The Last Word by Marcus Fisk

A Duffer for Life

(Photo Credit: the author)

Alexandria, VA – “As you walk down the fairway of life, you must smell the roses, for you only get to play one round.” -Ben Hogan

It’s March, and many of you Alexandrians are pulling out your bag, shining up your “sticks,” and getting ready to hit the links for yet another fun, frustrating, and humbling season of Golf.

There are “Sports” families; “Football” families, “Baseball” families, “Basketball” families, “Skiing” families, “Tennis” families — and the like. I was born and raised in a “Golf” family.

You’ll note I chose to use the capital letter on Golf. That’s because of the reverence the sport held in our clan. My father Stan was not just a Golfer. He was a true Golf aficionado. His grandfather struck insurance business deals on links in Canal Dover, Ohio, back in the 1900s. Dad saw Ben Hogan play. He even had a set of clubs hand-made in Australia in 1970.

Stan loved to tell Golf stories the same way an Angler reminisces about the “big one that got away.”  Dad collected so many great Golf stories and jokes and retold them with such flourish that to this day his friends say others attempting to do the same pale in comparison. “Stan the Man” also read almost every known book on the subject and instilled his love of the game in my mother, his bride of 65 years, and his offspring, as well as nieces and nephews.

Until he died in 2013, he and Mom enjoyed the Annual Fisk Golf Tournament with his sisters, their husbands, and his cousins. The Fisk Golf Tournament Cup, a giant three-foot wine glass loaded with bands of thousands of red, white, and blue golf tees, was awarded annually to the couple who bested the other relatives for another year of bragging rights. When my parents retired, they frequently landed in homes and condos in Golf communities where they played – and played – and played.

My mother Trudy was a regular, steady, and enthusiastic player who diligently kept her eye on the ball and passed along the life lessons the game gave her to all of us kids. Eventually, her dedication to golf resulted in that most hallowed achievement  ̶  a Hole-in-One. Her trophy adorned her bookshelf until she passed in 2017.

Despite both their best efforts to pass the love of the game to me, much like piano lessons, I never caught the bug. Dad took me to golf lessons at Army Navy Country Club in Fairfax. The resident Pro there said I had a “natural, clean, and strong golf swing.” But after three years of encouragement, I withered on the vine. I never felt comfortable just going to the club and joining a threesome of old duffers I had never met for an afternoon round. I’m sure I disappointed Dad several times in my life, but I know deep down he felt that I had really erred walking away from the game he so dearly loved.

My brother Nelson, however, got all the Fisk Golf genes and became the best hope for the game’s future in our family. Nelson possesses a concentration on the Golf course that belies his jovial, funny, and often hysterical antics. Once a two-handicapper, Nelson to this day, usually on the back nine, can be egged to get down on his knees and will then drive a Golf ball 300 yards down the center of the fairway – a classic event that we all cherish anytime we get together.

His talent at the game was so evident that my parents encouraged him to live with them and do nothing – absolutely nothing – but play Golf. The plan was to play many amateur tournaments and work toward going Pro. In 1982, he came to Virginia to compete in the Eastern Amateur Golf Tournament, played at the Elizabeth Manor Golf and Country Club in Portsmouth since 1957. Many of Golf’s greats came to play in the Eastern Amateur when they were amateurs, including Ben Crenshaw, Curtis Strange, Tom Strange, and Dean Beaman.

Nelson had spent some ten years growing up in Southern California. When he missed qualifying and finished his round at the Eastern Amateur, he walked off the 18th hole and we asked him how he felt about his round. He wiped the 90-degree and 90 percent Virginia humidity off his California brow and commented, “I didn’t think the Earth was supposed to be this hot.”

When Nelson met a beautiful lady that year, a career in Golf faded into obscurity. He married Sharyn and still amazes her, his three children, and the rest of us with his 16th hole, 300-yard knee-drive, and his ability to just pick up his sticks and play par Golf with no practice for months.

Although the Golf bug never bit me, throughout my Navy career and while assigned to the Pentagon, there were opportunities to play hooky and wander off to the links at various courses in the Metro DC area for a day of shots, strokes, and lies at the 19th hole. These were always fun but humbling events.

I do have one Golf trophy. It says on the plaque, “2nd Annual Suf Open 2005 – Longest Putt.” It is one of my most prized possessions. I’m still a duffer, but I think that trophy might have made Dad absolutely beam.

ICYMI: From Mom to Author: Navigating the Waters of Rowing Opens a New Life Chapter

 

 

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