Golf Mythology: What the “Gentlemen’s Game” Tells Us about European American Culture (Part 1: Sunshine and Values)

by Andrés T. Tapia –

TPC Sawgrass, outside Jacksonville, Florida. Picture by the author.

As South African Tim Clark sunk his 8-foot par putt on the 18th hole–where he completed a record 36-hole comeback at TPC Sawgrass Stadium course–and the crowd roared, I flashbacked to having been there just five days before the start of the PGA Players Championship in early May. I was staying at the nearby Marriott and was having dinner with Hewitt clients that evening at the famed country club, TPC Sawgrass.

Having not grown up with golf or taken it up as an adult, golf culture in corporate America is for me a mystery, and therefore a deep crosscultural experience. My limited exposure to golf had included watching through the cerco vivo (tall hedges that serve as barriers) of Lima’s two private golf courses as plaid-panted members of  the American and European expat communities cruised along in electric carts. Then there was the summer vacation as a junior high kid visiting my grandparents in Harrington, Washington, where I got $5 for every 10-pound bag of golf balls I picked up from the practice driving range. And as a college student during a summer internship in Boston, I spent time on the fairway of a public golf course–not playing golf, but shouting passá-lo aqui! (Portuguese for “pass it here!”) to a group of Cape Verdeans I played soccer with, disappearing into the trees when foursomes came along.

Sacrilege, I know.

And now here I was amongst the corporate elite — the next morning’s keynote speaker — sipping bourbon and nibbling on hors d’oeuvres on the balcony overlooking the famed 17th island hole, with the sun setting over pristine and perfectly manicured fairways. We continued our conversations over roast beef and salmon in the very room where Tiger Woods made his public confession of the affairs — hemmed in by dark wood molding and watercolor paintings in frames.

During the evening’s earlier tour of the famed clubhouse, the tour guide’s reverential tones and winky sense of humor elicited knowing nods as legendary stories were told about how the island hole came about, how the course was made to not favor either left- or right-handed players, how the proud owners threw each other into a water hazard at the course’s inauguration, of dramatic wins by Jack Nicklaus, Tiger Woods, and Phil Mickelson.

As I heard these stories and saw the reactions, I reflected on the many golf players I have met in my corporate career. I realized that this golf thing was as much a cultural phenomenon for European Americans as is our Latin American passion for soccer. As with most cultural icons and traditions, those in them don’t realize how unusual, how peculiar, how folkloric to outsiders their behaviors, habits, and stories are. So what is golf and what does it say about European American corporate culture? How is it a reflection of the archetypical worldviews of European Americans?

I looked up at a huge watercolor painting of Jack Nicklaus in his legendary putting stance. As he loomed over me in the TPC Sawgrass club lobby, I allowed myself to be absorbed by the golf tradition and to really see and feel how European American cultural values show up in golf. What is it, Jack, about you and the other golf gods that rings true for all who come to pay reverence in one of the most hallowed temples of golf? This is what I heard.

• the quest for perfection
• the joy of individualistic performance
• the camaraderie through task-oriented ritual
• the drive of low-key passion

Let’s putt around with each one.

The quest for perfection. I’m talking to a senior leader at the end of a work day. It’s a casual conversation about some client issues, but clearly his mind is already on the course. While we stand there talking, he unconsciously looks out the window as the golden afternoon sun, perched on the tree tops, is about to enter into its amber sunset glow. As he nods about something I’ve said, he gets himself in a two-point stand, cocks his elbows, and swings – the perfect shot he hopes to make once he’s on the fairway. Golfers obsess about the missed putt that was just this close, the shot that could have been if it hadn’t been for the unrepaired divot . . . or the jet overhead . . . or the chatty spouse or . . . those soccer players! There is always something.

In the workplace, corporate America obsesses with “lessons learned.” No matter how good the outcome had been, how well all had worked together, there’s a compulsion to be perfect. How could we have done that better? If we could do that shot over, how would we have adjusted our stance? In fact, the after action review becomes double loop learning that finds its way into the next project and, it if works out, the cycle begins again of how it could have been yet better still. A bogey is unacceptable, a par is to be expected, but the quest is always for the birdie of exceeding expectations, the hole-in-one of perfection.

The joy of individualistic performance. Not only is the score based on each individual’s strokes, but even the play is not in direct response to the opponent’s moves as in, say, that other individualistic sport, tennis. Then there’s, at least among the guys, the “well you’re on your own” shrug as you land in the rough or the water hazard.

“Golf is all about one’s ability to manage the mental pressure, not caused by the other players, but one’s own play,” explains my friend and colleague, Sandy Miller, an account executive at Hewitt and avid golf player. “If your mind wills it, your body will follow.” She elaborates: “If I’m at the 15th hole and scoring under 100 is within reach, I mess it up every time. That’s why I don’t look at my score. In the not knowing, I don’t psych myself out and freeze up. It works!”  Notice the “I” language of individualism. Her opponent is no one but her.

That’s how it is in much of corporate America. Recruiters want to hear the boasts of self accomplishment. Talk of “we” instead of “I” in response to the probe of “tell me of a time when you achieved something good at work” devalues the power of the answer. Bonuses are heavily weighted toward how well an individual did against their performance plan: 100% pay for hitting par, deductions for bogeying the goals, beyond 100% for birdies and eagles on the performance metrics. Hence colleagues who all worked on the same project can end up having quite divergent assessments because it’s the individual performance that is paramount, the team performance secondary.

The camaraderie through task-oriented ritual. Paradoxically, this individualistic sport brings people together through rituals steeped in deep tradition. In the minutes before a meeting starts, tips are shared about the latest innovation in nine irons. Elaborate plans are made to play hooky from work by orchestrating the 4 PM tee time into a legit client meeting. As the appointed time gets close, in parallel to the elaborate rituals of going to church, on goes the  uniform of the collared shirt, the soft spike shoes, Bermuda shorts or pants or skort. Upon arrival at the country club the golf club bags are dropped in just the right place, golf shoes donned where appropriate, and the acolyte, uh, caddy awaits to assist the golf worshipers in the execution of their duties. Heaven forbid you don’t show up on the dot for the reserved tee time. In the group observance community is created, interpersonal bonds are deepened, and respect for the game is preserved. In the outdoor temple presided over by towering elms and oaks, decorated with hills, tulips, and duck ponds, players commune with nature, sport, and each other.

Usually in groups of four, the players continue through the ritual  protocol. Knowingly, having done it hundreds, even thousands of times, players serve up the short stubbed pencils (just like the ones at the back of  the pew!), the score cards, the tees, the balls. Divots (grass hacked out by a well struck iron) are put back into the gash made in the manicured lawn or repaired with a custom seed and sand mixture. A hush descends as a player focuses on his or her swing. Etiquette! At all times, in all situations. In it, the social order is maintained, camaraderie deepens.

The community then quietly respects each individual’s pursuit of perfection through the gauntlet of the front and back nine. Sacred trust is endowed to each individual to keep their own score faithfully. Four hours later, it’s scotch-on-the-rocks or gin-and-tonic at  the club bar and conversation about the day, the game, family . . . and business. This is the day that the Lord hath made.

The drive of low-key passion. These rituals, the etiquette, all serve to channel golfers’ deep currents of passion. At the gym where I work out, the satellite TV shows six different televised sports simultaneously on a split screen. Soccer players careen up and down the field, basketball players bounce, jump, sprint, and dunk, football players pummel each other. But there on the Golf Channel, in complete contrast to the other sports, the players walk while someone else carries the heavy bag. They scan the fairway for their ball, rarely watching as who they were paired with takes his or her turn. When it’s time to play, significantly more time is spent thinking and focusing than moving. But then, in that fraction of a second just prior to the swing being activated, when it all comes into focus — mind, body, intent, desire — that quiet, bottled up passion gets tapped, and out it flows through the extended arms as they swing in an artistic arc in harmony with the waist and legs swaying in the opposite direction. Then comes the climax of the sharp, softened metallic sound of the club hitting the ball dead center and sending it soaring up into the blue, sunlight sky, and down into the bright green fairway 300 yards deeper into yet another quest for perfection.

I look back up at the Nicklaus painting. Thanks, Jack, for the revelation of golf’s ideals, the aspirational declaration. But like all cultural practices, golf also has its shadow side — where the ideals of perfection, camaraderie, and passion don’t necessarily play out to their logical conclusions. In Part 2, where I go there.

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