My brother-law, who is a non-golfer, and a non-believer recently found a book in an antique store titled “Humours of Golf”. The book is a collection of cartoons drawn by W. Heath Robinson that serve to lampoon both golf and golfers. I could see why my brother-law was drawn to the book, published in 1924 it is proof that making fun of golf and golfers has been around for at least one hundred years. The foreword was written by a guy named Bernard Darwin, more about him later, in it he piles on and claims that making fun of golf has been around as long as the sport itself has. He should know, he is considered the first full time golf writer; he covered the 1913 US Open when Francis Quimet beat Harry Varden and Ted Ray, and a was fine player in his own right, playing in several Amateur Championships.  Good enough at writing and playing he is a member of the World Golf Hall of Fame. Just to prove that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree it should be mentioned that Bernard was the grandson of Charles Darwin and was actually raised by Charles Darwin after his mother died four days after he was born.  

The illustrator of the book, W. Heath Robinson, is another story. Robinson’s main focus was not golf illustrations. He was known for drawings of unlikely contraptions designed to do everyday tasks. He was the English Rube Goldberg, ten years before his time. In fact, to make a contrived solution from something out of the ordinary is known in England as a “Heath Robinson”. He certainly would be at home in today’s world of golfing aids. The book features some of his own, the Stymie Bridge a tube that routs a golf ball over a stymie, and a Club Glider, which looks remarkably numerous modern aids,  an arc shaped rail for guiding the club to the exact same spot.

The first cartoon in the book is titled “The Fall of Man” and features Adam in the Garden of Eden swinging a snake as a golf club at an apple teed up on a mound of sand. A naked Eve sits with her back to the action. That’s it in a nut shell isn’t it? Instead of taking a bite out of the apple, Adam is tempted, presumably by the serpent, to take a swing at the apple. The outcome is assured; from the dawn of man golf becomes a temptation that man cannot resist. We golfers know this. We are forever one swing away from immortality much like Adam until he shanked the apple.

Non-golfers don’t understand our affliction and mock our devotion to the sport. Large segments of society view golf as a worthless pursuit. Try using golf as an excuse not to attend. Sorry, fill in the blank friend, family member, business associate, I cannot attend your, fill in the blank, birthday, graduation, wedding, because that is the weekend of the club’s annual Brinkman Cup, a two-man tournament that I signed up for last year and I cannot let my partner down. Anyone want to try and run that by? It’s more like “Hello, Gene listen I can’t make the Brinkman this year. My daughter is getting married.” The golfer always caves.

Yet, we persevere, we find likeminded people, we make times to get together, and we spend hours on our journeys, but much like Adam we are doomed, banished from the Garden, sentenced to a life where the rewards are small and the heartbreaks large.

“I missed a three -footer on 16, damn.”

 “But you shot 78.”

“I know, but it could have been better.”

Tying this all together there is a picture of Bernard Darwin in Wikipedia finishing a massive swing with his right leg almost completely off the ground, Scottie Scheffler would be proud. I’m inclined to think that while a lot has changed in the game of golf not much has changed, making fun of golfers included. We are and forever will be swinging a snake trying to hit an apple.