Several times a week, I write a golf newsletter, responding to anonymous reader-submitted questions. They vary in length and range from satire to sentiment. Typically, the content is geared around current events in the game. It’s more like a column, minus the actual newspaper. You can subscribe for free here.

Every month, our members receive an artifact in the mail. Inside is a 5×7 print of original art, designed by my buddy, Dave Baysden. On the back, you’ll find a letter. Similar to those in the weekly newsletter, but exclusive to members. It is addressed to people, archetypes, and apostrophes across the game of golf. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes they’re serious. Sometimes they’re both.

Along with the letter is a blank postcard. That’s for you to tell someone that white stakes means a reload. Or just to say you love ‘em.

If you’re a premium subscriber, you’ll get an annual gift every Fall ($100 value). If you’re one of the first 100 premium members, you’ll also receive a handmade leather “yardage book” to keep all your letters/prints in each month.

In 7th grade, my (then) serious girlfriend and I wrote daily, full-page letters to each other on single-spaced, college-ruled paper. Passing these folded sheets of love confessions between homeroom and 1st period was our only form of communication. Of course we didn’t talk.

Fast forward several decades, and written language still is my favorite form of communication. Whether a seven word scribble to my sleeping spouse, a private journal reflection to a former self, an annual Christmas card, or a stupid-ass swing thought on the back of a scorecard, words have always been my medium on how to talk and try to make sense of this crazy world.

I recently asked myself what are the types of content I enjoy consuming the most. In an AI-invested, (almost) all electronic world, there still is nothing like an analog artifact I can touch. That took time to write. That’s slightly smeared, showing a real person penned it. That doubles as a bookmark, and remains a constant reminder of whoever wrote it.

I’ve always clung to personalities in the media space. My favorite voices are more than just audio in my airpods or words on a page. They are real people. Who not only entertain us while we empty the dishwasher. They are companions. Who we relate to. Who help us navigate the chaos of life. Who I daresay (we at least want to) call friends.

Dear Pards is a scratched itch to write more, regardless of who reads. It’s an attempt by a golf fan to relate to another. A chance to make someone smirk, chuckle, think, or cry. And an invitation for you to sit down and do the same.

We all know Pards. Short for partner. Often the nickname for our best-ball brother-in-arms.

Pards is the pen name behind the brand — but more than that, he’s your friend the minute he shakes your hand. An encourager. A teammate. A companion. And, like all of us from time to time, an asshole.