How To Play Golf With Your Spouse
By Peggy Nelson
Byron showed his sensitivity to my feelings and moods in many
ways, and of course one of the most critical was golf. Having been
a teacher for more than fifty years by then, he realized women
need to be treated differently, and he was always gentle in his
suggestions as we played together during the first year of our
marriage. However I was something of a special case. I just knew
I could figure out this simple game all by myself, thank you. While I certainly respected
his experience, when we were on the course, I was forever thinking about my score and
would brook very little distraction while I was endeavoring to make a seven instead of an
eight or nine. Silly, wasnʼt it?
So, even though he made very few suggestions, within the first six months Byron saw
there was a little problem. I would skull a chip across the green or chili-dip a pitch shot,
and he would say, “Sweetheart, try that again with an eight iron this time.”
I would reply (minus the sweetheart), “No!” Or I would try what he had recommended,
and if it didnʼt work instantly, I would fling the offending club back into my bag and
march on to the next hole without a word. I thought things were going swimmingly, but
Lord Byron knew better.
One day in May 1987 I had just come home from Dallas where I had been working on a
writing assignment for Scottish Rite Hospital. Byron met me at the door with the latest
issue of Golf Digest magazine in his hand.
“Sweetheart, I just read this article called ʻHow To Play Golf With Your Spouse,ʼ and I
want you to read it. I underlined everything Iʼve been doing wrong, and Iʼm going to
change, because if I donʼt change, youʼre not going to want to play golf with me any
more, and you may not even want to stay married to me!”
I melted, of course, as well as feeling like the worldʼs biggest idiot. There I was, balking
at advice from the greatest golfer/teacher ever, and heʼs taking all the blame for my
frustration on the course. I took the magazine from his hands and sat down next to him.
After a number of hugs and kisses and a few tears on my part, I read the article as he
had instructed. Naturally the piece was not written for professional golfer husbands who
had won five majors, fifty-four tournaments, eleven in a row, eighteen in a year, and
taught other pros like Watson, Venturi, and Ward. No, it was designed more for the
eighteen handicappers, who wouldnʼt know “you looked up” from U.S. Open rough.
We talked about it a little bit and finally figured out that, as silly as it was, I preferred to
play on my own when I was on the course, instead of thinking all the time that he was
going to want me to try another club or re-do a shot. So from that moment on, he would
only offer advice when I asked him during a round.
Oddly enough, that made it easier for me to ask, which I did a lot more often over the
years. The result was that, even playing only once or twice a week, I went from a thirty
to a sixteen. And letʼs not think about how much better I could have been if I had sat at
the feet of this master of golf and tried to learn all I could about the game. As he told me
years later, he really wouldnʼt have wanted me to get so gung-ho that I would be in
single digits. He knew how much work that would take and felt it wouldnʼt have made
me happy anyway. Byron always felt the happiest golfers he knew were the 80-85
shooters, who made enough pars to keep them happy, an occasional birdie for an extra
lift, and the occasional double bogey to keep them humble.
Tagging the Master
Oh, it was so much fun playing with him! Not only could Byron still play very well during
the first several years of our marriage, but he seemed to get more kick out of my
occasional ripping good shot than he did his own. One time we were playing at Riverhill
in Kerrville. I was about a twenty-five, and he was about a ten. So we were on the ninth
tee, a great, really tough par four, and the forward tees were only a few yards ahead of
the whites. He hit an excellent drive, and for once I tagged one that rolled a few yards
past his ball.
After rejoicing about my drive, Byron hit a pure little three-iron that ended up on the
green about a foot away from the pin for a kick-in birdie. I, my brilliant drive
notwithstanding, hit my three-wood amazingly fat and rolled it about thirty yards. Madder
than a wet hen, I took out my four-iron, and thinking fairly murderous thoughts, swung
blindly at that wretched white ball. Blinking in amazement I watched it sail up and
straight onto the green, where it disappeared into the hole for a three. I got a stroke on
the hole from Mr. Nelson that particular day!
You would think heʼd be a little crestfallen after hitting two wonderful shots and getting
an easy birdie but then getting beat by his floundering wife, thanks to that mysterious
fiend known as “the rub of the green.” No, my champion absolutely whooped with joy
over it and proudly told the story dozens of times afterwards to anyone who would listen.
What a hero! “How to play golf with your spouse” indeed!
Excerpt taken with permission from Life with Lord Byron: Laughter, Romance and
Lessons Learned From Golfʼs Greatest Gentleman by Peggy Nelson (2010) available at:
www.byronnelson-golfpro.com
Now Booking Interviews and Book Reviews. Contact:
Kathy Carlton Willis Communications
956-642-6319
WillisWay@aol.com