This was always one of my favorite golf articles. Thought I would share it for those who missed it or might not have read it for some time. It is over a decade old and was published by Golf Digest.
In Celebration of Tradition
Golf is the most traditional of games. It respects the past. It reveres its own legends. It is handed down from one generation to the next by word of mouth, by example of its players – and, most important, by the lay of the land.
Golf courses at their best harken back to the origins of the game. Our playing fields celebrate tradition. The great ones endure the test of time, even give something back to the game.
What is this thing we call tradition?
First, you should know what it is not. Tradition is not “old money.” The game came from the villages of Scotland where Everyman could play and no one was excluded.
It is not merely old age. Age alone is no more a prescription for tradition than it is for wisdom.
It is not big clubhouses and bigger locker rooms. It is not valet parkers dressed in kilts or a bagpiper drowning out conversation during the cocktail hour. It is not a “St. Andrews burger” for lunch or a dining room wallpapered in Scottish tartan.
It is not the ego of a rich man or the idiocy of a committee, although both have a long tradition in the sport.
So what is it?
Tradition is a game played afoot, with a caddie, or a bag slung over a shoulder or pulled by a trolley.
It is the feel of a persimmon head striking a balata ball.
It is wicker baskets that offer no clue as to the direction of the wind.
It is a game played on the ground as well as in the air.
It is turf that is never uniform, either in color or texture.
It is fairways kept firm and dry, putting surfaces maintained at a sensible pace.
It is unpredictable bounces of the ball, off slopes gentle and severe, sometimes into disheartening trouble, sometimes into undeserved success.
It is match play, where the course is not the opponent, only its canvas.
It is camaraderie in the clench of a stormy Nassau.
It is holes that look as though they evolved from the terrain rather than were forced upon it.
It is a series of heart-skipping risks with commensurate rewards.
It is strategies that maintain our interest.
It is water hazards provided solely by nature.
It is the easy approach resulting from a well-positioned drive on a Donald Ross dogleg.
It is the wide berth we give to each A.W.Tillinghast bunker.
It is the glee in deciphering the complexities of an Alister Mackenzie green.
It is the puzzlement summoned by one of C.B.Macdonald’s blind holes.
It is a simple clubhouse with massive shower-heads and a modest menu.
It is the great theater of national champion-ships – especially at well-preserved courses that offer a common ground upon which players of different eras can be compared.
It is the rush of adrenaline when we reach a spot where Ben Hogan once stood.
It is a shade tree under which Walter Hagen once paused (and relieved himself).
It is our sense of wonder when we’re reminded of the accomplishments of Bobby Jones.
It is companionship, especially with those who first taught us the game. And with those to whom we pass it along.
It is a game that should be accomplished in three hours, not six.
It is the absence of cart paths.
It is affordable for every man and woman.
It is not necessarily the game we play today. It is the game we’d like to play from now on.