The Purist

I first remember playing golf in Dublin, Ohio, back in the 1970s when Muirfield was just opening and I was still in elementary school. During the summer, I went to the Dublin Youth Association program, which helped fill the days between school years. My neighbor, Martha Wacker, was the one who taught us golf. I can still picture myself in fourth grade, learning to grip the club, swing, and actually send the ball somewhere. More than anything, she showed us how to have fun with the game.

I remember using Wilson wooden clubs with brass plates, which shows how long ago this was. Back then, I only knew about the club, the ball, and the challenge of hitting them together. Martha gave us a starting point. Now, I appreciate how simple that first lesson was. Someone who understood the game took time to share it, and that made me want to keep playing.

After moving around a little, I eventually landed back in Upper Arlington. I learned that Jack Nicklaus had graduated from our high school, and we were the Golden Bears, which made his connection to the place feel personal. Golf was part of physical education throughout high school, even though football and lacrosse were my main sports. On weekends, I often played recreationally with friends at Raymond Memorial, a municipal course outside Upper Arlington.

Golf had found a regular place in my life without needing to become the center of it.

Many of my friends were members at Scioto Country Club, but my family couldn’t afford that. We had a tough time with money in Upper Arlington, and my parents chose to live there for the schools. I knew about the private-club scene, but I played at Raymond Memorial. When I look back, both places are part of my memories, even though my experiences at each were different. I didn’t need a private club to love the game.

Golf also let me spend time with people whose lives were different from mine. There were limits on what I could do because of money, family, and social circles, but golf gave me a way to connect with others. I met people who had the kind of life I wanted. I wanted to learn about that world and work toward something better for myself. Golf gave me a place to put that ambition.

When I was a freshman, I delivered the Upper Arlington News so I could buy a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt to wear for golf. I also wanted a bottle of Polo cologne, the green one. I remember wanting to fit in with the people I looked up to. It might seem like a lot to expect from a shirt and cologne, but they mattered to me. I earned them, and wearing them made me feel a little closer to the life I hoped for.

The golfers I admired were Jack, Arnie, Gary Player, Nick Faldo, and Freddie Couples. They were from different times in my life, but together they shaped how I saw the game. I remember their visors and outfits, which looked more like business casual than today’s sportswear. I liked how they carried themselves. Golf seemed like something you dressed up for, and that was part of what drew me in.

Later on, Urbana Country Club showed me what it really meant to belong to a club. Annette was already a member before we got married and knew the Dye family from Urbana. Because of her, the club was tied to people and friendships she already had. P.B. Dye was my partner in our Tuesday night scratch league, where we played for raw scores, no handicaps. Those evenings became a big part of my golf experience, though I didn’t realize how special it was at the time.

When I moved to Ouray, Colorado, I stopped playing golf regularly for fourteen years. When I finally got back into the game at Cobble Creek, I realized how much I missed Urbana. Being part of a private club had given me a close connection to golf that I didn’t notice until it was gone. Annette’s ties to the club, the people we knew, and playing together often had all shaped what belonging meant to me. I missed more than just the course itself.

Cobble Creek has given me things I never had in Ohio. It was my first time playing a true links-style course, and now I actually prefer it to the parkland golf I grew up with. The Colorado scenery still amazes me, and I can play most of the year here, which wasn’t possible in Ohio. There are trade-offs. I miss the private-club feel, but I really value the golf I have now, and I wouldn’t want to ignore either experience just to make a simple comparison.

The golf world changed while I was away. LIV Golf started up and held its first tournament in 2022. When I started following golf again, I felt uneasy about what LIV stood for. The PGA TOUR always seemed like an institution to me—elite, but not snobbish. It set a standard worth aiming for, even if you never got there.

My reaction to LIV was that something I valued had been undercut and devalued. I can appreciate a golfer’s ability and still dislike the way the game around him is being presented. To me, LIV felt like a cheapening of something that had helped make golf aspirational. I wasn’t looking for professional golf to become less demanding of my attention or more eager to entertain me.

Part of what had drawn me to it was the feeling that I was watching something difficult, accomplished by people who had devoted themselves to doing it exceptionally well.

I feel the same way about some of the golf content online. I’m not interested in sexualized golf posts, and most influencer content doesn’t appeal to me either. Whether it’s about looks or personality, I lose interest when the game takes a back seat to someone trying to get attention. I was always drawn to golfers for how they played and acted on the course. That’s still what I look for when I watch or read about golf.

These feelings have made me think about what I mean when I call myself a purist. The old clothes and wooden clubs are part of my memories, but I’m not trying to recreate every detail from my teenage years. I use modern gear now, play a different kind of course, and have new players I look up to. What matters most to me is the care people bring to golf, not keeping everything exactly the same.

I see golf as a craft, and a lot of that is about paying attention. It means learning the rules and sticking to them, even when it’s not easy. It means respecting the etiquette, not just picking the parts you like. Fixing a divot or a ball mark is just part of playing, not a favor I do when I feel generous. I can fix a mark even if I don’t know who made it. These are simple things, but I think they should stay that way.

Dressing with care is part of that same mindset. I like getting ready for golf as if the day deserves some effort. Now, I wear RLX at Cobble Creek and Holderness & Bourne, which feel just as special to me in a modern way. My style has changed, but I still remember that first Polo shirt. I still enjoy the feeling of preparing for something important to me.

How someone presents themselves says more to me than a handicap ever could. It doesn’t have to be a certain brand or cost a lot, and I don’t expect everyone to like what I do. For me, thinking about what I wear shows I care about where I’m going and what I’m doing. I remember how much effort it took to buy that first shirt with my paper route. I don’t want to mix up the price with the meaning behind it.

I still catch glimpses of the golf I remember when I watch Adam Scott and Billy Horschel. Scottie Scheffler reminds me of it too, but in his own way. He wears Nike, which I think of as the modern look, but I respect how he plays and acts. Watching him helps me see the difference between the style I like and the qualities that really matter. I don’t need every player to look old-fashioned to see class in how they play.

Walking is important to me for similar reasons. When I was growing up, walking was just how you got around the course, and I still like seeing a fairway without a cart in the way. I enjoy the time between shots as I walk. Of course, the summer heat here has made me use a cart plenty of times, and I know walking isn’t for everyone. My preference doesn’t mean I ignore the weather. Now that it’s cooler, being able to walk again is something I really look forward to.

I have smaller rituals too. I like to have a Fuente cigar ready for the back nine, as long as I’m playing well. That’s important to mention, because I still care about my score. I want to play good shots and finish a round I’m proud of. Enjoying the clothes, the walk, and a cigar hasn’t replaced my drive to improve. They’re just part of how I enjoy the time I spend trying.

I know I’m writing this for an online publication and sharing my own photos of golf. I’m part of the same online world that sometimes frustrates me, so I want to be clear about what I hope to add. I want to help another golfer notice a detail, remember an experience, or think about why golf matters to them. Bringing a camera to the course is another way for me to pay attention. I like looking more closely at a place I might otherwise rush through, just thinking about my next shot.

That’s part of why I’m drawn to the Broken Tee Society. I see a love for golf there that feels familiar, even though I’m experiencing it now instead of just remembering it. It reminds me that the game I missed during my years away hasn’t vanished. There are still people who care about the experience, and finding them has made coming back even better. I don’t need to recreate my 1980s golf to find things that still feel right.

I also know that just looking the part isn’t enough. A golfer can dress well and still leave a divot, break a rule, or ruin the day for others. If I care about how I present myself, I have to judge my actions too. The clothes are the easy part. Doing the rest takes more effort, especially when I’m frustrated or things aren’t going well.

For me, that responsibility goes beyond the golf course. I like the idea that someone might see me and think, “I bet that guy plays golf,” without needing to see a big logo. I want that to come from how I act, how I treat others, and how I carry myself. That’s something to work toward, not something clothes can give you. The respect and attention I value in golf should still show after I’ve put my clubs away.

When I think about that boy delivering the Upper Arlington News, I see why these details still matter to me. Golf helped me imagine a life beyond what I knew and let me meet people I might never have met otherwise. It started with a neighbor teaching me to hold a club, and it’s continued through places and friendships I’m thankful for. I play somewhere else now, but I still believe the game deserves care. I want that to show in how I play, how I leave the course, and how I act after the round.

Until next time,

MVM