I didn’t start finding an affinity for golf because it was more fun than baseball, basketball and football – that would come later. I spent every day growing up with friends on the fields and courts of my youth. Daylight would give way to nighttime and only when others had to go home would my day of play end. I never wanted for company, or friends, to fill days and my time engaged in the sports I loved. I even pursued the solitary and lonely pursuit of competitive junior tennis. That was never going to be sustainable because, as comfortable as I may have been by myself growing up, I thirsted for the camaraderie and collective environment of team sports. So why golf? Unlike anything else I participated in, only the exercise of hitting balls or playing nine holes of golf gave me the time, connection, and affection of my Dad. I certainly wanted his approval, but most importantly I wanted his time.
I learned how to have conversations with adults as a young teenager because my Dad exposed me to his network of personal and professional friends. My intuition told me the value of the game was far greater than the score I shot on a given day. I have no idea why I was able to make a fairly mature observation at a young age, but it never left me. At every phase and stage of my life and career the pull to play the game was keen and along the way I made connections with people who would frame and continually change my life. The man who was central in getting me an interview at Seminole Golf Club, Billy Armfield, was an advocate for me because we had spent time on the golf course at Greensboro Country Club. My best friend in life, Derrick Kraemer, was a beginner when I hired him as a cart boy shortly before his college graduation. Countless rounds over the next year, with his marked improvement, forged a relationship that has sustained itself through the decades as one of the most important of my life. Not long after I began my career doing local radio in Charlotte I was introduced to Jay Bilas, who has become one of the essential voices in sports television broadcasting. Jay came to the game later in his life but because of my morning schedule and his “summers off” from his work on college basketball we began playing a ton of golf together. His friendship, advice, and support over the last 25 years has been irreplaceable as I’ve made critical decisions about my career with his counsel being vital to my decision making. More recently, as I was getting close to concluding a decade of work at Golf Channel, Jaime Diaz was hired for his perspective on the game. My interludes with him through the years were always enjoyable but brief. When we began working together, I was presented with a true gift. Not just his thoughts and perspective on the game of golf as it related to our television work, but more importantly, his guidance and advice on life issues that were discussed constantly and continually on the golf course at the Winter Park 9. All of these are examples of the value the game has given to me through a life loving it, but it extends to something that is the most precious that I have that I was putting in jeopardy, my health.
One of the tell-tale signs and behaviors of an alcoholic is the seeking and the pursuit of isolation. For me, it was the growing shame over being in the grips of alcohol, but it was also the simple need to be alone to drink the way only an alcoholic does. For all the years of joy and fond memories the game had given me with new and old friends, I had gotten to the point several years ago that I was willing to abandon and sacrifice all of them because the disease had taken hold of me. My job presented me with a fair amount of travel and there wasn’t a town in America that didn’t have a good golf course, and many were close to friends I made in and out of the game. Less and less did I make plans to meet friends, play golf, catch up on life and deposit valuable memories into my well-being. Instead, I consistently chose the loneliness and isolation of hotel rooms where I fed my disease and a growing strand of depression.
There are many signs of the insanity of alcoholism rooted in one’s behavior and many are simply too complicated to try to explain. For me to turn my back on wonderful experiences, likely on some fabulous courses with friends, amplifies the paralysis the disease inflicts on your heart and mind. If I did play, I was likely compromised before I showed up, limited my conversation, retained little and left many friends baffled by my aloofness. There was little to nothing redeemable about the experiences for all involved. It was only when I sought the help that I needed that the things in my life that mattered most started to be crystallized again. I am not suggesting that playing golf is among the most important things to me or my sobriety but the vital component of staying engaged with key people in your life is paramount.
Once I started to reclaim some equilibrium in my life, golf resumed its place as a critical outlet for fellowship. Fellowship is at the center of my sober life, and now more than ever the redeemable aspects of spending time walking and talking with friends about the design features of the hole we are playing, the pedestrian quality of my ball-striking or the state of my sobriety are invaluable. It is critical that I stay engaged with others and for so many of my friends’ golf is what they invest time and money in for the exercise, mild competition, and the memories. Those things certainly apply to me, but my life is literally on the line every day if I am not committing to the essential elements of my sober lifestyle, and nothing is more important than engagement.
It would be dishonest and silly to say I got sober playing golf, but my sobriety is enhanced because I’ve returned to the places I found the most joy and discovered the greatest friendships, and many of them have been hatched or renewed by playing golf. In September of 2019, Derrick, my dearest friend, and I embarked on the journey to Sand Hills in Mullen, Nebraska. For decades we talked about the desire to eventually get there and with a clear mind and a healing heart I met Derrick in Denver and made the short flight to North Platte, Nebraska. The dingy motel room, the greasy burger at a local diner and the juvenile conversations for turning the lights out before heading to Sand Hills the next morning was the good stuff. These were not frivolous moments but precious and critical moments for me as the days were becoming shorter and my memory was becoming longer as I progressed in my recovery. We played 72 holes in 28 hours, ate pounds of red meat, and did what we always did, laugh at the little things and laugh harder at each other.
More recently, I have taken upon myself to renew friendships with college buddies who I had not played golf with in 30 years. I thoroughly enjoy their company, but selfishly, I need their company. I recently had a conversation with the owner of one of the finest clubs in America and I asked him about the thing he gets the greatest joy from since opening his club several years ago. He told me for all the detailed analysis he did on his own about what he wanted the club to be he never estimated the sheer value of the time spent in “the room”. A term he affectionately calls the main gathering room in the clubhouse. “It’s the time” he told me that means the most to him.
As a boy I felt the importance and the love I had for my Dad through the time I got with him on the golf course, and now almost five decades later, I feel the love for the time with friends but also the absolute importance of that time on my ability to live a healthy and sober life.