What's Golf Got To Do with It?

⏰Flashback: Imagine California

The following flashback—drawn from a live comedy routine on my album Virtual Party—was initially intended to open one of the chapters in my upcoming autobiography, but it turned out to be less of a contribution to the arc of the book than we’d hoped.  So it got shelved—until I redeemed it for this Substack. And why? Some of what Jeanne and I have been speaking of lately concerns itself with how creativity and imagination are linked and—particularly in the divisive political climate in which we find ourselves—should be regarded and revered as increasingly important partners in problem-solving and renewal.

Working with Jim Newton and Paul Hill on the Kidlinks recordings in Texas has been a joyful reminder of how important it is for us to be supportive citizens of an ImagiNation (pun intended), and of course I’m also counting on you finding a chuckle or two here in the retelling of one of the “imaginative” ways in which Dick Kniss—our bass player for most of the 48 years we were together as a trio—and I sought to counteract the boredom occuring during the travel required for many of our Peter, Paul and Mary concerts. This particular story deals with a long trip in a rental car the morning after the trio’s performance at the Santa Barbara Bowl in California . . .

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It’s one of those golf-hungry mornings in 1991, and Dick Kniss and I are headed to Los Angeles for a weekend of shows at the Hollywood Bowl.  We have several days off before the engagement, and as we exit the driveway of last night’s hotel, we see directly across the street what appears to be a beautiful golf course. Granted, it may be a private course, but it currently seems to be empty of players, and we think the possibility of playing 18 holes before our trip begins is worth exploring. 

I pull into the parking lot, tell Dick to wait in the car, and remind myself as I walk into the clubhouse that I don't know anybody here. And so, if the idea is to leverage ourselves into a tee-off time, then I’ll just have to appear as engaging, charming, and perhaps even as “familiar” as possible . . .

So. 

I walk in through the lobby whistling “Puff the Magic Dragon” and looking for anybody over 40. Unfortunately, the guy at the desk in the pro shop is 16. He thinks I'm whistling something that I heard on Muzak, and we don't score. I mean, he's very nice, he's very kind, but he says something to the effect of “No, sorry it's membership only. We're all filled up. There's a tournament today. It's ladies day,  and the carts all have flat tires.”

I mean, I could tell there was no chance…

I come back out to the car, close the door, and there we are . . . bummer. On the road again . . . with nearly two hours before we reach Los Angeles. I mean, it's a beautiful day out there. We should be playing golf, but alas, here we are headed south on the 101 at 65 miles an hour, lost in our own thoughts, not talking and really kind of zoned.

And then it occurs to me. Wait a minute. What's the difference? What's the difference between playing golf and . . .

I glance at Dick, and I say, “Okay, I'm standing on the first tee. It's 425 yards long, and it's a slight dog leg left. I pull out my driver. I'm feeling pretty cocky, swing too fast, and I slice it badly. It stops just short of the woods. I've got at least another 200 yards to the green, and I can't take my club back all the way because of this big tree that's behind me.”

He looks over at me, and his left eyebrow goes up, “Well . . . I take out a four iron because I saw what you did with your driver . . . ”

And he hops right in. I mean, maybe it's the kind of creativity that occurs uniquely to musicians or whatever, but we both start playing this invisible golf course. Dick continues “and I hit the four iron about, uh, 200 yards.”  

There’s a silence in the car.

“Come on,” I protest, “You never hit a four iron 200 yards in your life!” 

“I did this time . . . ” He says with a straight face.

And that becomes the basis of our whole round. Sometimes the shots are brilliant. Sometimes they start off that way but end up in the water. But we’re reaching for authenticity here. I mean, we're talking about missing putts by a hair and about being in the sand trap and taking three to get out. I mean all the surprises and disappointments that actually do happen to us on a golf course.

But in about 45 minutes, after we've played about five or six holes, our game has slowed down, and we decide to let the people behind us play through.

Seriously.

Dick suggests we get a bite to eat and I say “Okay, my treat!”

So we go to the snack bar. All in our minds, right? And we're standing at this make-believe snack bar, asking each other to pass the ketchup and talking about how good the food is or how bad the French fries turned out. I ask him if he wants a beer, and he says, “No, if I have a beer, I'll never be able to finish out the nine.”

It feels like we’ve still got about a half-hour of travel left before we pick up the golfing action again. We agree to at least finish nine holes . . . which we make easier by turning the eighth hole into a short par 3—which incidentally we both birdie.

Seriously.

But now we're playing the last hole and, mind you, this is on a freeway headed for Los Angeles, right? We are just one of four lanes of cars all going in the same direction and we're kinda locked into a pattern—staying tight in this narrow HOV lane—though in our imaginations, we’re both on the green at number 9.

“Ok,” I say, “I'm putting, and I've been short all day. So I really give it the what for . . .”

There's a moment of respectful silence and mystery, and then I announce “Argggh, it slips by the side of the hole”

“Bummer” says Dick.

“Yeah . . . I should have played more break.  I go 12 feet past and I three putt. I get a bogey on this hole.”

But Dick's shooting for a birdie, right? He's just 10 feet away. He says he's been long all day, and that he's really gonna take it easy this time. He putts and almost immediately says, “Daggone—didn't give it enough” It rolls right up, right on the edge of the cup.

I start to sympathize when Dick yells, “and it falls in!!!”

I almost lurch off the road.

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“We’re not all comedians, nor do we need to be, yet if we cannot appreciate a bit of harmless irreverence or gentle ribbing, our lives will be dull and dour.” says Reverend Barbara Stevens, a chaplain who has been serving people who struggle with substance abuse since 2006. She continues, “Religion doesn’t exist so we can flagellate ourselves or condemn others . . . none of us escapes foolishness at times. So be gentle with yourself, appreciate the gifts of those around you, and enjoy life.”

A good piece of advice I’m imagining . . .

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Connections

Eistein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. . . . [It] encircles the world.” Read more here.

Vibrations

Hear the original “New Mexico Golf” track from Noel’s Virtual Party album.

Hear Noel, Jim Newton, and Alana Abel sing “ImagiNation” on the Kidlinks website.

 

Resonance

What is the connection between imagination and laughter (or humor)? Have you ever laughed so hard it brought on tears? Why do you suppose that is?  Does creativity always take us by surprise?  Is there something more profound going on—some leap of imagination required?

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