those blog posts - this will be, if I ever finish it, number 179; wondering what I had found in all this wandering from place to place, following the muse and a collection of white and yellow balls, few of which remain in my possession.

Half an hour ago I was in the middle of some piece that linked back to earlier posts, but I realised that it was largely self-indulgent nonsense (perhaps a wider theme?), and that anyone with the time to spare could find that stuff anyway - if you are new to these parts, an archive of posts is available here. And then I realised that I had sort of examined what writing about golf meant to me in preparing for the dreaded speech, so instead of going on any further, I thought I would share that instead.

I can’t pretend that I delivered every single word, for I quickly became aware of the awesome power of gravity like never before and was therefore in a rush to once again feel the padded seat beneath me, but in this print version, delivered from the relative comfort zone of my front room on a dark Sunday morning in December, I had the luxury of a second glance before sending it. Enjoy…

Thank you John, and the fellow members of the Brooks’s Golfing Society, for inviting me here. Some familiar and friendly faces, and I must say that of all the premier London clubs that head out into Surrey for their foursomes, Brooks’s are much better to deal with than White’s or Turf Club or that other crowd across St James’s Street (although if I am ever invited to any of their free dinners, you’ll understand if I do a bit of light editing here).

John suggested I might like to say “a few words”, and unfortunately for us all is yet to retract that suggestion, though I’ve been hoping for a gimme all along. I feel as uncomfortable standing before you trying to think of something to say as I did sitting in front of the blank page this morning, or as I will stood over a three footer on Friday afternoon. We are golfers, so we know all about comfort zones. And failure.

Mark Twain once apologised for writing a long letter as he didn’t have time to write a short one, and there is a definite craft to concise writing and speeches. As this is a golfing occasion, I thought I might try and use a familiar mechanism to limit everyone’s suffering here, and speak for no longer than three minutes. But we all know that three minutes feels radically different depending on whose ball you are looking for, so let’s hope this feels like a quick rummage rather than some interminable search.

The best speeches are short and sweet, with a little humour, and from two decades working in various Secretariats, I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly. The nature of the occasion often means that the audience remember next to nothing of the delivery, but I do at least recall roaring with laughter at one, which I’d like to reference a) as an example of mastery of the craft, and b) in the hope of a laugh for us all to share, albeit a secondhand one.

As the sound of the bagpipes died down in the Dining Room at Royal Wimbledon, Mr Hyatt rose from the the Captain’s chair, dressed in a pristine red jacket, and thanked all his many golfing friends and foes for their kind advice in the lead-up to the terrifying ordeal that was his drive-in. As he stood over the ball, he “had seventy-three swing thoughts in his head, and all of them began with ‘don’t’”. And we all know how that feels…

Lately, I’ve been spending some time in the archives of a couple of the sort of clubs that Brooks’s like to frequent, but I have found that little of the magic of these communities exists in the formal record of the Minute Books, as anyone who has served on committees will already know. Nor is it to be found in the clubhouse or the golf course, though each are charming and have their own ghosts.

Instead, the spirit of such clubs and societies, and of this terrific, maddening game of ours, lives on in the routine agony and occasional ecstasy of its members - the golfers. Us golfers. It is in the rollercoaster ride of our matches, and the gentle lilt of our conversations and memories that the game brings us meaning and enjoyment, and for that we should all be very grateful. As Alistair Cooke noted, “they’ve been playing golf for eight hundred years, and nobody has satisfactorily said why”. We’re not about to crack that code, either, but we can have a damn good time conducting our own research.

So I would like to ask you to raise a glass to yourselves and your fellow golfers - even the ones from across the road - and toast “Brooks’s Golfing Society, and all who fail in her”.

Image courtesy of the University of Toronto - https://victorianweb.org/art/architecture/clubs/19.html