Pleasurable memoirs of an Irish golf nut
November 16, 2001
On occasion my friends and family tell me they think I’m a bit of a golf fanatic. Until now I tended to concede the point.
I won’t agree with that label any more.
Compared to Ivan Morris, the Irish author of Only Golf Spoken Here (Sleeping Bear, $22 SRP), I am merely an occasional wanderer in the golfing wilderness.
Morris, however, is a certifiable golf nut.
He’d agree, and probably tell you two or three stories to prove it. You’d enjoy them, at least if this collection of reminiscences is at all representative.
Morris is a “young” senior golfer, only 56 years old. He’s played golf for over 40 years, and has the twin gifts of memory and storytelling to bring that experience to life.
Quite an experience, at that. Morris is an accomplished amateur golfer, with over a hundred serious competitions, including the Irish and British Amateurs and Irish and British Opens. He recounts several of these contests here, while blessedly sparing the readers from hole-by-hole accounts.
Morris knows that it’s the rare golfer that can patiently read all the details about someone else’s round. Therefore, he emphasizes other aspects of the games he’s played, such as the personal quirks of his competitors. Morris takes advantage of his native Irish wit to flog both friends and foes alike, usually with a smile.
In parts of several essays, he sketches his family’s golfing history. According to Morris, they were all mad for it, ranging from playing, to reading out-of-date American golf magazines, to parsing Gary Player’s comic strip instructions, to engaging in fierce debates over this swing theory or that.
The book’s title comes from a notice his mother posted on their kitchen door, in recognition of the game’s dominance over all other potential family conversation topics. His brother added the word “Only” to the placard, and no one challenged him.
One minor recurring theme centers on golfing with Irish parish priests. One or two were clearly major influences on Morris’ development. Morris manages to avoid the usual stereotypes while writing about these men.
The man’s not shy about his opinions, either. One piece is a hole-by-hole comparison of the relative merits of Lahinch Golf Club and the somewhat better known Ballybunion G.C. There’s no mistaking how he feels about each hole, but his reasoning seems to be neither far-fetched nor unsound. All the same, I’m sure the golf committee at Ballybunion won’t be pleased to read that their 18th hole “remains pretty awful.”
Two pieces will stand out for touring golfers who have yet to play Ireland’s golf courses. “An Insider’s Guided Tour of Irish Golf” is a detailed travelogue of over twenty-five courses, hotels, B&Bs, and other delights. Morris’ pungent commentary continues with “A Personal Miscellany of Irish Golf Holes.” The 18 holes are described in the same sequence they appear on the course they represent. The essay is stunning, if only for the level of detail he provides about so many courses.
There’s also the occasional story involving well-known golfers, such as Tom Watson, Payne Stewart, and Tiger Woods. These pieces are pleasant enough, especially the Stewart segments, but aren’t nearly as interesting as the rest of the essays.
For example, Morris discusses his own shortcomings and how they affected his performances over the years. The mix of swing faults and lapses in the mental side of the game are set out both directly and in short asides from the main thrust of the pieces. Bits of these regretful realizations appear in several chapters, and might prove helpful for those who recognize the same flaws in themselves.
These memoirs were a well-written, pleasant surprise.