Looking Cool

Note:  This is not a golf story.  I know non-golfers don't really enjoy golf stories - in fact, you can see their eyes glaze over within a sentence or two.  And if you are a non-golfer, that may happen to you in the first few paragraphs.  Grab some coffee and stick with it.  This story has a larger point.  I hope.

The other day I stood on the 13th tee of the golf course I play at and surveyed the shot facing me. 

It was a shot demanding considerable precision and more than a little courage, especially if you have a relatively good score going and it's getting towards the end of the round.  You don't want to generate yet another of those pathetic stories golfers always inflict on one another ("God ... I was going along so well.  It was one of those games where everything finally came together when dammit, I put four balls into the water on 13."  "Ah, been there, pal ... did I ever tell you about the time I yanked my drive on 17 into the bushes and it took me seven strokes to get it back on the fairway?"  "Well, that's nothing, what about the time ...")

It's not a long hole - a 146 yard par-3.  But the green juts out into the water, forming an enticing but relatively tiny emerald peninsula.  Any shot that catches a gust of wind and strays left; or has to fight the wind too hard, loses, and comes up short; or is struck unexpectedly purely and takes off just as the wind abates and sails long, ends up making a loud and humiliating splash, the kind of splash that causes golfers on the fairways all around you to glance over and think, "Poor bastard.  He should take some lessons."

I got up on the tee, selected my club, then felt a gust of wind, re-considered, and chose a different club.  I took a couple of practice swings that felt right, addressed the ball ("OK, you little white bastard, don't you try anything funny."), and launched my shot.

It was - and I don't think I'm being overly kind to myself here - one of the most beautiful shots ever played in the history of the game of golf.  At the moment of impact I knew in every cell of my body that it was going to be a great shot - it felt so buttery soft coming off the face of the club.  We watched as it soared in a picture-perfect arc, bounced three times on the green, and rolled ... rolled ... rolled ... till it stopped three inches from the cup - very nearly a Hole in One.

My playing partners were in awe.  "Wow.  GREAT shot."  "Perfect."  "God, I thought it was in, terrific shot."  People who were waiting behind us (the course was busy that day, and play was slow) were equally effusive in their praise.  "Amazing."  "Wow."

I leaned down, picked up the broken tee, tossed it aside, slipped my club back into my bag, gave a soft, self-deprecating smile, and said "Well, I imagine we'll be able to find that one."

So cool, so nonchalant for someone whose heart was pounding like a jack-hammer and who wanted to scream "Oh, my God, did you SEE that, with the perfect swing and the flight of the ball and the bounce and the roll and the almost going in the goddamn hole and Christ all it needed was one or two more rolls and I've been golfing for forty-three frigging years, thousands of rounds, too many to even count and I've never had a hole in one and jaysus Mary Mother of God I thought that was it!"

But I didn't.  I just gave a little shrug and smiled what I hoped was a calm, crooked, self-satisfied smile and waited for the lesser mortals to hit their shots, for which I duly (and generously) complimented them, even though theirs were so painfully inferior to the shot we'd all so admired.

"Try to make it look like you've been there before and fully expect to be back."

There's the key to cool.

I used to coach football (oh, yeah - I was a passably good minor football coach for fifteen years.  Not many championships to show for it, but years later grown men have stopped me on the street and - even though I can barely recognize them dressed in a sports jacket and tie and all grown up and pushing a baby stroller - have told me that the time they spent playing for me was the most fun they ever had on a football field.  Rewards delayed are not rewards denied).  My players learned early on that their coach frowned upon the classless celebrations that are so much a part of the game now - the touchdown dances, the posing, the self-aggrandizement that so many athletes engage in to taunt and further humiliate their opponents.

In the first game of every year one new kid would score a touchdown, or block a punt or make a tackle and leap up, do some dance inspired by his heroes (!) on TV.  And his teammates who had played for me in years past would shake their heads and calm him down and know that when he got back to the bench (often a bit surprised to be pulled out of the game when he had done something so utterly magnificent), he would  be beckoned over and told "We don't do that.  When you get into the endzone, you make it look like you've been there before and fully expect to be back.  Be cool."

Be cool.

Sometimes it's not easy to remember to be cool. 

One time I was pitching in a slow-pitch softball game against a rival radio station.  Some friends had come to watch the game, and had arrived just in time to see the other team's most imposing batter step into the box.  (It occurs to me that I am drawing a lot of this from my experiences in sports.  Odd.  I'm not an exceptionally gifted athlete, nor a particularly sporty guy.  But we find inspiration where it presents itself, I suppose.  At any rate ...)

This guy was huge.  6'5", maybe 250.  He was the guy on every team who causes your outfielders to slump resignedly back to the fence in preparation for climbing it to fetch the inevitable home run.

I released the ball, he swung, and it came back to me at a speed I can only estimate at 6000 MPH.  A laser, directly at me.  Well, to be more accurate, directly at my glove, which had, in my natural pitching motion, dropped to my hip.

CRACKTHWAP.  That's as close as I can approximate the sound as the bat hit the ball and the ball hit my glove square in the palm.  One sound.  In fact, so fast was this ball coming back at me that it's quite possible the THWAP part of the sound came first.

I did not so much catch the ball as look down, astonished to realize it was imbedded in my palm.  There was no twitch of reflexes.  It appeared, in the palm of my glove, with no independent action required from me. 

And note, I said "in the palm of my glove".  Not "in the pocket".

The palm of a baseball glove, especially one as old and well-worn as mine, is nothing more than a thin layer of supple leather, offering approximately the same cushioning effect as, say, silk.  When a softball travelling fast enough to penetrate an armoured personnel carrier meets this thin layer of leather, the kinetic energy is transferred directly into the hand underneath.

My hand.

This kinetic energy is transformed into neurological impulses, which send subtle messages to your brain that "Oh, my dear GOD, something terrible has happened!  Arooogah, arooooogah, commence the humiliatingly dorky maneuver where you let the glove fall off your hand and leap up and down, shaking the hand to prove to yourself it still exists, and screaming "JESUSFUCKDAMNSHITOWCHRISTGODDAMNITSHIT!"

Which, you know, I did.

The batter was nice about it.  "Sorry," he said, as if that made it all better.  He hadn't meant to hurt me, but as he trotted back to his dugout, you could tell he was more than a little self-satisfied.  Which stung all the more.

After a while, the third baseman, a nice guy named Steve, walked over to the mound.  He put his hand on my shoulder and said "You OK?"

"Yeah.  Shit.  Ow.  Yeah, I'm OK, just give me a second."

"Sure, sure," he said.  Then added.  "You know what would have been really cool?"

"What's that."

"Nothing, I guess.  But maybe if you'd just thrown the ball over to first and picked off the runner, and nailed the double play, it might have been a bit cooler than what you did."

"Yeah, OK.  I'll keep that in mind for next time."

So, next time that happens, I'll be cool.

We pretend that being cool doesn't matter to us.  Life isn't a show for the rest of the world.  Who cares what people think?  Screw 'em, right?

But in fact, being cool - or acting cool - is important to all of us.  It helps us feel more together, more with it, more prepared for life's curve balls (or line drives).

I act cool when I'm really not.  When something is happening in my life that is important to me, when I don't want to open myself to looking pathetic or desperate or needy or scared ... I do what I can to act cool.  I try not to do the happy dance after victories (too much) and try not to look fazed when things don't go my way.

People I know, people I respect, people I love don't need another opportunity to see me at my worst.  They see enough of that from me anyway.  If I act cool, then somehow I figure if things don't go my way I'll be able to BE cool about it.

It's a thin veneer.  Like the leather on the palm of a baseball glove.  Line drives still hurt like hell.

But at the very least, if I act cool, I'll be the only one who knows how much it stings.

Comments

[Gora_Kagaz]

a very nice story--it made me smile. and i never would have thought someone might use the term "buttery soft" in a golf story :)

[Lowa]

This was awesome! Right when you said the ball went into the palm of your hand, I was thinking, "OH MAN! That would smart really bad!" That was pretty funny when the guy said it would have been cool if you had nailed the double play. LOL You were a bit distracted by an almost broken hand, man, What did he expect! LOL

I am so similar to you. I play it cool all the time. To the detriment of my family sometimes. I can be very hard to read and this causes a lot of problems. I still have not learned to balance that and show more emotion when it is needed.

I am off to Canada today to pick two of my kids up from visiting my parents in good ole Saskatoon. Wanna know what is on my list to get first?? An Iced Capp from Tim Horton's and some yummy Old Dutch chips:) YUM!!! I will think of you when I eat them.

[CircusKelli]

Great story, Nils. Of course, I'm just so freakin' cool, I wouldn't possibly be able to identify with that whole "not cool" thing.

(I'm also fulla crap, but you know... I don't wanna let on...)

[kalki]

A perfectly written post, as always.

I can relate to this. I actually wish I were able to not play it cool so much - with family and friends, I should be able to let my guard down and show how I really feel about things. But usually I don't. Even on the trip, when we'd be seeing something incredible, I'd play it cool. One time the guys were oohing and aahing over something and Mojo said, "We're freaking out here and Kelly's totally cool." He acted as if they were the weaker for it, but I knew differently.

[wordgirl]

Well...easy enough if you occasionally DO stuff in an impressive manner. I wonder about myself sometimes...and when my 15 minutes get here so that I can don the crooked smile and pick up the broken tee like it was nothing. I hope I don't have to wait too long. You, on the other hand, seem to live that kind of life. And then you have the nerve to go and write so damned beautifully. Like you said..."buttery soft". Yeah...like that.

[Ortizzle]

Great stuff. Too bad Zinedine Zidane (http://tinyurl.com/z436k) didn’t read something like this before he totally lost his cool. And the World Cup.

Me, I got no room to talk. I am totally cool when a little enthusiasm would do, and totally out of control when it would be cool... to cool it.

*sigh*

But I will remember this post the next time a crackthwap comes my way. :-)

[William]

What Club did you use?

I had a similar slow pitch softball story except the 6000mph ball hit me in the groin and I could not help but look totally uncool in the situation as I rolled on the mound for 10 minutes.

[deneen]

Visiting your site is one of the best things in my life-you are a treasure.

[peefer]

I am convinced that my wife's uterus stole all of my cool right after it rid itself of my first born.

Very nice story. (Alas, if I stil had cool, I would have said something eloquent.)

[decrepitoldfool]

"Buttery soft" describes a perfectly efficient transfer of energy. Wonderful when it happens even if just shifting gears or painting a stroke on a canvas.

"But at the very least, if I act cool, I'll be the only one who knows how much it stings."

It's a little white lie, sending the message "that didn't hurt" to nearby children. They may be better served if we cuss and stamp, then pick up the glove again and play ball.

[Jim Fogg]

I still pitch on a mixed slo-pitch team. Sometimes when we're kicking the ball around, I try to get someone to smack a shot at me, so maybe I can make a play. The best are the ones you don't see and snag anyway. Nothing better than just dropping the ball on the mound and strolling off like it's just another day at the office. Never let em see you sweat,cringe or feel pain.

I moan and groan at home, where it's likely I'll get little or no sympathy. lol

[Squirl]

While I don't do sports, I can appreciate a good sports story. I don't do cool very well, either. I do dork, though.

[Ern]

Great post, very well written (as I expect when I come over here). Not too surprising that you are drawing on sports examples. Sports are a great metaphor for life. Calling golf a sport, however, is a bit of a stretch in my book. ;)

[Katherine]

Great post! I think we all care too much what others think some times so we try to act cool instead of just being ourselves. I did "let go" the first time I made par by jumping up and down on the green - much to my husband's horror.

[MrsDoF]

For two months, to cover a medical leave, I was working the Beginners room at the daycare.
I'm not sure why having 16 two-year-olds is called the Beginners Room, but the main activity to be accomplished was POTTY TRAINING before promotion season came round again.

As a Sub, I had my own idea about how well the schedule should happen, and I marked a big RED star on every chart when the trip to the potty was successful.
One time, with an especially difficult boy, we had a dry day, all day. As his mom was pulling the paper off the clipboard, I did a plump lady happy dance, and was bragging on that boy like crazy.
A few minutes later, one little girl went potty just fine.
She wasn't satisfied with only the lovely red star, she looked up hopefully and said "Diane Dance?"
Definitely one of the times I was glad to oblige.

[shari]

Palming a baseball or softball through the mitt hurts like fire. Under those circumstances, cool is most definitely over-rated. I'm not a golfer, but that's one helluva story. And the golf didn't even distract me from the point! ;)

[oddmix]

What an awesome post! I could feel that ball hit. Made me cringe.

[The Kept Woman]

Whew, glad that turned away from golf indeed...you'd a lost me after talking about those birdie and bogie things.

Cool is something we strive for because as humans we want that peer acceptance and approval. Being cool is hard (not that I'm remotely close to it, but so I've heard...).

[Bucky Four-Eyes]

It's hard to plan cool.

Like my sister, I just count on dorkiness. At least then I am not disappointed.

[Wayne]

What iron did you hit? What was your final score for 18?