Pitchmarks #32 - 11th February 2024 - Valentine's Day

My sort of foursomes at Cleeve Hill…

“The heart is a thousand stringed instrument that can only be tuned with love”
Hafez

Of all the kind reviews of Grass Routes, each of which is humbling and delightful in their own way, one has stuck in my mind of late. It is from one of the many new friends I have made through this writing lark; another soul that plays the game the way I do, with a few old sticks (extra marks for the TaylorMade Raylor) and a smile from ear to ear.

Joe’s tweet simply read “This is a gorgeous and uplifting collection of golf essays, each laden with unapologetically positive musings. Buy the book, pronto", and by now you probably know that I am unapologetically bad at pushing sales, so I nearly left out his last four words. But instead I’ve built you a button:

The “unapologetically positive” bit was thrilling for me, for I hadn’t really noticed. I’d started writing about golf in order to work out if I wanted to carry on “playing” (or “hacking”?), for I’d fallen out of love with the game, and also to see if I could write, for I’d always meant to. I’d lost my mojo and with it the satisfaction of working around golf, and taking some time to play and write seemed like not what I ought to do, but what I had to do. It made no sense, but neither did carrying on when the love had all but dried up.

So these journeys began to places I’d always meant to go, like Royal North Devon and Aberdovey, and each of the connections I made would seem to throw up another lead, and along came Durness, and Prestwick, and Borth & Ynyslas. And bit by bit, I realised not only that I do love golf after all, but that it was like a fine wine, this love - maturing all the time, with layer upon layer of sublime complexity.

I realised that I play golf for different reasons than some; that for me, fresh air, and the natural landscape, and the sense of freedom are all factors, while a result is rarely a consideration. For one thing I can barely keep score, as a recent outing at Royal St George’s proved, but in any case the scorecard and all those actuarial tables by most first tees seem a little dreary to me in contrast to the simple joy of charging around waiting for the magic of the sweetspot to manifest.

And the other thing I realised, though I played on my own a lot in childhood, was that there are a significant number of what I will call - ever the thief - “gorgeous and uplifting” people with whom a love of this - my preferred style of golf - is shared. I have trouble some days working out if what I am writing is any good at all (mainly the days ending with “day”), but kind people read the blog and the book, and seem to like them, and I love that.

I love that sometimes my ramblings help another new friend to go to sleep some five thousand miles west of this desk (he promises me he reads to the end first), and I love that another friend a few miles north-east of here is up at the same sort of hour, and always sends one of those heart thingies my way. And that he takes the time to write about the book, and in doing so mentions a few other places I might like to see, and my list of places grows longer, only now it is populated not from magazine lists of swanky resorts but from the word of mouth of these new friends. A source I can trust.

I love that I might now get to see these places that others recommend, and in turn thank them for new memories and experiences. The heart of golf beats in places like Felixstowe Ferry and Harlech, and Welshpool and Wallasey, and I know I will love them when I get there, for I love the people who’ve suggested them.

I love that some pieces will remind a person of happy days, or of trips to these shores, and that every now and then, someone comes near London and we even get to play - too many to mention here, but I loved each outing, and can’t wait for the next. Golf shrinks the world for us.

I love it when someone reads a chapter and decides to head to Cleeve Hill or Rye, and wish there were enough hours in the day to be there lurking when they walk off…to see the look on their face after they’ve seen what I see in these temples; to spot the love in their eyes. I love that two separate friends read the book during (their children’s!) swimming lessons, for phones are prohibited there, and that probably a few read it on the loo, though I’ve not had that reported yet.

I thought I loved this game before; thought I knew what it had to offer. But in the last couple of years, I’ve found layer upon layer of good people and great golf, and I realise I’d only been flirting with the game. This is what true love feels like - a connection that builds day by day - and I realise can only offer “unapologetically positive musings”, for that is just how the game makes me feel.

So I wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day, when it comes, and hope that you might do something you love, just for the sake of it. I am off to the range, with my thousand stringed instrument and my smile.