In the Walker Cup (and in Life), it’s about enjoying this moment

Cobblestone Beach, California – I’m here to take the Walker Cup at Cypress Point, a great route and a beautiful course, but let’s not go crazy here. There are other beautiful courses nearby. Pebble beach. Two courses from Monterey Peninsula Country Club. On the back nine (Seaside Nine) of Pacific Grove Muni. PG has the comfort that I think is the core value of golf language maintenance. Some people in Augusta would disagree. I have a friend who is empowered by courses who understands the importance of comfort and the importance of retaining work: “Try selling membership to Brown,” he said. In the United States? You can’t sell brown. Our golf year began in Augusta with wall-to-wall paved with green. Everyone has color TV these days.

I showed up on the Pacific Grove Pro Shop at 6pm and on the 10th tee and about 10 minutes later I had a ridiculous trolley bag on my shoulders. The sunset is 7:30. The guy behind the counter asked me if I needed golf. I did it. I bought a Srixons, which was the cheapest ball he had. I made nine holes in 90 minutes and didn’t lose the ball. No one is behind me. Instead of waiting for the t-shirt, I leaned and pushed until the coast cleared.

Ninety minutes of golf course. No time to chat. Some blind shots. Elastic fairway. Salty air. There is no principal. (Leave them in the store.) In this case, your life becomes all messy: your childhood, college days, and later find your way in the world, marriage, marriage, parenting and golf; whatever you call the next stage. I am 65 years old this year. My friend Sam Reeves is a young 91 year old who likes to say that you don’t know if you’re middle-aged or old, then you’re old. He also said that golf is connected.

When I returned to nine in the Pacific Grove, my mind drifted over: I was in Bellport, Long Island, where I played; on the National Golf Course farther from Suffolk County, many great games and time; Elie and the Old Course, the Macri Hanish and other courses in Scotland; and in the embarrassment of the wealth of golf in Greater Philadelphia, where Christine and I raised our kids, all over the 30s, 40s, 50s and 60s. Over the years, the personality traits and golf wavings of hundreds of golfers have been stored in my mind. Now, I think of a man named Tommy Blue, who is exactly my age, 65 years old. He is a retired roofer at Machrihanish, Scotland, who once worked on the roof of Paul McCartney and played bass drums on McCartney records. Have an unforgettable match with him. We wandered around. We both have the metabolism of fast golf.

A friend, Sharon Harrington, passed away last month. She was 65 years old at the time. I recorded a lot of rounds with her husband, Stevey Hags, a former Yale hockey player, and Hoganophile. Salon raised two outstanding daughters and a son, completely involved in her family life. She is also a golfer, bridge player, gardener, sharp like nails and will fit as well as possible. She went to the hospital for kidney stones and died on August 22. Who would have guessed that she wouldn’t see August 23? Not her husband, not their three children, not anyone. Hundreds of people came to her backyard to memorial service. The salon contacted all of us and the golf contacted many of us. Golf is connected.

Like many of us, I travel a lot in the summer, and like many of us, I found golf games here and there. In a round this summer, I played with a retired man for a few years. He played a pretty handless grip from the striker’s t-shirt and turned again on the ball. His excellent shots are good, if he picks up a series of shots he gets, appropriately. He walks like me and he walks well.

“What is your lowest obstacle,” I asked the guy.

He pointed to an ion hole in the fairway below us and said, “That’s it.”

He is not humorous. I realized he didn’t really grasp the problem. Daily conversations, ordinary processing of words and information that we often take for granted, were snatched away by him. He insisted on playing golf as much as possible. It is moving, painful and inspiring.

I’m doing things too fast. I’m a slow, cautious reader, a slow, cautious runner, but for the most part, I’m BA-PA, BA-PA, BA-PAthe next thing. A few days ago, I sat in the restaurant and told me to sit on my server: “No menu is needed, only two eggs with whole wheat toast on the medium, please.” The food arrived soon, and the young man said, “Don’t rush, enjoy your meal.”

OMG. He nailed the whole thing. Don’t worry. enjoy your meal. What is rush?

This Walker Cup is fun. Its speed is interesting. Twenty players and two captains have been here all week, punching nine holes here, and there are nine holes there. Long meal. Long table tennis meeting. A slow and pleasant week, then take part in the competition itself: Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon; Sunday morning, Sunday afternoon. BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. It will go too fast, but children who win or lose will have lasting memories.

They may actually remember the days when they were playing games and anything else. Ian Poulter talks to the GB&I team. George W. Bush was at the opening ceremony. Every night, players have chocolates in the Bay of Spain on the pillow. I mean, that’s big. You are a college student (most of them) and represent your country in team competitions and you stay in a super luxury room (Gulf of Spain), every night, during the turn of service, They give you free chocolate!

I’m not using it as a professional trick, but it does work for me: you take the chocolate out of the wrapper, place it on your tongue, and place it there until it melts. Your teeth shouldn’t touch it at all, chocolate, smell, taste and texture everywhere.

Michael Bamberger welcomes your comments via michael.bamberger@golf.com.