Getting kicked out of PGA Superstore (Seriously)

We're fine. Everything's fine.

Caddie Corner is a weekly newsletter where we explore the intersection of life, golf, and the absurdities in between. Thanks to the new faces that are here this week. Last week I wrote about getting new irons. Hope you enjoy.

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I lied. That’s probably a good place to start. I said I booked a club fitting and was finally getting new irons. I reached the secret goal I’ve been working towards and it was time to pull the trigger. Justified the multiple zeros I was about to drop in the name of hard work and the next decade of my golf equipment.

But there was no golf fitting. Everything in Chicago is booked out for at least a month. And with two days before I leave for a golf trip, all hope is lost in getting new sticks. I settled for a new 52 degree. My superhuman ability to tell when a club is bent perked up. This one had to go. So last night I made the trip to the PGA Superstore.

I was caddying over the weekend. Sixty degrees and blue skies. High UV added to the war the sun has been waging on me this year. That feeling in the air—maybe it’s the crisp breeze that makes you keep the quarter zip on or the smell of cut grass in the morning—reminded me of all the early spring rounds I’ve looped. I knew the wait would be long. Haven’t been out much this year. Brought Ulysses, the paperback that’s stared at me from my bookshelf since 2017, to keep me company.

When I caddy I notice things about golfers I miss when I’m playing. Like how self-deprecating players can be. A five handicapper will claim he’d be lucky to get it out when in a bunker. Some players when I suggest how the wind will impact the yardage say they just hope the ball goes in the right direction. Maybe it’s a masterclass in limiting expectations. Happiness truly is the intersection of expectations and reality. But every time I hear the self-condescension I get bummed out. And then I did it myself.

“You play a lot?” my player asked me on the tenth hole.

“Yeah I get out a lot, but I’m not that good.”

The words were already out before I realized it. No clue why I said that. Maybe it’s because he was my age and just made the turn at two under. Yet there I was, labeling myself as someone that’s not good. I could have said I drive it farther than touring pros and putt like Denny McCarthy, but have a weak approach game. That’s honest. Well, slightly exaggerated. Bryson still has me by five yards.

Lately I’ve been fascinated with the idea of “not good enough.” It’s a story we write and tell ourselves that no one else seems to read. Unless you’re a psychopath analyzing everyone else’s inner shortcomings. To the rest of the world, our not-good-enoughs go unnoticed. All in our head. And perhaps that’s why golf is the best sport in the world. It takes all that junk in our heads and displays it across 6700 yards of neatly mown turf for us to analyze. Even spits out a number to quantify just how not good enough we are. I’m sure there’s a balance of continuous improvement and being happy with where one is at. Let me know if you find it.

I did say one honest thing to my player when he asked. I said I do play a lot of golf. Six months into the year I have 15 rounds played. For a traveling consultant living in a miserable spring Chicago, that’s pretty good. Unless your goal was to play less golf this year. Every year I make my golf goals. It may seem counterintuitive, but at this stage of my life I want to make time for other things. Like writing, business, meeting new people, etc.. That means I don’t need fifty rounds like the last couple years. I set a soft goal of twenty-five rounds. I head to Florida on Thursday where I have four tee times booked. Then I play two rounds for Father’s Day the following weekend. I’ll be at twenty-one rounds midway through June. Right when the weather gets good. Not ideal!

I publish those golf goals because they are fun and often over-aggrandized. In 2024, one of my golf goals was to “help Rory win the Masters.” Look who’s laughing now. You’re welcome, Rors. Separately, I make other life goals. A couple of you reached out last week in appreciation of this concept because it’s so easy to live on autopilot and watch the days turn into weeks and the weeks into years. Maybe you started making some goals of your own. It’s just important to keep them to yourself. Don’t talk about writing the novel you’ve always wanted to write. Write the damn novel. Don’t talk about going to the gym. Lose the fifteen pounds. Train for the race. Learn that language. Save for that solo trip to Paris.

I got to PGA Superstore and quickly found a Vokey 52 degree. F-grind, 8-degree bounce, for the sickos out there. That’s when I saw one of the hitting bays open. Instructor on his phone. Do you take walk in iron fittings? And in five minutes I was hitting a mix of P790s and T200s.

Take your time, get warmed up.

Probably my fault. Didn’t go in expecting to beat balls into a screen. Had to buy a glove first. Not easy going right into a seven iron whose face is half the size of your 2012 cavity backs. So I worked to find the center of the club face. I searched and searched and searched. No center to be found. Doubt it even existed.

Hey man, sometimes it’s not your day.

More balls. More hosels. Random flushed shot that carried 203. Back to hosel hooks that I didn’t know were possible. Standing too straight. No room for the club. Is it my grip?

Want to try game improvements?

Clubs felt a little too heavy. Could feel the Srixon’s pack the weight in the head. I roll my wrists enough already. Shouldn’t that help? More balls. More hosels.

I’m sorry, we’re closing. You gotta go.

Maybe he was right. Sometimes it’s not your day. Certainly wasn’t mine. Sometimes it feels like it’s not my thing at all. Like I’ll never be a good iron player. A life destined to three hundred yard drives and missed greens in reg. Retribution for some sin in my past life. But there I go again telling myself false narratives. So I was asked to leave. Last one in there but the janitor ready to start his shift. Purchased my new 52 degree. Two days until the golf trip. Spent the night watching YouTube videos. “THIS Grip will Fix Your Hook.” “THIS Weight Distribution Tip Amateurs Forget.” “Compress the Golf Ball Every Time (Seriously).” We’re fine. Everything’s fine. Just hold your breath ‘cause the house is on fire (Seriously).

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