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Long Time, No Type

© Bill Howard

I've been in a funk lately about my relationship with the game of golf. I simply haven't been able to muster the fortitude to write about it. Call it a brief 'Blue Period'. If you have been visiting this site in search of cutting edge commentary or thoughtful analysis, I apologize.

I also have to wonder why you think you might find those things in this column.

The past few weeks have been full of soul searching and leisurely trips through my golf memories. It has been good for me. My golfing soul is reborn. I am cleansed.

Golf has been a major component of my life since I was eight years old. My dance with the game began as a fun way to spend time with my dad. Then I noticed that, compared to other sports, I wasn't as good at golf. This frustrated and intrigued me. I worked hard at learning and improving. I've never stopped.

Lately, golfing opportunities have dwindled to a precious few each year. This is the unfortunate result of leaving the golf business. It is extremely frustrating to lack the financial wherewithal to play regularly. This is even more true when all the golf you cared to play was free and just a few steps away. I was crushed under the weight of this frustration.

I want to play, I just can't. I want to pass along the beauty, serenity, and nobility of golf to my son, just like my father did. I am unable to do so. I've never been big into guilt, but this gives me more than my share.

I realized that any negative feelings about golf were entirely my fault. Golf has done nothing but give me an idyllic childhood, countless memories, some very good friends, a respectable (though temporarily interrupted) career, this column, and far more respect than I deserve on a number of occasions. Golf has been very, very good to me.

It is up to me to fix this problem, and I will. One of the first "baby steps" is to get back on track with this column. Again, I'm sorry for the hiatus. I'm back now.