Golf's Troubled Past

Who knew that golf was once a banned sport? Apparently, back in the day the Scottish brass thought it conflicted with archery lessons and didn't allow anyone to play on Sundays due to military training.

Well, I guess driving balls at the invading English is not quite as effective as arrows. Although some of the courses I've been on definitely required a helmet and flak jacket...see: Mortar Range.

A quick look back at golf's history shows that in 1457, James II of Scotland banned golf for the reason mentioned above. His son James III continued the ban in 1470, as does his son James IV in 1491. It wasn't until 1502 when England and Scotland ended their beef (did they ever really?) that the ban was lifted.

Now, what's really interesting is that a few years before the ban was lifted something else was going on in Scotland - whisky. That's right...whisky. Actually, in 1494 there is the first written record of it. Through my deductive reasoning I found that; golfers that are banned from golf are not happy. Whisky makes them happy. Therefore golfers banned from golf invent and drink whisky to be happy.

Who knows though, chances are those zany Scots could have been bogarting grandpa's ol' cough medicine recipe for years and it wasn't until some pissed off golfer (probably drunk) decided to let the world in on their little secret. And I thought this noble game had a proper up-bringing.

Hit'em long...yell FORE!!!

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Film Review: Scotland's Caddies

"It must be a great feeling when you've set your heart on coming to play golf in Scotland on one of these fantastic courses. You get on the first tee, you hit your drive, you hand that driver to your caddy and he's off with your bag and you're just walking up the fairway." - From the documentary, Scotland's Caddies

I've never been one to fantasize about playing golf in the birthplace of the game. No matter how many times I would read about the hollowed grounds of St. Andrews or the majesty of a links course carved out of a rugged coastline in the North Sea, I never really had the urge to play in Scotland.

Until, that is, I watched Scotland's Caddies. This documentary (produced in 2010) has literally inspired me to plan a trip to the cradle of golf (at least at some point in my lifetime).

I now join the ranks of countless other golfers whose dreams are to play where Old Tom Morris chased around a ball stuffed with goose feathers. I dream of this not because I long to see the Scottish countryside, but because in Scotland, it seems, golf is still played the way it was intended to be played two-hundred years ago.

The film (which is just over an hour) follows the director's (Ron Colby) journey across Scotland as he visits some of the country's best-know links. But the focus is not on his golf game, but rather the caddies he encounters.

It seems caddies are a breed all their own - from their interesting origins to the present day loopers - all there to help you get the most out of your round. Listening to these guys talk about what it means to caddy - especially in Scotland - can inspire any golfer to start surfing Priceline.com for airfare and accommodations.

They've carried bags for presidents, celebrities and tour pros - and they have great stories to boot. They've also carried for hacks and average golfers of all nationalities - and can tell you who will tip the best based on the country they are from!

Scotland's Caddies is a fascinating window into an otherwise unappreciated occupation. The film not only touches on the history of caddies, but provides their modern-day counterparts with a voice (albeit one with a heavy Scottish accent) to tell their story. This film is well-worth the hour on the couch.

As a special bonus, the good folks over at Scotland's Caddies have shipped us a free copy of the DVD to giveaway to one lucky Golf Stinks reader! We'll be choosing a winner at random from our Facebook page one week from today. So make sure you like our page and good luck!

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From St. Andrews to Bob's Pitch 'n Putt, it's Still Golf to Me

This week, golf websites everywhere are splashed with images from the game's most hollowed grounds. The site of this year's British Open is taking center-stage...perhaps more than the tournament itself.

Now I'm not saying St. Andrews doesn't deserve it - ever since the Scots hit stones down rabbit holes, the Old Course has been a monument to the game. But these days the place has become sacred.

Every year golfers make the pilgrimage to Scotland for a chance to play where the game (as far as we know) began. But think about the words we use: A pilgrimage. That's what it is, no? It's a spiritual journey; a religious experience. Let's ponder that for a second. Scotland is golf's Mecca, its Jerusalem. Compare that to your home course, which is just the local congregation.

These local places of worship consist of a plethora of courses all over the world. Some are of championship quality, while some appear better suited for grazing a herd of bison. But golf courses don't have to be legendary for you to remember them, no sir.

I'll bet not many people outside your local area have heard of the course where you scored your first ace or eagle on. But that place, that hole - it means something to you, doesn't it? The track could be a mortar range, but it's still etched into your memory like your first born.

This year, the PGA Tour has really played the historical card well - Pebble hosted the U.S. Open; St. Andrews hosted the British Open; Augusta...well, we have that every year, but you get my point.

The thing is, whether I'm playing at the center of the golf universe or at my local executive 9, it's all hallowed ground to me. The first tee jitters; the being one with nature; the whole nine yards. It doesn't matter if there's a beautiful ocean vista or if a historic tournament was played there...I mean, that would be great but, it's not necessary for me.

So, does this suggest I'm OK with playing the same course all the time? Hell no! I want to experience as many golf courses as possible! But I won't regret it if I never play Pebble or St. Andrews. You see, when I pull those clubs from my trunk and slip on the soft spikes, it doesn't matter where I am - my pilgrimage has begun.

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