The six reasons I want to quit golf
The championship tournament is here. A four-day grudge fight in Augusta where, much like a Zara midsale, fit folks fight to the death over a tasteful green blazer. There are millions of golf fans worldwide. I’m not one of them. And like this photo of Greg Norman on the beach, I’m about to unleash something unwanted and unsightly on the world: my golf hot-take.
Be warned, this may be the most dangerous opinion ever sent out into the world. It’s a burden, but I’m the only one brave enough to say it. If I had a magic lamp and could grant three wishes, after wishing for Pedro Pascal to tell me he was proud of me, I would wish golf didn’t exist anymore.
Jason Day on the range before the US Masters.Credit: AP
To some, this opinion will seem unnecessarily harsh. For others, it’s welcome news from putt-putt drives. For a handful of close friends of mine it will be read as a thinly veiled attempt to pin it on the surprising number of golfers I’ve dated. To you, dear reader, I say that all three things can be true. Today I will outline the pros and cons of my golf-free utopia.
What may remain from the world of golf: the film Lucky Gilmoregrass, the golf scene off the sopranos, and the very fun machine you wash the balls in. Now on my golf hit list.
Lack of personal athletic performance: I want golf to go away because I’m bad at it. And why work on my mistakes when I can just banish things I’m bad at from existence? Historically, sport and I have not been friends. I’m uncoordinated at the best of times, but I play golf with all the skill and grace of a freshly cooked turkey.
They tried to miniaturize it (thank capitalism): I see you, Big Golf. Trying to downsize golf to sell to the lucrative kid’s birthday party. You’d think the smaller scale of golf would make life easier for me, a smaller person. But alas, no matter the size of the golf course or how much creatively placed PVC pipping surrounds it, I’m a hopeless case. I’m not even good at miniature golf. So it must die.
Please no more putt-putt.
Par is a bad way to keep points: Little bird? Eagle? What is this, an ad campaign for fish fingers? I want to avoid being told if I’m above or below average. Who’s holding the big metal stick, mate? I think I’ll decide if I’m on par or not. And before you ask, no, I don’t understand what that means. Some people are word people, some people are number people. I’m probably neither, but still. Grab your newbie-sized pen and slide it in, because I scratch things on my fingers like the average person who’s not good at math.
They are thirst traps: The golf courses themselves use approximately 124 megaliters of water per 18-hole equivalent course per year. For comparison: The average person drinks about 691 liters of water per year. So all the juice from the golf course could be used to keep 1440 people hydrated each year. 1440 people. This is almost the same as the occupation of Married at first sight (That or there’s only one couple on the show. I honestly can’t tell). The wet, wet truth is out there. Golf makes you thirsty, but not in Pedro Pascal’s way.
