Wealth of the Ignorant
Last week, I watched a grown man throw a temper tantrum on a golf course.
In our second round of the day, my friend and I were paired with two other golfers. Getting paired with strangers is one of my favorite parts of the game. It’s a chance to meet new people and connect over a common goal.
By the time we finished the first hole, I knew there would be no connecting during this round. One of the guys was quiet and shy. He didn’t seem like much of a talker. The other guy was a straight up asshole, and I can honestly say—after playing hundreds of rounds of golf—this is the first time I was paired with a stranger who turned out to be a complete dick.
Whenever he hit a good shot, I complimented him.
“Nice ball. Great shot. Good birdie.”
He never acknowledged me.
When everyone else was hitting their tee shots, he sat in the cart until it was his turn. When everyone else was putting, he walked off the green as soon as he was done. Whenever he hit a bad shot, he got back in the cart and quit playing for the hole.
His behavior was strange, antisocial, even slightly rude, but it was barely tolerable. That is, it was tolerable until we reached the 14th hole.
On the 14th tee my friend bombed a drive down the middle, I hit an okay shot, and Quiet Guy flew a drive into the fairway. Grumpy Man got out of his cart, walked to the tee box, and stood over his ball with a three wood. The wood seemed like a strange club choice since he’d been hitting his driver well all day.
You see, Grumpy Man had no reason to be grumpy. Of the four golfers in our group, he was probably the best. When he finished a hole, he usually made a par or a birdie, and he hit his irons with the power of a puma and the accuracy of an archer. But like every weekend warrior on the golf course, he hit an occasional bad shot. Unlike most golfers—who regroup and work with their mistakes—he would shut down and pout like an 8 year old whose parents won’t let him eat a third piece of birthday cake.
Now back to the 14th tee. Grumpy Man took a giant swing, topped the ball, and sent it screaming across the ladies tee box where it came to a stop 20 yards in front of us.
As I watched, I could feel his anger rising from within, about to boil over like an unwatched spaghetti pot on a hot stove.
He wound up to snap the club over his knee, but to my amazement, he restrained himself. My amazement quickly vanished with his restraint as he hurled the club forward in anger. As he walked to retrieve his club, I thought he reeled himself in.
I was wrong.
Grumpy Man got back into the cart and violently slammed the club on the floor like he was trying to chip a thick sheet of ice off a driveway. On the third slam, the club snapped, sending shards of graphite shaft flying in all directions.
My friend and I sat in our cart and stared at each other in disbelief. As soon as they were out of earshot, we began laughing hysterically. It was the most absurd thing we’d ever seen on a golf course.
As you could probably guess, Grumpy Man sat in the cart pouting for the rest of the hole. Then on 15, he stepped up to the tee like nothing had happened, crushed a drive, and birdied the hole.
It was a weird afternoon.
The first half of the round I was annoyed with Grumpy Man. By the second half, I just felt bad for him.
Reflecting on this crazy experience later, I thought of a quote from Epictetus:
"Be careful to leave your sons well instructed rather than rich, for the hopes of the instructed are better than the wealth of the ignorant."
Money didn’t seem like an issue for Grumpy Man. He was playing a $60 round of golf using clubs worth several thousand, and I saw him get into a Hummer in the parking lot after the round. The single club he broke during his temper tantrum cost more than $300.
Wealth wasn’t his problem. Ignorance was.
He was ignorant to the norms of polite society. He was ignorant to the techniques for coping with anger. He was ignorant to the fact that, when you’re hitting driver well, you leave the three wood in the bag.
That last one is a joke, but I think you get my point. Money doesn’t help with good behavior, nor does it excuse bad behavior.
I found myself wondering what Grumpy Man does for work, if he’s married, if he has kids, and if he has friends. How can a person who acts like that on a golf course be a normal functioning human in society?
I didn’t find an answer to that question, but I left the interaction feeling thankful. I was thankful I have good parents who set boundaries and expectations. They made me work for things I wanted, and they punished me when I was wrong. They set good examples of how to act and how to treat others. And because of my parents, my golf partners don’t worry about me impaling them with my three wood in a blind fit of rage.
My parents left me well instructed—a gift that money can’t buy. When the time comes, I’ll do the same with my children. Because a society of temper tantrum throwing, golf club breaking hooligans isn’t one where we want to live. And if we all do our part, we won’t have to.
Photo by Accolade Creative on Unsplash
