Sport: The Misty Birthplace of Golf

No one is exactly sure when or where golf was invented, and only God knows why. The Romans, the Dutch, the Chinese and a few others over the years have been willing to take partial responsibility, reasoning that any grassy place with shepherds and crooks might have done it. After all, what is more inevitable than a man lifting a club to vent some hideous rage on the most innocent object in his path?

The consensus is that it came from Scotland. So, whatever their ancestry, golfers are disposed to imagine that, in some essential way, they did too. As for the location of the Scottish maternity ward, there is no question. It is St. Andrews. According to the Morrises (Old and Young Tom), Bobby Jones and Henry Cotton, a serious golfer cannot be confirmed without going home to the broom and bracken of the Old Course. Furthermore, it is considered a crime against nature to trace a route any less circuitous than by way of Turnberry, Troon, Prestwick and Muirfield.

"Serious golfer" is a superfluity, since there are no frivolous ones. Even the most heartbreaking hacker is expected, indeed required, to hand his soul over in significant measure to the game. In return, he is issued a sackful of allegories and a lot of little road maps pointing to the unfairness, or at least the arbitrariness, of life. Ostensibly, a number of tangibles go with it as well.

Golf is considered a boon to both physical and mental health, though almost no one ever looks or feels better after a round. While intended to be a display of self-control, fundamentally it reveals temper. Implied in the $ game's sociability are honor, forthrightness, friendship, kindness, courtesy, generosity and understanding. But nearly nowhere are frailties of character laid barer than on a golf course. After 18 holes with a stranger, you know him. And golfers are as prone as the police to develop fatalistic cynicisms about their fellow men.

For beginning this summer's pilgrimage, Turnberry on the west coast seems a happy spot, being so convenient to Glasgow. The course fairly floats in midair over the Firth of Clyde, much the way Pebble Beach overlooks the Pacific Ocean, including the crashing surf and even the barking seals. Turnberry's open spaces are generous, and the heavy work is yet to come: the hands ringing in the heather and the hands wringing over the gorse. Scottish golf is a bouncier brand, played as much on the ground as in the air, and only when the putts are rolling well does anyone look up at the sky.

The outline of an island is visible on the sea. An old Spitfire runway has been commandeered by a wing of gulls. Their strafing missions are conducted over a neglected lighthouse. All in all, quite beautiful. Still, it's easy to see how Tom Watson was able to close with 65-65 to Jack Nicklaus' 65-66 in their famous staring match at the 1977 Open. Turnberry is a soft place to start.