The Golf War

Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Golf Book

BY: Eric Stark

Golf, he replied, was much too serious a matter to be called a sport.
~John Pearson, James Bond: The Authorized Biography

It's not that Jimmy and I were warmongers bent on finding trouble. We were just two typical forthright Scots who didn't put up with nonsense on the golf course. If a slow foursome didn't let us play through, or a group perpetually took too long to hunt for lost balls, we got vocal. Jimmy, especially, received a typical Scottish pleasure in confrontation. Being of a similar nature, this never put me up or down. But the return to golf of a chap named Gordon Angus made us reexamine our ways.

After an absence from the game that lasted years, Gordon turned up one Saturday morning with a set of old clubs to play a round on his own. Gordon had gone to junior school with Jimmy, some forty years earlier, and despite being opposite personalities (Gordon was studious and serious while Jimmy most definitely was not) the two were good friends. Jimmy and I wouldn't hear of him playing alone. So we invited Gordon to join us that Saturday, and from then on the three of us started playing regularly.

The behavior of Jimmy and I was no doubt a shock to Gordon. Once, when someone hit a ball that just missed my head without shouting "Fore!" and Jimmy and I waited for the culprit to ignite a loud verbal battle, Gordon nearly fainted. After it was over, Gordon meekly suggested, "I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose. Maybe you should just have had a quiet word of advice with him later in the clubhouse."

"What?" Jimmy demanded, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. I didn't give Gordon's suggestion much credence either.

So it went on. And if Jimmy and I didn't have any problems, we would instead take up arms on Gordon's behalf. Why was his entry into the golf club taking so long? Why couldn't he get a locker when we knew someone else who had got one? And so forth.

For these battles, Gordon always had a much more peaceful solution, but we never listened. "It's Gordon's way," Jimmy explained to me. "He always was a bookworm. Very quiet and never spoke up for himself."

One morning, there was a single playing in front of the three of us. On one hole, the man left his caddy cart with his golf clubs just off the edge of the green and disappeared.
We waited and waited, Jimmy in particular growing more and more irate. Finally, we all played our shots and began to walk up to the hole.

As we neared the hole, we saw the man sitting in a small old pavilion near the 12th green. Jimmy roared over at him full throttle, "What the... what do you think you're doing... who do you think you... why didn't you waive us through..." And so forth.

It was Gordon who said, "Jimmy, wait, I think he's in trouble."
We walked nearer. The man was grey in the face and clasping at his chest, barely conscious. I realized right away the man was having a heart attack. I had once served as a medic, and so proceeded to do everything I could for him while Jimmy used his mobile to call an ambulance. By good luck, the 12th hole was not far from the main road and within fifteen minutes, the man was off in the ambulance.

All three of us were silent. Jimmy sighed, "I hope my shouts of abuse are not the last words he ever hears on this earth." We called the golf to a halt and went back to the clubhouse, where Jimmy remained much quieter than usual.

A few days later, we heard that the man had "died" in the ambulance but that the doctors had miraculously managed to bring him back again. He was in intensive care for a week, but finally made a complete recovery.

Once he was out the old man lost no time in contacting us to give his thanks. As we spoke of the day, it was obvious that the man had not been aware of Jimmy's shouting.

The next week, we were halfway around the golf course when Jimmy turned to Gordon and said, "There is some sense to what you say, about always giving people a chance to explain before you tear into them." Gordon and I stared at Jimmy, and then at each other, in amazement. Jimmy shrugged, "I've been thinking about my roaring at the guy having the heart attack."

Two weeks later, a man and his dog walked straight in front of the 4th tee just as Jimmy was about to drive. "What the he..." Jimmy cut himself off on mid-sentence, "He... have a nice day."

The man smiled back. "Hi Jimmy. I thought I recognized you. Say, I have some golf balls for you. The dog picks them up all the time."

Jimmy turned to Gordon, "You are definitely right, and this proves it."

Jimmy has passed away now, and it would be fine to say that from that time onwards he took a calmer approach to golf and to life. But in fact, his change of heart only lasted until a remarkably lethargic foursome playing in front of us did not wave us through. When Jimmy discovered two of them were men he had never liked since his teenage days, he ran ahead and gave them a verbal blast and a lecture on the etiquette of golf in his own special terminology.

Years after Jimmy had passed, Gordon and I were reminiscing. "You know, I was glad his transformation of character didn't last long." Gordon said. "It was his volatile outbursts that made me like him so much. You knew exactly where you stood with Jimmy. He was the most honest man I ever met. Sure, I got on him about being nicer to people, but really I admired his courage."

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