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O.K., admit it. You’re in the midst of your morning shower, another day of work ahead of you, and there you are, eyes closed, conjuring up the sensation of that one sweet swing that flights the golf ball in the absolute optimum trajectory, arcing in toward the flag with an almost arrogant assurance, digging into the firm surface of the green with enough spin to send it recoiling back to the cup for a tap-in birdie. For you it might be the last hole of the club championship; for another, the tee shot on the water guarded par 3 where disaster is inevitably met, especially when playing with a group of far superior golfers; for myself, it is the 17th hole at Avenel, 20,000 spectators watching the ball fly as I try to expand on a one shot lead in this year’s Kemper Open.
Golf is all about dreaming. As I watch young kids I can usually tell which ones will take a strong interest in the game; they are the ones with that momentary intensity that can only mean that they are visualizing themselves in a different place, at a different time, performing golfing miracles far beyond their present abilities. They can be heard quietly whispering in their best Henry Longhurst, “This one’s for all the marbles. 18th hole at the Masters, 200 yards away, a par for everlasting fame and glory.” They may top the ball 10 yards, but with no complaint that next ball is up on the tee ready for another go. When you are young and dreaming, no failure is final; life spreads out like an endless possibility; mulligans are an integral part of the rules.
The process of growing up and learning the realities of success and failure has a tendency to distract us from dreaming. Disappointment and loss become more and more familiar, enough to bend our psyche toward a more cynical world and personal view. We begin to avoid unguarded optimism, thinking such feelings are “childish”, and thus slowly but surely our dreams shrivel up before they can spring from our formerly fertile imagination.
Dreams don’t have to be grandiose to qualify under my definition of “dream”. Simply picturing yourself playing a level or two above your normal state, even if that is what you might consider a somewhat sorry state, is still dreaming. Without the dream there is nothing to chase; the Spring Handicap tournament, the Club Championship, the State Open, the Kemper Open, the U.S. Open. Are these the “goals” that the motivational gurus talk endlessly about? Not really. Do I realistically think I can win the U.S. Open? Heck, I can’t even seem to qualify for it (I’ve lost in playoffs and have been an alternate twice in the last four years). But I know I am capable of playing rounds of golf good enough that if I happened to do it in the Open I could actually be in contention.
A foolish thought? So what. Who cares? It’s my dream. And with the hot water beating down on the construction site that masquerades as my back the playing out of that dream– (“Now, DeFrancesco, standing over what has to be the most important shot of his career… what a story, the 39 year old teaching professional at a local club, qualifies for the Open in his home town, then amazes everyone by playing essentially flawless golf for 70 holes, tied for the lead, a 4 iron to the 17th green, pin back left, probably no harder shot in major championship golf, my goodness what must be going on in this young man’s head at this moment, going through his routine, trying desperately to rely on the swing he totally rebuilt after three back surgeries, a real Cinderella story…there it goes… it looks good Kenny… Oh, my, what a shot! No more than 3 feet away! The crowd is going absolutely crazy! Can you believe this, Kenny?)– still brings a smile to my face.
It wasn’t long ago that this type of imagining had become totally foreign to me. A solid junior career landed me at Wake Forest University on the same team with Curtis Strange, Jay Haas, and Scott Hoch, but it wasn’t until I transferred to LSU my junior year that I either hit my stride or played way over my head. In any event, I had a magical run of six months when I won three tournaments, including the Conference Championship, then finished 3rd in the NCAA behind Gary Hallberg and Bobby Clampett. My performance merited a spot on the NCAA All-American team along with Hallberg and Clampett, John Cook, Fred Couples, Bob Tway, and Corey Pavin. The second team included Payne Stewart, Mark O’Meara, and Joey Sindelar.
For the next ten years I would beat myself up struggling to live up to my own, and everybody else’s , expectations. I no longer dreamed of making it on the Tour, I expected it. And every bad shot, every poor tournament performance, every injury (and there were plenty) was just one more huge disappointment. There were highlights, like playing in the Open at Merion, winning a Space Coast Mini-Tour event in 1985 after four years of trying,, and making it to the finals of Tour School in 1985, but they were easily outnumbered by the low-lights: surgery to fuse a torn sternum (has anyone ever heard of that before?) in 1981, back surgery in 1982, elbow surgery in 1983, and when it finally looked like I was going to triumph after all, over-practicing before Tour School Finals in 1985 put me in the hospital in traction three days before the first round. Needless to say, I didn’t even come close to qualifying, and, to add insult to injury, upon returning home to my apartment, (which had been burglarized the night before), my first wife decided to inform me that she was unhappy and wanted a divorce. No, I am not making this up.
I finally quit trying to play golf for a living, had my back operated on again,(a two-level fusion which left me unable to put my own socks on for four months), and tried to figure out how else I was going to survive. The problem was not only that I had no other real expertise (English degrees are not in great demand in the business world), but that I had no passion for anything but golf. So I decided to teach golf. I lucked into a job on Long Island, stayed for three seasons, and, of course, started to play again, but the back pain returned, and with one more operation I made another exit from golf, this time into the world of Real Estate. The good news was that I married a wonderful lady I had briefly known in high school, but the bad news was that 1989 was perhaps the worst year, and the beginning of the worst five years, in the history of the real estate business. The market crashed just as I climbed on board, and in 1991 I had no other choice but, you guessed it, golf.
I suppose you could say that the dream wouldn’t die; but what really happened was that the dream changed. In teaching I found a way to take my experiences and my hard earned knowledge and actually help people, some who cared about the game as much as I did. I found an outlet for my fascination with golf, and as I began to feel better physically I spent most of my time trying to figure out how to perform every aspect of the game better, not only for myself as in the past, but also for my students. As I played better, I saw my performance as a confirmation of my teaching ability. I was starting to think of myself not as someone who had failed to live up to expectations, but as one with a limitless future applying myself to the game I loved in a different, less selfish manner. With all my physical hardships I was now actually thankful to be able to practice and compete, seeing it as a privilege rather than an obligation. While still every bit as intense on the course as I used to be, I can now accept failure as simply an indication of momentary mechanical lapse, not inbred character flaws. Its not that it’s O.K. to hit a bad shot, but once it’s over with I can get on to the next shot. If a round is going bad, I see each remaining hole as a birdie opportunity; if I shoot a bad score, I can live with it until it’s time to tee it again.
Have I lost my edge, the mental toughness that played such a part in my winning two consecutive Maryland Opens? I don’t think so. What I have found again is the ability to dream, to imagine myself playing to my ultimate capabilities, and to chase my dreams without measuring myself with the results. I just don’t beat myself up any more; I’m not what I shoot. My two daughters will love me no matter what. Truly understanding this gives me the opportunity to pursue my dreams with no fear of failure. Everybody fails at golf to some degree. Too many of us simply stop trying when it seems our expectations lead only to disappointment. My thoughts to you are, hang in there and keep dreaming: it’s the only way the good stuff ever happens.
This was an older article from the archives but seemingly appropriate for the first day of the new year. What are your golf dreams for 2014? Post yours below or in the forum.
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