(Article Continues Below)I hacked my way through the first three holes, remaining cool despite visits to the rough, thewoods, the sand and the general limits of the property. On No.3, after coming out of the trees and a trap, I chipped to within sevenfeet of the pin and sank the putt for a triumphal double-bogey. Which was when Newman first noted that I was a battler.
I took a savage beating on Nos. 4 and 5, still outwardly calm, no problem, unless you were close enough to hear the gnashing of my teeth. Then, on No.6, a short, straight par 3, I turned things back around with another proud double-bogey. “Nice comeback,” Newman said, taking notes. “How do you keep your patience?”
It was a tough question. I wasn’t sure I had actually shown much. I was using every smile muscle I had to be on my best behavior, to keep my head from exploding the way it always wants to at various moments in the psychodrama that golf always puts me through. Still, I know it’s moronic of me to expect consistency at my level. I’m not good enough to get that mad at myself. Which is how I answered his question.
“I guess whatever patience I have is because, as a beginner, my expectations aren’t high,” I said. Then, as I mopped the sweat off my head, I thought to myself, “Give me a couple of more holes and we’ll see if the word patience is still in your notes.”
As it turned out, I needed just one. Bythe time I stumbled off the seventh green following a triple-bogey, I decided it was time for a cigarette. Being on my best behavior, I hadn’t had one all morning. But now-hot, tired, not even halfway through-I needed a smoke. It was delicious, and, as it turned out, almost magical.
My drive off No. 8 was 180 yards downthe middle of the fairway, a very strange place for me to be addressing my second shot-grass that had actually seen a mower, no laughing crows in the branches over my head, an unobstructed view of the flag-a nearly surreal moment. I hit a strong shot to within 30 yards of the green, followed it with a pretty little chip, a nice little putt and-jump and shout-a par. One of those cruel golf episodes that en- courages belief in the myth that all you really have to do to play well is relax, get loose and swing away. “Find out what tobacco brand this kid is smoking and send a car- ton to everybody out there warming up for the Open,” I said.
Newman smiled, shaking his head. ”I’m a psychologist,” he said, ” So I believe in psychology. But every once in a while, you gotta admit, there’s something to be said for chemicals.”
Ah, but the nicotine alchemy didn’t last long. I had my sky-is-falling moment on ro, and followed that with a monstrous slice off the lIth tee. I salvaged a triple-bogey only by sinking a 20-foot putt, and then man- aged a nice drive off the 12th, which turned out to be my last two good back-to-back shots of the day.
As I slashed my way hopelessly, pathetically through the final holes, Newman asked me what I thought was happening. “Fatigue ..Joss of focus …hell, loss of desire …the feeling that my only goal is to get this horrible drubbing over with,” I said.
A few minutes later, in the air-condi- tioned clubhouse, as I tried to unwind with a beer and a smoke, Coach Newman read through his notes and began analyzing the psychological slash-and-putt style I’d brought to our match. He began with the caveat that this was an abbreviated session, that a full-fledged executive coaching exercise would include perhaps more than one round and a follow-up program to help me translate the golf analogy to my work situation. Then he turned to the nitty-gritty of what my game had told him about the way I battle through my professional life.
“You clearly expect a lot of yourself and of others,” he said, “And you react strongly when your goals aren’t met. We saw some good examples of that on the golf course, like the problem you had on ro, which led immediately to the slice off the tee on II. You need to check those apocalyptic thoughts, and it’s clear you’re capable of doing that, of hanging in for the 20-foot putt you made on that hole which you called redeeming and which turned your next two shots around completely. It’s go- ing to be harder to do in your teaching, but you can do it.”
That putt had seemed to start a recovery, although it was hard to tell whether it was the result of concentration and touch, or just one of those gifts the golf gods hand out now and then to keep you in the game. But I did have one shot in the middle of my final meltdown which led Newman to note something about me that r had never observed.
I was in the trees again, my sixth little nature walk, but this time I blasted cleanly out and up the middle of the fairway with one of those shots that feels the way the pros make it seem on television. “All that practice in the woods is paying off,” I said, as we climbed back into the cart.
“You said it in a humorous way,” he told me, “But the truth of it was that you’re an experiential learner. You learn by doing. I knew this about you anyway, because when you called about my idea of combining golf and executive coach ing, you didn’t just want to interview me, you wanted me to show you how it might work And you told me that you design your magazine writing course so that the students are writing for a real magazine, that you take them through the process, making it as real as it can be. The problem is not everybody learns that way, and you let that get under your skin.”
That was the epiphany of the day for me and I’ve been working on it: giving my students a little more slack when I don’t feel them battling their way through-tooth, claw and 3-iron-out-of- the-trees-the way I do. And it’s working …sort of. Although I did have an acerbic little incident with a student the other day that made me think it might take two or three more rounds with the coach to really get the slice out of my professional game.
