(inspired by Golf Digest, Dec. 2011. Thanks!)

Golf Digest ran a wonderful article, «The 18 most annoying golf partners», in their December issue of last year.

The article introduced us to characters like The Unsolicited Swing Advice Guy, The Cheat, The Yardage Book Guy, and 15 more arc types we’ve all come across on the golf course.

What makes an article like Golf Digest’s fun is the fact that we, the readers, recognize the situations, and that they create images and memories in our heads.

However, to me it also brought memories of a situation where I unintentionally ended up probably being an annoying guy.

Photo: Wordle.net

It started with an invitation to a Callaway media event in Orlando, Florida, an annual event I had attended several times before. So I only skimmed through that year’s invitation before accepting, noting that the registration was at 7.30AM. However, as I learned when arriving 7.27-ish, it was the shotgun start that was set at 7.30.

I felt very stupid, seeing a great number of packed golf carts lined up, ready to take us out on the course. I spotted Callaway’s European PR-manager, ran over to her and was told I shouldn’t bother looking for my cart.

— Just jump in were there is a vacant seat, you’re not the only one running late, she told me.

I jumped on to an empty cart, pushed the accelerator and joined the rest of the carts single filing out on to the course. I met up with the two other guys in my group, teeing off from hole 8. We played on, and standing on the tee at the par 5 11^th, I noticed a cart tailgating us. I recognized one of the Callaway directors as the driver, with a guy about my age sitting next to him.

There was one golf bag on the cart, so I figured that our fourth player, like me, had been running late, and was brought out to join us. We all introduced ourselves, but I had a problem picking up the guys name. However, I thought I heard him say Ollie.

I found it a bit strange that our new guy didn’t make any move to get his bag on to my cart. I figured that the Callaway guy and this new guy – probably an editor of importance – had business to talk about.

I started chatting with our new team member on the tee as we waited for the group ahead to clear so that we could get on with our drives.

— Do you play a lot of golf, I asked him casually.

He didn’t really reply, but made a sound indicating that he did.

I then started to explain the format we were playing that day, a fourball betterball alliance kind of game. He didn’t seem very interested, which I found strange. Also I noticed he was a bit uneasy about chatting. So, I started asking him specific questions like where he was from, kids and family, how long he had played golf and so on.

The more I asked, the less conversational he became. Was he annoyed with me? I couldn’t understand why. I was just trying to be nice and including. Ollie teed up and hit. Wow! It was a super drive down the middle of the fairway. When he was on in two on the par 5 after his next shot, it should probably have struck a note.

But I was so fixed on him being a late arrival, like me, that my brain never followed other lines of thoughts. However, I was somewhat impressed with his game. Not many of my media room colleagues can play like that.

Ollie continued playing great, and I was politely cheering him on and complimenting him on his shots. He played the par 4 12^th just as nicely as he had the par 5 11^th, and after having holed out for his second consecutive birdie, the cart with Ollie and the Callaway director took off and left us, driving ahead towards the group in front.

— So, did he say something interesting, my golf partner Tobias Bergman, the Editor in chief of the Swedish golf magazine, asked me after having noticed how much Ollie and I had talked (read: how much I had talked).

Interesting? Why interesting, I wondered.

As it turned out, our fourth guy was Olin Browne, a three times winner on the PGA Tour. His last win had come just a few months before this took place.

The ones that had turned up in time for the event had been informed that Callaway staff player Olin Browne would play two holes with each group that day.

Mr Browne, of course, knew nothing about me arriving late and therefore missing out on the tournament director’s briefing. He must have thought I was trying to be a smart guy showing off by pretending ignorance.

The moral of the story is that even though your intentions are the best, people around you might find you annoying.

Especially if not knowing that you behave the way you do just because you don’t know the whole picture …

Do you like this post? Please sign up to be notified when new posts are out. And please share this article with your friends by using the share buttons underneath.

A while ago I published a post about how to make a Pro-Am an outstanding and fun experience. The title was 4 Tips That Can Help You Survive in a Pro-Am.

Needless to say, a lot of golfers become nervous after they have accepted their invitation to a Pro-Am. That goes for those who are aspiring golfers (and maybe think they are better than they are) as well as for quite a few of those who are terrible golfers.

Much of the same goes for Celebrity-Am. You know, when famous people play (often bad) golf for charity with (often bad) amateur golfers. But there is really no reason for being nervous then? Well, golf wise there isn’t. But it’s a fact that a lot of people get very nervous when they are among people that are very famous. They’re afraid to mingle, afraid to start a conversation, and they laugh in all the wrong places and do clearly prove they are out of their league.

But then there are these rare occasions when you are invited to a Celebrity-Am, and don’t have a clue who (most of) the celebrities are. That happened to me. Once.

In my early days as a golf magazine editor I worked a lot with a Scottish pro on instruction articles. He, in turn, worked a lot with an English sports hero that had an ambition to raise 5 million pounds Sterling to charity. His way was golf Celebrity-Am events all over Britain. The Scottish pro got me in to one event in Manchester, which is not a very long flight from Oslo. I flew over, arrived at the golf course, did my registration and was told my tee-off time.

Also, I was given the names of the three other players in my group: Two celebrities and one amateur. Their names told me nothing.

I was informed there were free balls on the driving range and free coffee, tea, and cookies in the restaurant. I decided for the coffee, and entered a room packed with people. Being in Manchester, I expected to see some soccer faces. Which I did. Also I recognized a few faces from movies and TV-shows. The familiar faces counted for about five per cent of the restaurants occupancy.

OK. Not much to do about that other than to confess that I could have done with reading up on British celebrities.

Balancing my cup of coffee and my cookies I spotted a vacant seat at a table with a group of people with a laidback not-stiff-upper-lip look about them. I decided to take my chances and was offered a seat. My Scandinavian accent gave me away immediately, and the guy across the table asked where I came from.

I told him Norway.

«Norway? Hmm … Norway. I believe my show runs there, doesn’t it?»

I didn’t have a clue. I had no idea who that guy was, and neither did I have the guts to admit it. But my brain was functioning all right, and I reckoned he wouldn’t have asked the question if he hadn’t known he was being aired in my little country.

«Sure,» I said.

«And it’s actually very popular,» I added.

That was obviously the answer he hoped for, and he didn’t follow up on that. Instead we had a very nice chat about all other things than hi-fly life.

My tee off time drew closer; I found the practice green, the first tee and then my group of three other guys. One was an amateur, two were celebrities, but I found it too embarrassing to sort out who was who by asking. I figured I would learn it, eventually, by just paying attention to what was said between the players.

It took exactly three holes. Walking down the fourth fairway with one of the guys (the two others had fired their tee shots to the other side), he more confirmed then asked:

«You really don’t know who I am, do you?»

It was a direct statement where I saw no other option than to admit he was right. To that he remarked that he and Paul (obviously the other celebrity) had figured it out between themselves.

«And it’s so nice,» he continued.

«I do a lot of these events. I love to play golf. But a great deal of the fun is spoiled when the people you play with treat you like a divine dignity. That’s so different with you. You talk to me like you would to any other guy.»

The rest of the round was sheer fun for all four. The loose and casual approach also transferred to the fourth guy, who turned out to be an hotelier from Birmingham.

However, the moral of the story is better than the story: It summons up what golf is all about. It tells us that out on the course, we’re all alike.

Do you like this post? Please sign up to be notified when new posts are out. And please share this article with your friends by using the share buttons underneath.

Did you know that use of humour could backfire on a writer not renowned for being a humourist? I’ve learned it. And that lesson took me more than one occasion to learn.

After a life of writing, it should be all other than strange that I’ve pursued ideas that turned out to be stupid, bad ideas. Also it should be all other than strange that I only discovered it after the story was published.

Among these stories there is one golf story in particular that stands out. It was titled If I Were A Rich Man, and it happened in my early days as an editor of Norsk Golf. The magazine was invited by some travel industry professionals to sample the best Florida could offer a golfing tourist.

The trip included flights on business class, a 5-star hotel and a Cadillac rental car. It was a difficult decision whether to go or not go. I mean; Here We Go On A Luxurious Golfing Adventure is not the most catching of headlines or ideas. Even I could see that, no matter how keen I really was to go along.

TRYING TO BE FUNNY: The Migrant Golfer and a Cadillac in front of a 5 star Orlando hotel. Photo: Paal Naess

On the other hand, to turn the offer down was also tough. As a journalist, curiosity is a strong driving force. I thought I’d cracked the nut when the idea penetrated to use the famous song title from Fiddler On The Roof as the main idea, and also as the headline for the story.

In addition, we wanted to put the luxury in perspective. So we decided that the photographer should fly coach class, stay in a budget hotel and drive a compact rental car. We would publish his experience as a counterweight to the life of luxury.

However, the latter was in the story only. In real time, the photographer was flying in the seat next to me, stayed on the same floor in the same hotel and rode in the same Cadillac as I did. It was not difficult at all to write the budget side of the story. That is, after all, how we in general travel around.

I put a lot of work into the copy. Trying to hold a witty tone with several dashes of irony. Hoping that every reader would understand that in reality there was no upstairs/downstairs approach and that the photographer’s side of the story was a made up one.

Needless to say, it didn’t work that way. It didn’t take very long for my mailbox to fill after publishing the article If I Were A Rich Man. Most messages had an indignant tone in favour of the poor photographer. I also received a couple of offers for management courses and classes.

All in all: I could have done better leaving out any attempt of being funny.

I have tried to do so in this blog post. Did I succeed?

Do you like this post? Please sign up to be notified when new posts are out. And please share this article with your friends by using the share buttons underneath.