I am absolutely filled up after the PGA Tour offseason. East Lake feels like it was ages ago. I used the time to fight down the number of tabs I have open, which currently stood at 73 open on the various Safari and Chrome windows on my laptop and 488 tabs on my phone. Made some progress last week but we're still not in a great spot on that front. However, I only have 43 total emails in my inbox, which is a win.

Randy really stretched the bounds of the “GHIN” category in the last G&T by writing about his dog, Arthur. This week, I’m going to reset us by getting really literal and talking about my actual handicap index and address some of the haters in the process. 

Barstool released a video last week in which Riggs (who seemingly plays 10x more golf than I do, yet has an impossibly unathletic move) challenges an internet commenter to a match. While I think a concept stemming from handicap manipulation accusations would’ve been more interesting/applicable in a stroke play format, that they pulled in an internet hater and then put him in the cauldron is something we’ve been talking about for years as a fun “what if” but never had the bandwidth to put it in play.

This comment, from a prolific hater of ours on YouTube, is what got me going on this topic a couple of weeks ago:

People see me play golf on camera and it’s often not pretty, which can be chalked up to a combination of factors: Playing on camera isn’t easy - filming a round is a pain in the ass and often results in various stops and starts. Sometimes good shots get edited out. Sometimes bad shots get edited out. I’m 38 years old, have two kids, and until recently, hadn’t worked out in a decade. I have an ugly over-the-top move, and many of the videos we’ve filmed this year have been the morning after a cross-country flight (and sometimes the day of that flight, or on another continent), and I’m the least flexible person on the planet. 

All of this adds up to a potent, high-variance, feel-based combination that can yield drastically different results round-to-round. I rarely warm up at this point — and usually play better when I don’t — and I’ve practiced twice this year and I often go weeks without playing. All of this is deeply self-inflicted and unnecessary, and I’m in the early stages of fixing it (

as are Casey, Cody and DJ - if you haven’t seen our latest video

I’m a 1-handicap because the GHIN system says I’m a 1-handicap. And there seems to be a fundamental misunderstanding of (or refusal to accept) how the system actually works. To refresh: the system only looks at your last 

 best score differentials to par when factoring in slope, rating, and conditions that day. At any given point, despite my volatile and streaky nature, the best eight rounds of my last twenty are usually pretty good. These rounds tend to come in the middle stretch of golf trips, after I’ve gotten a few days of golf under my belt, have found the bottom of my swing, and have mixed in a free afternoon to rest up and stretch.

Page Break

At various points during NLU, I’ve been called a sandbagger and a vanity cap, sometimes at the same time, which is interesting! I would rather be getting strokes from Soly, Neil, Ben and Cody, and have a far higher floor and a lower ceiling than I currently do. Something in the 3.6 range would be very comfortable. Unfortunately, I can’t pick what my handicap is!

I came into 2024 as a 2.1 handicap, before going up to a 3.8 in mid-February after some exceptional scores from 2023 fell off. I then got in gear with some good rounds in March, June and July that got me down to 0.9. Currently sitting at 1.4 and it’s trending in the wrong direction. I’ve posted 50 rounds this year. 28 of which were in the US and 22 internationally (I think I missed posting a couple of rounds from Australia, particularly RM West; I’ve also played quite a few rounds of alt shot that obviously aren’t post-able, so the total rounds played is higher. I’ve posted nine rounds from my home club, which is nearly twice as many as last year’s total already. Average score this year is 78.1, with the low round of the year an even-par 71 at Bel-Air on the fourth day of a trip there and the high round of the year the 87 fired at Colorado Golf Club during the event we hosted a couple weeks ago. Truly bleak, to the point that I’ve made the decision to shut it down for a few weeks, work on my body and reboot it from scratch before we get into the fall. Tear it down, rebuild, forgive, forget, things of that nature.

this from Brendan and Joseph over at TFE on the upcoming renovation work at TPC Craig Ranch

. I am fascinated to see how much lipstick they can put on that pig for $15MM #RememberTheFive #CJK5H

We had our Summer Festival out at Colorado Golf Club a few weeks ago and I was blown away. Bill Coore & Ben Crenshaw are two of the best to ever do it, and this is among their best work. It combined the feeling of alpine prairies that you get at Bandon Trails with long vistas and brilliant short par fours and some of the topography you see at Prairie Dunes. The par three short course was best in class, too. Can’t wait to get back. I am grateful to our friend 

 for making the trip out to Colorado to shoot for us and memorialize the day - here's a sampling of my favorites:

I want to shout out Golf Course Graveyard Instagram account. Always sends me down an interesting wormhole each time a new post goes up.

The other day I found myself watching The (Golf) Channel and they had a documentary called “Peter the Great” and it brought back so many memories of watching the European Tour in the mornings when I was early on in my love of golf. Alliss was a big part of that. I yearn for similar coverage these days. What an interesting man. I’m unable to find a link to any information on the Golf Channel Film, but 

here’s what (I think) they adapted it from

 and it’s just as good. Worth your time!

 Instagram account got on my radar in February and I watch every reel that goes up. I try to casually keep tabs on golf fashion, but the way that Raymond organizes, curates and delivers information is remarkably creative and draws you in. He’s got a good eye and a way with words, even if sometimes the golf fashion scene can make me roll my eyes.

Basically a consumption log of the past month or so.

We were out in Denver for the BMW Championship and I had a truly elite meal while out there. And no I’m not talking about the Shanahattan I had at 

. Instead, it was at an Israeli/Mediterranean place called 

. I thought about going back the next night but couldn’t make it work. That good. Will plan my trip around it next time I’m in Denver. Also failed to take any pics because I was so locked in on the food and the convo.

Popsicles run DEEP in the Schuster family. My dad, aka “The Franchise,” used to house dozens of freeze pops in one sitting. Then he went to the traditional “Popsicle” brand, before switching to their sugar-free version. My younger son Gustav is completely off ice cream these days and addicted to popsicles, or “posspickles” as he thinks they’re called. 

 entered my life about two months ago and I haven’t looked back since. There are half a dozen flavors I like and it’s sort of a dealers choice on which stores have which ones. Thus far, in order of favorite to least favorite, I’ve had the Rainbow Fruit Snacks, Star-Spangled Flag, Summer Sunrise, Blue Wave, Tropical Paradise Punch, and Watermelon (which is the only flavor I haven’t liked - an upset because I usually love all things watermelon.) I’ve seared the top of my mouth from eating too many of them on multiple occasions. An all-around elite product with simple, natural ingredients, and they don’t stain your mouth.

Weather is cooling off in Jax and I’m looking to get back into the cadence of gardening and cooking over the next few months with some increased time at home. I also want to do something extremely nerdy and organize my golf pencils (the one thing I collect from every course I play.)

Currently reading a book called “How To Read Water: Clues and Patterns from Puddles to the Sea” - I feel like I’m surrounded by it and don’t really understand it like I should. Plus, it’ll help my fishing.

A confluence of Legos, geography/climate and logistics.

Brian Kelly losing his mind. That’s not going to end well down in Baton Rouge.

Northern Illinois beating Notre Dame. In the past, this would’ve made me happy because of ill will toward Notre Dame (see: Kelly, Brian), but I like Marcus Freeman and think he’s moving that program forward and going through some growing pains and I legitimately hope he succeeds. This was all due to NIU Coach Thomas Hammock letting the gravity of the moment overcome him, speaking from the heart, and acknowledging all the kids who stuck with him. Along with Big Randy, I follow MAC football pretty closely and the transfer portal and NIL have completely gutted rosters over the last few years in a way that’s made it more difficult than ever to build a coherent program at a mid-major. Coaches spend a few years developing a class, only to have the top 20-30% get plucked away by a power conference school after a strong sophomore or junior season. To see a guy who played at NIU come back, do it the right way, experience the ups and downs and go on the road to beat the fifth-ranked team in the country as a 30-point underdog by dominating the line of scrimmage and overcoming bad officiating is why I watch college football. That resonated.

Seeing fans of other sports realize the depravity and ineptitude we’ve been dealing with from NBC’s golf broadcasts the last few years makes me happy because I know we weren’t the crazy ones. Jason Garrett is driving Notre Dame fans NUTS as the color analyst on their games. This past weekend’s primetime Colorado-Nebraska game featured Colt McCoy in the second chair in what I believe was his first-ever college football broadcast appearance, and it showed - he sounded like he was falling asleep at various points throughout the game, and then when he did try to liven things up there were whiffs of the 

 from the early internet. That’s not even Colt. The halftime studio show was abhorrent. I’m told that NBC having a second NFL game (in Brazil, no less) stretched them thin this week and they didn’t have a bench to draw upon, which, gosh, feels like something that could’ve been foreseen.

Between the budget cuts, an arrogance that pervades the entire organization, the disdain with which they treat the audience, and the wrong people getting promoted, it’s tragic to see what’s happened to a once-proud organization. It remains to be seen if their best-in-class (outside of the pregame show) Sunday Night Football production is falling off, too. Can’t wait for them to get their hands on the NBA!

Juxtapose everything above about NBC with this fantastic 

Bryan Curtis piece on Fox’s courtship of Tom Brady

 that digs into Fox's approach to talent. TB12 didn't exactly crush his debut, and while I disagree with throwing him right into the fire there's no doubt he'll get better and find his footing. Fox has built a deep bench and it stinks that Greg Olsen's competence led to him being considered a solid backup plan. 

 Somewhat related: YouTube TV! Finally cut the cord from Comcast and made the switch. What took me so long?

The Jaguars! Hope springs eternal. I’m hoping that Brian Thomas Jr. is everything I thought Calvin Ridley was going to be!

The U.S. Open ruled. Major championship tennis continues to be at the apex of the sports viewing ecosystem.

My fantasy baseball squad made the playoffs in our NLU league and looks to be on a collision course with Soly’s Infinite WAR franchise for the finals. It’s a keeper league that allows future draft picks to be traded, and I’ve completely leaned into that. Imagine the LA Rams of the last decade mixed with the 1997 Florida Marlins. I haven’t just mortgaged my future, I’ve got a reverse mortgage on it, too!

Haven’t been drinking much wine (or anything else) this summer. Just too hot and I've been focused on sleeping better. But when I have been indulging, it’s mostly been my friend 

. I’ll chill it down a bit and it’s just so versatile with whatever we’re eating. Light, fun, and kind of zippy on the tongue. I’ve canceled a few of my wine club memberships and doubled down on Darling, as it’s what I’m always reaching for.

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 18 (TC)

Every summer night when I was a kid, I would sleep on the pull-out couch in our basement. It was cooler down there than up in my room, and there was a little TV where I could watch Baseball Tonight several times over, soaking up highlights (again and again) until I could barely keep my eyes open.

In the morning, I would wake up and play baseball, often by myself. Since I couldn’t pitch to myself, I would hurl a tennis ball against the garage, then get into my crouch and try to hit it over the house and into the backyard. I was a righty hitter, but had to play this game left-handed, because the second story was on the pull side, and I was trying not to break our windows.

I only broke a window once, at least from what I remember. Looking back, our next-door neighbors were ridiculously patient with me as I peppered their house with pulled foul balls.

When I grew tired of hitting, I would fire the tennis ball for hours against the brick pylon between our two garage doors, pretending I was painting the corners of the strike zone. I threw so many imaginary pitches, a wear pattern started to emerge on the brick. It’s decidedly not on the corners of the strike zone and might explain why I spent a fair amount of my high school pitching days craning my neck to watch balls sail over the outfielder’s heads.

That wear pattern still exists to this day at my parents’ house, a permanent reminder of what it felt like to be a kid who loved a sport in ways he couldn't begin to put into words.

I can’t say exactly when Joey Votto became my favorite professional athlete to ever walk the earth, only that it happened the way these things sometimes go, gradually, then suddenly.

He didn’t sneak up on me, necessarily. I saw his name in Baseball America. I read the scouting reports. I understood he might one day be a contributor to the ballclub. But it never crossed my mind that he might be The Dude. If you polled Reds fans in 2005 or 2006, I think 90 percent of us would have told you Jay Bruce was The Prince Who Was Promised. He was the Beaumont Bomber, the generational talent who had the potential to be a savior.

Votto seemed, by comparison, like just about any other prospect. There’s potential there, sure, but is there anything special?

He was a little older than Bruce, and he arrived with considerably less sizzle. A Canadian kid from the suburbs of Toronto, Votto’s approach to hitting in the minors was methodical, whereas Bruce’s was instinctual. Votto had a great ability to avoid making outs, and if he had a strength, it was his patience. Every at-bat was a chess match. Votto, vs. the pitcher. Bruce, by comparison, dominated minor league pitching with pure talent, particularly in 2007, when he was Baseball America’s Minor League Player of the Year.

It was easy to get excited about Bruce, and all the potential wonders soon to unfold. I had not one, but two Jay Bruce jerseys. I even sprung for the authentic one at a time when I absolutely should not have been spending $200 on a jersey, just because I could not stand how cheap the letters and numbers looked on the back of the replica.

It was hard to get excited about a guy with an excellent walk rate.

Baseball, however, was in the midst of what can only be described as a modern enlightenment, a sea change of strategy and thinking. It would take years for it to permeate the public consciousness, but Votto was at the forefront of the idea that the most important skill a hitter could possess was to avoid making outs. Home runs, hits and RBIs still mattered — and he compiled plenty of those traditional stats — but they didn’t matter quite as much as simply getting on base as often as possible.

Counting stats has traditionally ruled the day with baseball fans, but it led us all to very faulty conclusions. To this day, if I surveyed pretty much any audience with the question of who was the better hitter between Joey Votto and Tony Gwynn, the majority would almost certainly choose the wrong guy.

No matter how bad the Reds were during certain stretches of his career, no matter how far away they were from being competitive, he believed that every time he walked to the plate, the people watching (even if they were Cubs fans!) deserved his best effort.

I could cite a hundred different stats that would paint a picture for you, but here is perhaps my favorite of all: In 8,746 major league at-bats, Votto popped up once to the pitcher.

When Votto announced his retirement last week at age 40, I was surprised how hard it hit me. It was the end of an era for me, and thousands of Reds fans. But mostly I was grateful. I was grateful he never had an at-bat in the majors for anyone but the Reds, having spent 17 seasons in Cincinnati before one final stint in minors with the Blue Jays. I was grateful he came into my life when he did, and that he drew me back to baseball when I thought I’d left it behind.

I was grateful — in the end — for everything I got to witness.

He was only two years older than me, which seemed hard to believe when I was living through my 20s. Professional athletes never feel like they’re supposed to be your peers, but then one comes along, right as you’re coming of age, and suddenly the ebbs and flows of their career become a touchpoint for certain periods of your own life. If you’re lucky, they become a constant, a reminder of home, even as you live through job promotions and break-ups and celebrations and disappointments.

Votto made his major league debut in 2007, hitting .321 in 84 at-bats, but it wasn’t until 2008 that he grabbed a permanent spot in the Reds line-up. That was the same year I graduated from Miami University and ventured out into the world. I landed a job in Chicago, and I rented an apartment on West Patterson, 180 yards west of the stadium. We were so close that when you watched Cubs games on television from our living room, you could hear the roar of the crowd filter through the windows before the broadcast could catch up, the promise that something exciting was unfolding, somehow outracing your eyes.

I hated the Cubs, but the Reds meant more to me than I can properly put into words. I don’t really know why. They never did anything in my childhood to deserve the love, and through the 2000’s, the franchise was essentially in disarray.

But for some reason, I lived and died with every series, and when they came to town, I had to be at every game. For a weekend series, I might splurge for bleacher seats. But a Monday night game, you could catch me up in the rafters after scalping a $10 ticket in the 3rd inning.

The team was still mediocre, but Votto was already a force by 2009. I took almost a perverse pleasure in watching him torment Cubs fans. He understood his role in the rivalry. He’d trash-talk their fans, particularly kids, in the most playful way possible. He won the MVP in 2010, and he could hit at any ballpark, but his numbers at Wrigley were always especially good (.321 average; .422 OBP; 1.029 OPS) and I can remember sitting in a sea of Cubs fans, night after night, and feeling like: 

Being a die-hard fan of a sports team you grew up with — especially when they’re a small market team — isn’t particularly easy. You dedicate so much time and energy and free time to it, hopeful there will be a payoff that makes it all worth it. Votto was one of the few athletes to ever make me feel like every minute of my time spent was worthwhile, and in 2012, it felt like his moment, and the Reds’ moment, had finally arrived.

Their pitching was incredible. The line-up was solid. They had guys under contract, or under control, for several more years. They weren’t big spenders, but a long-term approach to team building had finally paid off. In the middle of the line-up was Votto, our patient magician. His OBP was a ridiculous .

 the best number of his career. In an early-season game against the Nationals, he hit three home runs — including a walk-off grand slam — in a 9-6 Reds win.

They won 97 games that year, won their division, and in the division series, they took a 2-0 lead against the San Francisco Giants. They were returning to Cincinnati for three straight games, needing to win just one to advance.

It was the kind of joy that felt like it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

The Reds proceed to lose all three games.

When Buster Posey hit a Grand Slam in Game 5 of the series, something fractured inside me. I legitimately think I went into a pit of despair.

You try to be optimistic, you try to tell yourself they’ll have another shot, but deep down, I knew their window was essentially closed.

That was their best chance — Votto’s best chance — and it came and went.

The next few years forced me to reevaluate some things. Votto kept plugging away (he hit .305 in 2013 and led the National League in OBP for the fourth straight season) but something inside me had shifted. I started to question myself: Why did I care so much about something I had no control over that could wound me so deeply?

That’s a bit of a dangerous thread to pull on as a sports fan. There’s no denying that, at my core, I cared 

. But why? The Cincinnati Reds are the only professional sports franchise I’ve ever actually cared about. But 

? They haven’t won a postseason series since I was 

. As a kid, you never had to wrestle with why you cared about the team you’re rooting for. You just did it because you didn’t know any better.

But as an adult, I knew I was wearing the losses more than I should have. I knew a part of me needed to grow up, to stop investing every spare moment I had into the whims of professional athletes. If it wasn’t the Reds, it was an entire Sunday watching NFL RedZone. I needed something different in my life.

When my job offered me a position in Amsterdam, I decided to take it. I stopped following baseball, and pretty much all of American professional sports, almost cold turkey, knowing I could never keep up with the time change. What little free time I had, I’d spent on traveling or on following professional golf, which weirdly was the only sport whose time zone played in my favor. Also, it couldn’t hurt me! (At least that’s what I told myself. Yet the 2016 Masters would have something to say about that.)

I continued to get alerts for the Reds. I checked in on the box scores, the prospect lists, and the potential breakout candidates. But when I returned to the States three years later, I’d occasionally scroll past a baseball game and realize: 

Votto didn’t need me either, it turned out. He continued to grind, and give his best, even as the franchise began to crumble around him. He hit .326 in 2016 (with .434 OBP) and probably should have won the MVP in 2017 when he hit .320 and had the highest OPS of his career (1.032). The team around him, however, was dreadful. Bad pitching, bad roster building, you name it. In maybe Votto’s best season, they won just 68 games and finished last in their division.

I almost hated myself for thinking it, but a part of me wanted him to get traded. My affinity for Votto had outgrown my affinity for the franchise. He deserved better than this. The fans were furious with ownership, ownership was frustrated with the economic reality of trying to win in a small market, and Votto was like a kid watching his parents at each other’s throats at the end of a bad marriage.

One thing you grow to expect as a fan of a small market team (and a poorly run one at that) is that, when you do have a superstar player, eventually they’re going to want to move on to greener pastures. More money, a better chance at a World Series, and a more enthusiastic fanbase to play in front of. And that’s extremely understandable. The Cincinnati Reds are very far from the best that Major League Baseball has to offer.

Joey Votto was a lot bigger than the Reds, but not once did he ever intimate as such.

Instead of complaining, he showed up at spring training every year and said something absurd: 

I believe in the ball club. I think we’re going to be great.

They had no chance, absolutely none at all, and yet Votto refused to be anything other than the consummate professional.

A Farewell To My Favorite Athlete

I’m not sure how the bit started. But I do know I leaned into it at every opportunity, until at some point, there was more truth to it than I realized. I’m talking about my disdain for dogs, of course.

I guess I can trace some of it back to a very early age and an acute unease around them, especially the bigger ones. But it’s not like there was a specific incident that would’ve scarred me, literally or figuratively. We just never had a dog growing up. I sort of think my Mom could’ve had an allergy, but also, neither me, my sister, nor my Dad ever pushed for one, even in the slightest, to join the family. So maybe Mom didn’t have an allergy and it was an easy way to prevent our little minds from getting too curious. I don’t know.

I did, of course, have friends and even cousins with dogs, though my spectrum of affection for the four-legged beasts ranged from not minding on the one end, to annoyance on the other. To me, dogs were hairy, slobbery, and often smelly. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why anybody would willingly invite them into their home.

So anyway, as I grew older and went about my life, the idea of owning a dog just never occurred to me. I had so much uncertainty throughout every aspect of my life—career, location, relationships—that the dog question served to keep me a bit centered. It was never going to happen, and I’d always know that much at least. And to add to this, all around, we began to see the rise of dog-specific upscale restaurants, dog-specific spas, and, I still can’t believe it, dog-specific airlines. I couldn’t help but get cantankerous about dogs and wonder what in the actual fuck we, as a society, were doing!?!?

This is how I envisioned the rest of my life going until something peculiar happened. A tiny seed wriggled in through my outward anti-dog façade and began to germinate. Horrified, I realized that seed was slowly growing into the idea that maybe, just maybe, a dog might be perfect for me. There were three key pieces of evidence I couldn’t ignore:

1)	Having moved to Denver without really knowing anybody there were *a lot* of times I would find myself rather lonely. Especially in the first twelve to eighteen months when this insidious dog idea first began to percolate.

2)	I love walks. Love to get outside and take a stroll, especially by myself. As a natural introvert, I find it a great way to recharge my batteries and have a think.

3)	I often lack a routine. Working remote and owning a business are wonderful things, but they’re not conducive, naturally, to routine. It’s been a constant battle for me.

You know what would help with all three of those things? A dog.

I knew it. Honestly, I knew it going back a couple of years at least. The problem, besides my now very public bit, was I lived alone and traveled a decent amount for work. Getting a dog simply wasn’t feasible, even if the idea had spread like a strange disease within my mind.

She and I met a little over two years ago in Denver. It was awesome from the start, natural and easy in all the ways I didn’t think were actually possible. And as things moved along, the idea started to grow in the back of my mind that if she and I were to work out, it would allow me (

, actually) to get a dog. Now, let me be very clear, she is not my fiancé because I wanted a dog; I now have a dog because she is my fiancé (just in case she reads this I want to make that point very clear).

This past April we moved in together. As exciting and monumental as that was, especially for me, I was almost as excited to have the dog conversation. As it was, she was an easy yes--she had grown up with them, loved them, and needed no convincing (except on the part where 

I turned forty last year and am beginning to better understand this is a short life and one best get on with what they want. So I lobbied her all spring for us to begin looking, and then in late June we got a call from a nice lady at Mile High Lab Rescue here in Denver. They were bringing a dog up from Texas that she thought fit us well—he was out of the puppy stage, about one-year-old, possessed a relaxed demeanor, and would be a great fit for somebody who’s never had a dog. Arthur is his name, she said, and sent us pictures.

I vividly remember the night we opened the link to look at Arthur’s profile. I think it was by the third picture of him that both Kat and I were completely smitten. He even had a bit of gangliness like me! It was a done deal. We called the lady the next day and said we couldn’t wait to meet him.

Arthur arrived July 20th, shell-shocked but preternaturally calm. I’ll never forget him nuzzling his face against Kat right from the start, seeing the tears of joy in her eyes. It was everything I could’ve hoped for, and I had no idea how much better it would get…

Now, I have to admit I was every bit as nervous as Arthur, and probably much more so. There was the matter of our house and what lay ahead with shedding hair, accidents, chewing, or whatever else we might come to find out. But more than that, I felt nervous about how I’d react to Arthur. Would it take a warming-up period for me? Would he even like 

? Was there etiquette when walking a dog, and how quickly would I learn it? Was I going to pick up his poop with only a little plastic bag covering my hand? My mind was racing.

Thankfully, Kat took the lead on most everything, and day one easily turned into day two and oh my god, I was a dog owner. That little nagging thought at the back of my mind several years ago was now reality. And while I’ll say I can’t believe how quickly I got comfortable with Arthur as part of our life, the truth is I knew deep down I’d be all-in the moment I laid eyes on him. Which is exactly what has happened.

We’ve just passed a month with Arthur in our lives, and Kat will hate me for saying this, but I think I might be his favorite. Not that she and him don’t get along great, it’s just that he and I have settled into a routine when I’m at home which basically involves Arthur following me around while I do literally anything. Work, laundry, taking out the trash, weeding—you name it, Arthur is *always* game. What a blessing to have a companion for almost all the little mundane things in life. We’ll have full-on conversations most of the time, though they tend to be rather one-sided. I can’t imagine doing life without Arthur, which is crazy to say for me in general, but especially so some thirty-odd days into knowing him.

I’m writing this somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean on my way home from being in St Andrews for the Women’s Open. It was an incredible tournament; I hope you had the chance to watch it. Cody and I even got the opportunity to play the Old Course on Monday after the event, which was a real highlight. Ten years ago, hell, five years ago I would’ve done anything I could to extend the trip and see more of Scotland with my golf clubs. But I cannot wait to get home and see Arthur. This is the first time I’ve had to travel since we got him. I can’t wait to see him wiggle his body in excitement when I walk in the door. I can’t wait to play tug-of-war and maybe watch a Reds game tonight with him. Tomorrow morning we’ll be out the door at our customary 7 am for a walk, and it’ll feel great to not only be back in a normal routine but begin to recharge the batteries after an exhausting, though deeply rewarding week.

I’m a dog person now. But maybe I always was.

Joey Votto retired last week. He’s my favorite baseball player. Always will be.

He’d been giving it a go this season in the Blue Jays farm system, but an injured ankle late in spring, and a summer full of bus rides in the minors led him to call it a career.

 to talk about his decision, and how he knew it was time. It’s a wonderful seven-minute clip, in case you haven’t seen or heard it.

Joey Votto is exactly one month older than I am. This proximity in age has always been a big reason why I’ve felt connected to him. We’ve hit all the significant milestones of adulthood together, him a first baseman for my beloved Reds, me wandering down a lot of different career paths. During the uncertainty of my twenties and thirties, I always treasured Votto’s consistency. Any night during the season I could flip on the Reds and get to bear witness to him plying his craft, absolutely grinding through every at-bat he took. In a world where I wasn’t sure about a lot of things, I could be sure number 19 was there.

Votto was a perfectionist on the diamond, striving for the unattainable which marks any pursuit worth sinking one’s entire being into. And for long stretches of time, I truly did believe he’d mastered his craft.

Take for instance the second half of 2016, where Votto compiled a .408 batting average, .490 on-base percentage and .668 slugging percentage over 71 games. Or, the first half of 2012 where he hit 35 doubles and 14 homeruns in just 357 plate appearances before an injury derailed what would’ve been a truly historic year. In 2017 he decided he wasn’t going to strike out, so he didn’t. He walked 134 times with just 83 strikeouts. Not bad for a slugger who belted 36 home runs and carried a .320 batting average. I’m not sure when the phrase became part of the Cincinnati lexicon, but all Joey Votto did was 

I’m curious about what Joey will decide to do next with his life. For the first time, it seems our situations are reversed: Me, an owner of a golf business and possessing clarity in career and life like I haven’t felt before, and him an ex-athlete with all the time in the world but lacking firm direction. Whatever he does end up choosing to do with his time I know he’ll be great because that perfectionist in him is still there. Personally, I’d love to see him involved in baseball media. But if he doesn’t decide to be in the public eye, that’s fine too.

One day he’ll make a speech, don the wishbone ‘C’ of my favorite team, and take his rightful spot in Cooperstown. And I’ll be there to bear witness, one final time, to my favorite baseball player.

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 17 (Randy)

ST ANDREWS — Lydia Ko knows a thing or two about having to relinquish control, but there’s always a small part of her that will try to negotiate with destiny.

In 2023, she was on the losing end of those negotiations. She frequently found herself at the bottom of leaderboards. When she missed the cut at the 2023 Portland Classic, she sat down with her sister afterward to have Texas barbeque and cried so hard, she couldn’t taste the food that she was eating.

Even though rock bottom wasn’t an unfamiliar place, Ko was still in her feelings. Despite a strong support system — one that doubled in size when she welcomed her husband and his family to the later stage of her career — only she knew what it felt like to be Lydia Ko.

“Our story hurts the most for ourselves, and I think some of the times I got really low, I got really mentally – I was not in a good mental space,” Ko said. “And the way that I was able to overcome that, that's something that I'm really proud of.”

It’s easy to forget that progress isn’t linear. But there’s not enough wisdom or experience in the world to eliminate the fear of failure. Maybe our resiliency improves, but the consequences certainly feel scarier. For Lydia Ko, that meant wrestling with the idea that the one thing that would validate one of the greatest careers in golf — a ticket to the Hall of Fame — might be out of reach.

When she won the opening event of the 2024 season, the dream started to come into focus. Seven months later, a gold medal at the Paris Olympics removed any lingering doubt. Finally, the last two coveted Hall of Fame points were hers.

Other thoughts still lingered. Major ones.

It had been eight years since she’d captured one of golf’s most coveted trophies.

She was 16 the last time the Open was played at The Old Course, still a prodigy with everything in front of her. She tied for low amateur. She didn’t even love links golf, but back then, everything seemed to come so easily to her. Any struggles that week seemed irrelevant. She was a precocious teenager with everything in front of her. Everyone assumed she would collect majors by the handful.

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Would she ever be that good again? She couldn’t help but wonder.

“My mom says I was so much better when I was 15. I was a better golfer when I was 15 than I am now,” Ko said.

As she held the Women’s Open trophy on Sunday, earning her first major championship victory in eight years and her third overall, she finally had a rebuttal.

“But now I can say, hey, maybe this statement is wrong,” Ko said.

Like many paths Lydia Ko has walked, it wasn’t an easy journey to get there. Ko called Thursday’s blustery conditions “one of the toughest rounds I had to play in.” Still, she’d managed a 71. Charley Hull jumped out to an impressive first-round lead (-5), and Ko was barely part of the Day 1 narrative, but at least she was still in the championship. That was progress.

A little overnight rain and a hiatus from the wind would spare her some, but when she shot a 70 in Round 2, she was still out of sight, out of mind. Nelly Korda (-8), Charley Hull (-5) and Lilia Vu (-5) sat atop the leaderboard three, four and five shots ahead.

Aware of the challenge ahead, she remained hopeful: “I think it's going to be great. Hopefully I can hit some quality shots and give myself a good run at it, too,” she said after her second round.

It was the kind of quote that could have belonged to any player in the Women’s Open field, but it carried more weight coming from someone with Ko’s resume.

On Saturday, her mistakes lessened. She resigned herself to the fact that any airborne ball would be forced to curve 50 yards. If she wanted to score, she needed to pick better targets and trust that the wind would do its job. The only way to gain control of her destiny was to let go, a lesson The Old Course has been trying to teach golfers for centuries. She’d still have to grind out a few pars, but it would place her within striking distance of first, just three places back.

“I think in ways (the wind), it takes a little bit of pressure off because you’re not trying to be perfect,” she said.

On Sunday, however, she’d flirt with perfection, even while the rest of the field struggled. A steady barrage of wind knocked down her competitors one after another. Jiyai Shin, who entered the final round as the leader, stumbled and 74. Korda opened up a two-shot lead by going 3-under through 10 holes and looked like she was in prime position to take home her second major of the year, but a horrendous double on the 14th hole brought everyone back into the mix.

Yet when conditions were at their worst, it was Lydia who managed to weather it all. As she prepared to hit approach on 17, the rain began to pour sideways, and the gusts were as strong as ever. The most famous hole in the world was asking her to summon all of her artistry and all of her courage.

She punched a 3-wood that pierced through the wind, trickled onto the green, and stopped 20 feet from the hole.

“One of the best shots I’ve ever hit,” Ko said.

A crucial two-putt par, and now she knew what had to be done.

A birdie on the final hole would give her a one-stroke lead.

A perfect drive on 18 left her with just a delicate wedge, the perfect shot for one of the best wedge players in history. She nipped it beautifully, the ball checking up 7 feet behind the pin. When she curled in the left-to-right putt, she pumped her fist with restrained joy, knowing it wasn’t over yet, but for the first time in years, she’d given herself a chance.

A bogey by Korda on 17 took her out of the mix. But it still wasn’t over – just two groups behind was the defending champion, Lilia Vu, who was a shot behind with two more opportunities. A birdie would get Vu into a playoff with Ko, and give her a chance to win her second consecutive Open.

Ko looked on from the practice green adjacent to the 18th green, playfully rolling putts, talking to her family, smiling and laughing with her husband, Jun. She even took a minute to admire the course falcon.

She seemed at peace. Eight years between majors already felt like an eternity. What was a few more minutes?

A mediocre wedge by Vu left her with a lengthy birdie chance. When it came up well short, Ko broke down 30 feet away in tears. It was hers.

Why now? What changed? Bringing Paul Cormack on the bag, who could boast a Women’s Open title previously with Anna Nordqvist, certainly played a key role.

“I don’t think I’m better than any other caddie,” he said. “We just instilled a little bit of belief (in Lydia).”

It went a long way. Early in her career, Ko drew plenty of criticism for cycling through caddies the way some players change socks. But when she and Cormack started working together, Ko was actually worried she might be the one left behind.

“I think the first event we worked together, I shot an 81 in the third round. If I was in his shoes, I would have had not as much of a belief in my player because it’s not really a common score that I think all of us shoot on a day-to-day,” Ko said. “But he’s stuck it out with me. He has really believed in me, and I’m very grateful to have a team that has kind of been on this journey, no matter if I’m playing well or not.”

Even if she hadn’t won a third career major, Lydia Ko still would have gone down as one of the greatest players golf has ever seen. At 27, she’d still be the youngest player to ever enter the Hall of Fame with plenty to be proud of.

But as crazy as it sounds, that plan wouldn’t have felt like enough, like she was leaving on her terms. There are plenty of players who would have completely crumbled in agony after such a long drought and just given up entirely, but Ko kept grinding, kept reinventing herself. Her 69 on Sunday was six shots better than the field average.

At 15, the possibilities for her career felt limitless.

At 27, she knew she could no longer take these chances for granted.

Is she a better golfer now than she was a decade ago? The answer hardly matters. She’s certainly wiser. After years of trying to control her fate, the biggest reward arrived when she learned to let go. And after a long week at the Old Course, it’s clear she survived the toughest test of all: Patience.

Email Jordan Perez at jordan@nolayingup.com

On Lydia Ko and Destiny

ST ANDREWS, SCOTLAND – Hello from the Old Course!

Life outside the United States is pretty sick, but I’ll reserve my first-time international trip observations for another piece of content. I don’t think we could enter the weekend with a better set of circumstances between Nelly, Lilia and Charley atop the leaderboard, the low am race, and the Old Course producing some highly entertaining golf (both good and bad!)

Here’s a few things I can’t stop thinking about.

Pace of play on Thursday really bummed me out

After our stage show early Thursday afternoon, the moment had arrived: I could finally spectate some golf! Wind galore, I wanted nothing more than to see some ejections on 11, so I briskly made my way out there. I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly I could get there. Any major slowdowns en route were self-induced. (I’m ashamed to admit how many times I stopped and stared at the pot bunkers. They’re so massive in person.) Along the way, I noticed some empty tee boxes, some waiting, but thought it would blow over quickly.

When I arrived at 11 green, I encountered the nightmare scenario of a multi-group backup on the tee, which is arguably more traumatizing than the ejections I was hoping for. 

I ultimately removed myself from the situation and hopped over to the latter part of the back nine to watch the delightful Yui Kawamoto, a JLPGA player who I’d been excited to see get into the Women’s Open by proxy of her success in Japan. She had a 10-footer for par on 17 that electrified the crowd, offering an extended, graceful wave – I was living for every second of it!

So yes, my mini adventure had a happy ending. But I couldn’t help but wonder through the back of my mind whether the field would even be able to finish the first round on Thursday. Randy informed me that the group he was tasked with for radio clocked in a round of 6 hours and 20 minutes. How awful!

Should we start stroking these perps? Or am I naïve in expecting that rounds of championship golf at the Old Course can be completed promptly, and that it’s truly unavoidable? I think the conditions certainly played a role, but that’s really just links golf. There were split tees to accommodate this! I expect these kinds of scenarios at a 312-player field at the U.S. Amateur. Not a 144-player field at the Women’s Open.

A major championship is serious business. Let’s treat it as such. (At least for the weekend golf, the field has been reduced to 60 individuals.)

I think ANWA revealed a lot of things about Lottie Woad: Her directness, her biggest fan being her vocal grandmother, and how incredible of a wind player she is.

Given her roots, perhaps that’s what I should have expected (though all Englishwomen aren’t made the same, as Charley Hull didn’t grow up playing links golf!), but additional confirmation always helps. The afternoon winds picked up midway through her first nine, and when she stuck her wedge to five feet on nine green, I started having flashbacks of the same player I saw shock the world in April.

At ANWA, she probably had one of the more difficult rounds of 69 I had ever seen until she birdied the final two holes, holding off anyone who wanted to capitalize on the early round woes that had befallen her. That same defensiveness is emerging in flashes this week at the Old Course. Woad had a relatively quiet summer aside from her missed cut at the U.S. Women’s Open, Evian and a Sweet 16 run at the Women’s Amateur.

At T10 going into the weekend, how did the best amateur in the world prepare for not just the low amateur, but to contend at the Women’s Open?

“For this week, I did a lot of practice on knock-down shots, knocking the driver down, because you're going to need it around here,” she said. “I just made sure I played enough links golf over the summer, like playing the British Am, and we had home internationals up in Scotland, so just making sure I had enough experience over the summer for this. We played Sunningdale a fair bit because the Curtis Cup is going to be there.”

(Quick reminder that this is the same Lottie Woad who won the Girls’ Amateur at Carnoustie, 7&6, in 2022.)

Five spots ahead on the leaderboard, Louise Rydqvist took a different approach by playing in a few more events. Rydqvist played in two professional events before getting knocked out in the semifinals of the Women's Amateur, missing out on a chance at playing the AIG Women’s Open for the second time after losing in the final in 2022. A month later, she’d finally punched her ticket by winning the European Women’s Amateur.

The rising senior at South Carolina wasn’t the most obvious challenger after day one, but Rydqvist made her presence felt by carding a bogey-free 67, with five birdies, including one on 11, which played the most difficult on Friday – and is now tied for fifth.

“It's going to be one of the most special days in my golf life thus far for sure, and I don't think I've soaked it all in yet,” Rydqvist said.

I get excited for the litmus test that is watching amateur golfers in major championships, but it almost always becomes a contest of who can have the least disastrous spiral. This crop has proved the opposite – 4 out of 5 have made the weekend (Woad, Rydqvist, Lopez Ramirez, Anacona), and two are within the top 10.

Sound the alarm! We’ve got a legit race for the Smyth Salver…and more.

By now, I think we’ve all caught Charley Hull fever. If you haven’t been swept up by her boisterous personality, the way she wears her nerves on her sleeves in her pre-shot routine, or her fearless drives, you’re officially in the minority.

I was a little late to the Charley party myself, having been assigned to write about 

her last year during the U.S. Women’s Open at Pebble

 when she was immersed in a string of close calls. Inside the interview tent, the disappointment was apparent, but Charley remained easygoing as ever, reflecting on her “shy kids don’t get sweets” moment with pride. I appreciated her willingness to answer every question thrown her way about one of the greatest disappointments of her career – especially when she had to do it again at Walton Heath.

“I really feel like next year will be my time for me just because I'm going to really focus on working on that over this winter. I feel like I want to start tomorrow with my coach,” she said following her solo second to Lilia Vu at the 2023 Women’s Open.

A year later, Charley is once again the chaser – another profound plot line in her story. In the era of cheap engagement, quick hits and virality, I worry that the story of Charley Hull, who has long quested for her maiden major, will get lost in the search for the next tongue-in-cheek quote or cigarette shot social media can find. Women’s golf tends to suffer from these overly simplistic characterizations in an effort to bring eyeballs to the game. I’m not saying it’s wrong to highlight a quirky trait or laugh at a human moment – in fact, they’re pretty important. And not every outlet does it, either. But there should be a more collective effort to avoid fueling shitty word association games.

Charley looks dialed this week. She’s playing smarter golf without sacrificing her bold style of play, and conquering links golf, a style of golf she once struggled with. If she’s to break through this week, I hope that’s what headlines the conversation about her.

There’s been a lot of dissection this year about why Nelly Korda had the incredible start to the year that she did. Health? Scheduling? Overcoming her putting? When she disappeared for a bit, there was a genuine reason to believe her brilliance might have just been a moment in time.

Leading the Women’s Open by three on Friday proves that wasn’t the case. When asked if she had her major swagger back, she looked as unbothered as ever.

“I'm just trying to stay very present and not think about anything other than one shot at a time, and whatever golf and links golf throws at me, I'm going to take it head-on,” Korda said.

Prior to this week, I wondered about continuing an annual tradition of skipping the Scottish Open given her experience with links golf – and how she had chosen to prepare for an event that she historically struggled in. She opted to spend time with her family in Prague and continued to embrace the new role in her life as an aunt. Time off has clearly benefitted her – she looked unflappable on Friday, with a three-shot lead ahead of defending champion Lilia Vu and Charley Hull.

She conquered the golf in front of her on Thursday and Friday, but the ultimate test awaits over the next two days.

AIG Women's Open: What to Know Heading Into the Weekend

I know that by now it’s well-worn territory around these parts, but it’s hard not to start with and reiterate what it’s been like to watch Lauren Coughlin over the past month as she’s proven that she is one of the best women in the entire world at the game of golf. It’s a very heady claim and a conversation that she has every right to insert herself into right now.

It’s funny how these ten-year overnight sensations tend to work. Of course, there are technical things that have clicked – her putting has improved, she’s been more comfortable in final-round situations, the partnership with Terry McNamara seems to be a grand slam, and so on. But my favorite part has been seeing how her confidence in herself and her abilities has improved on and off the course over the past few months and years. Along with Max Homa’s similar journey, Lauren’s is one of the things that has filled me with the most joy I’ve experienced since I started following pro golf.

Writing

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 18 (TC)

A Farewell To My Favorite Athlete

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 17 (Randy)

On Lydia Ko and Destiny

AIG Women's Open: What to Know Heading Into the Weekend

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 16 (D.J.)

How I Found Scottie Scheffler

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 15 (KVV)

What's Burning At The Killhouse? August 2024 Check-In

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 14 (TC)

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 13 (KVV)

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 12 (TC)

The Open 2024: Scenes from Xander Schauffele's Victory

The Open 2024: Every Reason to Get Out of Bed Early Sunday Morning

A Plea to the Postage Stamp

Three Things I Learned from 48 Hours in Troon

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 11 (Cody)

GHIN & Tonic, Vol. 10 (D.J.)