No. 30: Married to the Game
Dear Pards,
At the start of the year, my husband shared a schedule of events with me that looked a lot like the back of my 2011 Better World Tour T-shirt I haven’t taken off since Tuesday. RIP Queen. Yet these dates and places (around the world) were his golf calendar for the year.
Before you start with your spiel on this being what I signed up for, I’d like to remind you that he is also the father of three children who would prefer to be raised by two parents, not one.
I get it's part of the deal. Honestly, a healthy dose of golf is good for him, and good for all of us, frankly, because he's insufferable without it. But this last-minute Mid-Am add, because his "putter got hot," has me wondering who, in fact, his vows are addressed to.
I’m not sure what arrangements you have with your wife, but I’m at the point where I don’t know exactly who my husband is married to.
Is this just a season, or will it only get worse from here? Maybe I ought to just plan a three-month sip n spa tour around the globe for 2027 and let him figure out carpool. That putter isn’t the only one running hot. This dumbass game will be the death of me.
-Polygamous in Portland
Dear Polygamous,
As someone who fought hard for a family calendar with a wife who likes to “have it all in her head,” I'm glad to see you all have at least a schedule of events on paper.
I obviously have a soft spot for your husband, who seems to share the same lifelong disease that I was diagnosed with. Not to be confused with the one that the world #1 was infected with in St. Louis last week.
In addition, a hot flatstick isn’t something to take lightly. The flame needs to be fanned as long as possible. I’m team husband on that one. Seems like the last-minute add was a page out of Brian Rolapp’s new playbook. Have to hand it to him.
All that said, with a family myself, I do see your side of the story. While I think a spa proposal sounds lovely, I realize that the larger issue is quality time with the family.
I think it’s worth having that conversation about more time at home. Though I’d imagine his response in late August will be similar to Pete Dye’s when asked by his longtime girlfriend—and eventual wife—to talk about marriage in the summer of 1949:
“Not during golf season.”
P╞r╠℮P.S. The stamp at the top of the newsletter is an infamous wicker basket flagstick from Merion, by Dave Baysden. It is also the print on 5×7 118lb cotton stock for this month’s mail club.
They say never to meet your heroes. A rule I’m glad I broke on Tuesday night at the Winston-Salem Open. While Rahm Medvedev was getting torched by [checks notes] Damn. Jr., I was outside at a private event I weaseled my way into, sipping an IPA while chatting with Virginia Evans, author of The Correspondent, which is, objectively, the greatest book of the decade. I read it back in March while thinking through this ridiculous mail club/column, and in many ways it pushed me over the edge to see it through. She handled my fandom with grace and was a joy to be with.
The sixth edition of the mail club will be out in the wild soon. Wait, what about No. 5, Pards? Relax, it’s in the mail now. I got lost in the sauce, filming myself in sandals at a short course all August. Back to our normal scheduled programming in September.
If you aren’t in the mail club, you should be. It features words from me you won’t find anywhere on a screen, plus art from Dave Baysden. Use code PARDS for your first month on me.
Thankful you’re here.
