The Unseen Here and Now . . .

2002 Archives

2001 Archives

2000 Archives

Stuart Revercomb

Stuart Revercomb is a marketing consultant and joyously married father of four children. He seems to remember someone once telling him he ought to be a writer. "The Unseen Here and Now" -- Thursdays.

E-MAIL

Click Here
to subscribe to
"Thursday's Fare"

O.K., sure, there are a handful of people I know who can play the game. But most of these guys got that way by neglecting every other responsibility they ever had to spend the time it takes between tee and green to get that good.

There are exceptions, of course -- not many, but they do exist. Take my friend, Bill. Bill is one of those annoying guys that can pick up anything requiring large amounts of physical dexterity and hand-eye coordination and master the better part of it in about 37 seconds. You may have spent 2 years learning how to get up on a plane on a windsurfer, and then Bill will drop by and say, "Hey, can I give it a try?"

He's pretty much got it on his second pass across the lake.

He's a friend, so you limit any outward signs of your frustration to a low guttural muttering whenever he is out of earshot.

But Bill is the rare exception -- far from the established rule. In fact, as far as I can tell, very few people on the planet can play the sport of Golf as it is designed to be played. Even the top 50 players in the world have lousy days on a fairly regular basis, which is what makes the sport so great. You can have all the talent in the world and have practiced 40 hours a week for the last 20 years, but if your head's not right, you're toast.

Tiger Woods seems to be the lone exception to this rule. A bad day for Tiger comes along about as often as a solar eclipse and has about the same duration. And all it really means is that he scores about like every other "professional" out there. When he's on, he smacks them by as much as 15 strokes. (That's what he did in the U.S.Open this past weekend.) When he's off a bit, he beats them by 2 or 3.

If you're not too familiar with how Golf is scored, let me clarify. Being beaten by 15 strokes over 72 holes as a pro is like running the 100-yard dash in the Olympics and having the other guy cross the finish line right about the time your heel comes out of the shadow of the starting block, i.e., you were never really in the game. Watching poor Ernie Els, arguably the second greatest golfer walking the planet, have to step up to the tee and hit behind Tiger was tough. You got the same sort of squeamish feeling you get for someone who has to stand up and give the announcements after the keynote speaker has just finished. It makes you kind of nervous.

Golf, like most any sport, can teach you a lot about life, and it can do it in a lot of different ways. But I'm not going to repeat all the time-honored wisdom that true players of the game have written and spoken so well about over the years. If you want a good book that does so, read, A Fairway to Heaven: My Lessons from Harvey Penick on Golf and Life, by Davis Love, III. You can't go wrong.

A couple of weeks ago, however, I did witness an event that, while not on the golf course, did take place right next to it. I suspect that for me it will always be one of Golf's greater moments. It happened just before the start of this years Lifeline Golf Tournament to benefit the Roanoke Rescue Mission.

Perhaps the nicest thing about such tournaments is that they invariably use a format known as Captain's Choice, which means you play the best shot that is made out of your foursome. Wouldn't it be great if life were played more that way -- that only our very best efforts counted, and when we were out of sorts or just not at our best, someone else was always available to pick up the slack?

The boss stomps in and slaps a file down on your desk: "Revercomb -- this story's garbage! What are you thinking about?"

"Dude, take it easy. Use Tondalaya's article or something. Its Captain's Choice this week, isn't it?"

No such luck. Golf may teach you quite a bit about life, but there are limitations.

This year's Rescue Mission Tournament began with the usual drill that has everyone report to their carts for the obligatory "giving of the rules" by the tournament director. Approximately 80 of us had been assembled in to 2 long rows of 20 carts each. The director was attempting to bring order to the group.

Say all you want about cackling women at a bridge club or junior league meeting, but quieting a group of 80 men in golf carts can be a fairly daunting task. It's just a hunch, but I don't think they have to use bull horns at the Junior League.

Once he had quieted the crowd, the director kept his commentary relatively short because his audience was clearly ready to get on with things. But just when it sounded like he was about to finish up, he hesitated and said, "I've got one more person who would like to speak to you today."

There was a slight rise to the din of background conversation at this point. I remember thinking that if this guy wasn't quick, the director might have a mutiny on his hands.

A clean cut young man in his 30's walked purposely to the front of the white carts. He cleared his throat and began.

"Good Morning," he said, "My name is Deane Welch, and I am an Alcoholic."

The bull horn was no longer needed. Eighty men went stone quiet.

Deane continued, "I began drinking in the 8th grade, and my life pretty much slid downhill from there. By 18, I was drinking hard liquor and getting into a lot of things, including some scrapes with the law."

His voice had a small twinge of emotion, but he was calm. There was the power of truth in his words, underpinned by the disarming effect of a bold confession.

"I lost jobs. I lost friends," he said. Then he paused for several moments and looked down, "I lost my family," he said.

He raised his eyes to meet ours.

"A couple of years ago, I met a young girl who told me what the Rescue Mission was all about. I was skeptical and not real open to the idea. I had never had anyone speak to me about God before. But she didn't give up, and, ultimately, she convinced me to go." He took a deep breath, and, raising his head slightly, said, "I am a Christian now. I have been saved by Jesus Christ."

Every ear and every heart hung on his words, and, for a moment, all you could hear was the rustle of the warm spring wind in the trees and the far-off call of a single songbird.

The contrast of the lone man struggling up from the toughest rungs in life, standing in front of so many who seemed to have so much, was raised for me because I knew at least some of us out there in front of him had, or were likely, to face similar battles against alcohol or chemical dependency. You could feel the courageous words of this man working silently in those hearts -- offering hope and promise and unexpected blessing.

"I now work in the men's transient shelter," Deane continued, "It keeps me humble. Every day I am reminded of how easily life can get away from you. I try to take it one day at a time."

Deane folded up the small white square of paper on which he had outlined his remarks and then said, "I want to thank all of you who help to support the Rescue Mission. They save a lot of lives down there. I know...because one of them was mine."

He nodded his appreciation for our attention and began to walk away, and, as he did so, 160 hands came together in support of his courageous comeback and honest testimony. One man with an exceptional heart left his group to go offer a thank you and a handshake of encouragement and support.

"To hell with the golf," I remember thinking, "This tournament's already won."

Such people are my biggest Heroes -- young men and women who have overcome the devil of addiction. It is so easy to be its slave with the long, hazy road wandering on, seemingly eternal before you. The old addict suffers the burdens of habits that are long-established, but the young one must confront the false notion that time is on his side, and that he or she is too young to really be one any ways.

Remember my friend, Bill -- the super-coordinated guy that can do anything he sets his mind to? He was once enslaved to alcohol and its often life-draining affects.

In 1986, at age 26, he put his last drink behind him and still does so one day at a time. He's now the operations manager for a division of a multi-national corporation that does over 4 billion dollars a year in business. Perhaps more importantly, like Deane, he's still helping others reclaim their own lives by leading 12-step recovery groups and offering his own story to anyone, anytime.

Tiger Woods may play the best game of golf in the world, but I know of no one that plays a better game of life than people such as Deane and Bill.

Way to go guys - my guess is that you inspire a great many more people than you realize.