Precisely two weeks from the second Iâm typing this, I will, for the first time in my life, step onto an actual golf course to play 18 holes of actual golf. Iâve played nine before, at a bachelor party, and by the end of it all Iâd learned was that I need to be better about sunscreen and that several of my college friends appeared to have developed serious drinking problems. This time Iâll be heading out with Jon Tattersall, my instructor these past many months, to see if any of his lessons have stuck, if any of his endlessly patient words have had any effect on me whatsoever.
I call Tattersall to make sure weâre still on. He answers the phone with his signature, sardonically cheerful âHello, Will!â â a distinctly British tone â and then asks me to hold. About 10 seconds later, I hear the unmistakable swoosh of a perfect golf swing. (Mine sounds more like a bicycle tumbling down a flight of stairs.) Returning to the phone, Tattersall says, âSorry, I had to take that shot.â It dawns on me that maybe the only times this guy hasnât been on a golf course in the past few months has been when heâs messing around with me.
âHowâd ya hit it?â I ask.
âI didnât miss it,â he says.
âGo on ahead,â I hear Tattersall tell whoever heâs playing with. The last thing I want to do is make my coach miss a round, so I promise to be brief. Basically, Iâm a little nervous about our upcoming loop.
âWhat are you worried about?â he asks.
âIâm worried that Iâm going to be terrible,â I say.
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He pauses. Iâm glad he doesnât say the first thing that pops into his head, because I bet I wouldnât like it. Instead
he says, âYou will be as good as you are,â which sounds to me like some sort of Zen koan.
The more golf you play, the more comfortable you are with your level of skill, he explains. When someone gets angry on the golf course, itâs not when they hit a shot exactly the way they want to; itâs when they disappoint themselves. If I slice a drive or fly a green with my approach, Tattersall says my frustration wonât be that Iâm not hitting the ball
like Dustin Johnson; my frustration will be that Iâm not hitting the ball like Will Leitch.
Good shots happen and bad shots happen, and true pros have (mostly) learned to accept the mystery, to recognize that, in the end, youâll find your natural level of talent. When youâre âunder the gun,â as Tattersall likes to put it, itâs the inexperienced player whoâll obsess about hitting the perfect shot â and whoâll be furious when they donât. The better you are, the better you handle yourself. True talent is just being the best version of yourself.
I tell Tattersall Iâm not too worried about this. I know Iâm not a good golfer. I have few expectations. Iâm generally an affable person. Iâll keep my cool on the course.
He laughs. âEverybody says that until they play,â he says. âBut look â passion is good. If you hit bad shots and
donât care, then Iâll be worried about you.â He pauses. âLike me, you live in Georgia. So youâve dealt with the terrible drivers here, right?â
âI have,â I say. âThey are the worst.â
âAre you relaxed in traffic?â
âNo. I scream at them all.â
âWell then youâre not going to be calm on the golf course,â he says. âWeâre always harder on ourselves than we are on others.â
After Tattersall and I nail down the date and time for our Big Day Out, I tell him Iâm even more nervous now about our round than I was before I called. Iâm afraid Iâm going to be a maniac. Iâm afraid Iâm going to tear up the course
and send my clubs sailing into the woods.
âDonât sweat it,â Tattersall says. âHonestly, let yourself be loose out there. And remember one of the most important maxims of golf: Sometimes some golf clubs just deserve to die.â
Will Leitch is a columnist for GOLF, a contributing editor at New York Magazine and the founder of Deadspin.Â
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