Golf is more exacting than racing, cards, speculation, or matrimony.

Golf is a game whose aim is to hit a very small ball into an ever smaller hole, with weapons singularly ill-designed for the purpose

Golf is a game in which attitude of mind counts for incomparably more than mightiness of muscle.

Golf gives no margin: either you win or you fail. You cannot hedge; you cannot bluff; you cannot give a stop-order; you cannot jilt. One chance is given you, and you hit or miss. There is nothing more rigid in life. And it is just this ultra and extreme rigidity that makes golf so intensely interesting.

It seemed to me that the precision required to play good golf demanded much greater mental discipline than was necessary for good tennis. The reason for the low margin of error was not hard to discover: the speed of the club head that is necessary to hit the ball a long distance. The speed of the golfer’s arms on the downswing is not much greater than the speed of the tennis player’s arm on the serve, but because of the greater length and flexibility of the golf club, the club-head speed is much greater than that of a racket. If a club head traveling over 100 mph contacts the ball with a face open a mere degree or two, the ball can be sent off target many tens of yards. With those odds, it’s amazing that the ball ever does go exactly where we want it to. In tennis, the serve is the only shot in which the player initiates the action, whereas in golf he does so on every shot. It is interesting to note that if you miss your first serve in tennis, you get another try. Golf is not so forgiving! Further, in tennis a much larger surface hits a much larger ball a much shorter distance. Moving from tennis to golf was definitely going to require some fine-tuning of my concentration. The greater precision required in golf is also reflected in the manner in which the player addresses the ball. A tennis player can be pretty casual, or even a little flamboyant, as he sets up the service line, bounces the ball a few times, and serves. Most professional golfers display much more self-discipline. They seem to approach the ball in the same controlled, almost ritualistic way every time. Even their dress seems more meticulous. (I’ve often felt I could pick out the golfers from the tennis players at a cocktail party.) Meticulousness has never been my strong suit. There isn’t a family picture of me as a boy in which at least one shoe wasn’t untied. I could usually solve

Golf is an ineffectual attempt to put an elusive ball into an obscure hole with implements ill-adopted to the purpose.

In almost all other games you pit yourself against a mortal foe; in golf it is yourself against the world: no human being stays your progress as you drive your ball over the face of the globe.

There are more "Don't's" in golf than there are in any other avocation in life.

"Golf is a game where you score a 6, yell "Fore" and write down a 5."

The uglier a man's legs are, the better he plays golf. It's almost a law.

Golf is a mental disorder.

I regard golf as an expensive way of playing marbles.

Golf is such a wonderful game, I love it to death.

Somewhere around 1970 a friend introduced me to the grand old Scottish game of golf. Understandably, those who have not attempted to master this game refer to it with derision as “pasture pool.” But, anyone who has attempted to attain proficiency at golf soon understands why our Scottish ancestors invented it centuries ago and have been infatuated ever since. Using fourteen different implements, traversing grass, trees, sand and water, through wind and weather, uphill and down, the sport requires a unique blend of physical and mental skills. At any rate, golf provided me with as much enjoyment as anything else in this life. Although taking up the game too late in life to become a master of the sport, insomuch as that is possible, there are three highlights that provide moments of pleasure during these endless hours of confinement and reflection. One was shooting a five under par, sixty seven, in a Pro-Am. Another was a hole-in-one on a par four. And lastly was making a birdie on a difficult eighteenth hole in a substantial money game called a Calcutta. I suppose after all these years, plus age and health problems, that I would now be a poor golfer, but occasionally I allow myself to dream of again playing the game.