Monday, January 19, 1998

One golf widow's long winter lament

By BETSY HART

For many folks, right around now is when the winter doldrums hit. The holidays are over; spring seems far away. In most parts of the country the landscape is cold and lifeless. It's just kind of dreary.

I once expected these to be my favorite weeks of the year.

That was the anticipation I had the spring my husband took up golf. Or rather, became obsessed with golf. Became controlled by golf. Became owned by golf.

I figured then, four years ago now, that I would just grit my teeth and see him through those early whirlwind days with this new love. I looked forward to the few months of winter snow and cold because surely, I thought, his new found passion would cool with the temperature. He could reassess, see how foolish he'd been to get so carried away with this new addiction.

I anticipated how we would laugh knowingly together at how he'd been so easily taken in. He would see how kind and long-suffering I had been, and like an errant child would thank me for my wisdom in letting him see for himself with time the folly of his ways.

Needless to say, my hopes were dashed. And are dashed again each year at this time.

It's not that I want to see him suffer from golf deprivation. Really. It's not that I am irritated that he's even snuck out on several Christmas Days to "hit a bucket of balls" only to come back hours later having played 18 holes. It's not that I could ever get enough of his inevitable complaint about that "one-hole," that "one, irascible hole," that kept him from having the round of a lifetime.

It's not that I wouldn't miss the sound of total relief in his voice as he gets our answering machine instead of me when he calls for "permission" to play golf after an early departure from work. It's not that I don't love his ever more creative attempts to explain how golf is really a tremendous sport for overall physical fitness, so I should actually be encouraging him in the interest of his health to play it even more.

No, it's just that for a little while each year I would love to enjoy the real, non-golf world. One where Saturday's family activities do not include taking our little boy to the driving range. One where all kinds of conversations that have nothing to do with golf scores or strategy for knocking off one stroke here and another there, are possible. A time when entire weeks might pass without the "golf vultures" (i.e., his golf buddies) circling ever more tightly as the week progresses toward Saturday, and the phone calls start sounding like "Hi Betsy ... oh, he's not there? Well, can you have him call me right away? Um no, no particular reason."

Just a little respite would be so nice.

But it is not to be. For the golf obsession does not dissipate during these cold winter weeks. Like any great love it only takes a different form, and just as much time. The "truth board," some contraption to help with putting, sits in our basement along with a putting mat. A driving mat, net and tee rest in our garage. One or the other is always in use. We have satellite TV instead of cable only, ONLY, because our cable system does not offer the 24 hour "you can always find someone somewhere playing a golf tournament" Golf Channel. Then there are indoor driving ranges, all those teaching videotapes and golf magazines to catch up on, and the real nirvana, the brand new "golf superstore" that just opened a few miles from our home.

The golf vultures circle still, looking to share what morsels of golf possibilities do exist.

When it gets cold, golf mania simply morphs. And there is always an attempt this time of year for a men's "golf safari" to a warm climate. I can't hold out on that one much longer.

But of course the biggest problem with these cold weeks is that they inevitably give way to spring. Then that pent-up desire for the "real thing" will take over, like inflation hits after price controls have been lifted. For weeks, even months, my husband will be insatiable as the romance with his love, ever eternal, blooms again.

No, golf is not my friend. But my husband is. So I guess I should just be thankful we don't live in Florida.

Betsy Hart, a former White House spokesman, is a weekly commentator on MSNBC television news.

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