After a winter of snow and cold, golfers get excited for their emergence from golf hibernation. This thought usually peaks when we get our first glimpse of the hallowed turf at Augusta during the Masters in April. We instantly get that Pavlov’s dog, watering-in-the-mouth desire to play. So off we go to hunt out the clubs from the garage, attic or shed and get ourselves in golf mode. And with that usually comes the annual bag clean-out.
Golfers know the rules enforcing a maximum of 14 clubs in a bag, but as far as I’m aware, there is no rule as to the amount of “stuff” one can carry in his or her bag. The realization that your bag now weighs 80 pounds (and getting it from your car to you cart is a health hazard) makes you think, “Do I really need all this stuff?”
Akin to the contents of a women’s purse, the golf bag is considered personal space. It’s filled with all sorts of goodies, essentials and lucky charms that golfers needs to survive for the few hours they spend on the golf course.
You decide to do a quick stock check and start opening the multiple compartments, slots and pockets on your bag. After 15 minutes of digging around and removing these items, you’re faced with an array of stuff on the floor that could easily start a yard sale. So you resolve to declutter, archiving the non-essential items.
Here’s what you’re likely to encounter:
Enough balls to start your own mini-range, most of which have seen better days.
An assortment of tees, ranging from wooden to plastic to brush in different shapes, sizes and colors, including at least one naked-lady tee.
Ball markers: a selection of coins, as well as plastic and metal discs with sponsors or club motifs. You only ever use that lucky one you’ve had since you were 11.
Seventeen pencils, usually only half of which can write or have lead.
At least one edition of the rules of golf, so badly ripped and dog-eared by successive soakings that it is like an Egyptian relic when you attempt to use it.
Spare change that has accumulated each week of the previous five golfing seasons. Added up, it’s enough to send your kid through college.
Pitch mark repairers in an assortment of designs, colors and materials including that Scotty Cameron one that cost a fortune, but still does exactly the same job.
Those four incompatible wrenches for the multiple drivers you have consumed in the last five years.
A rangefinder with spare batteries.
A waterproof jacket and trousers — taken off, stuffed away and forgotten about after that last soaking you got. They now smell like a vagabond’s crotch.
A windproof top crumpled down to the size of an orange.
Several faded caps, beanies and visors, all displaying mold, sweat stains, or other bodily fluids.
Winter mittens for those “cold” early-morning July tee times.
At least 10 golf gloves, most of which either have holes or rigor mortis-like rigidity, including a right-handed one should you ever face the dilemma of trying a shot left-handed.
Rain gloves that have developed blue mold.
Energy and chocolate bars, most of which passed their expiration date several months ago.
An array of bags of nuts/crackers/trail mix/beef jerky and other consumables.
A bottle opener/cork screw.
Either a banana or apple that has leaked into a black goo at the bottom of the bag.
Eye drops.
A comb that is at least 15 years old.
Sunglasses, possibly two pairs. One wraparound and a pair that you actually use.
Sticking plasters (Band-Aids) for cuts, grazes, blisters and other severe golfing injuries.
Deep Heat/Mentholatum/Tiger Balm or similar witches potions to loosen those weary/arthritic bones.
An assortment of medications ranging from mild pain killers, anti-inflammatories and anti-histamines through to hallucinogens and anti-depressants (for those tougher days on the links).
Insect repellent.
Baby wipes/tissues.
Sun cream (sun screen). In Ireland, it acts as a thermal insulator in cold weather. Long-distance swimmers smear themselves in grease for the same reason.
Lip balm in an assortment of fruit flavours and colors.
A cigar/cigarettes and a lighter, and possibly chewing tobacco.
Several Sharpies in an array of colors, most of which have lost their cap and are dried out.
A small hip flask of hooch, half-filled with some cheap intoxicant, probably whiskey.
At least one half-drunk plastic soda or energy-drink bottle.
Amino Vital packets to add to water, which for some reason are next to a flare gun and compass.
An array of scorecards and yardage books built up over several seasons, which you felt compelled to hold onto.
Membership and visitor tags from at least one top-100 course that you always brag about playing.
An umbrella, the only one the wife hasn’t “borrowed” and failed to return.
An extra pair of socks. Maybe even clean ones!
Alignment rods with matching impact stickers. An indication of how seriously you take your game.
Ball retriever. Note to self: make sure to change the worn-out grip.
Putter headcover that was an essential when you first bought that priceless flat stick, but the magnetic closure is now broken and it keeps falling off. You actually thought you had lost it.
Iron covers (which you justify keeping for travel). Two of them were lost.
Extra spikes and a wrench.
A rain hood.
A club-cleaning wire brush, on which you’ve cut yourself on several times and sworn to get rid of… but never do.
A Swiss Army knife.
A magic sponge for cleaning your ball, which you got as a Christmas present five years ago.
At least one extra towel, “borrowed” from the clubhouse.
Then there’s the several mystery items and things you thought you had lost like the spare car keys. You feel like Indiana Jones recovering this stuff.
And don’t forget you need to leave that last pocket, the valuable’s pocket, with enough space for your wallet, money clip, mobile phone(s), car keys, rings and all those other essential items that you will need to safely store during your round.
Your inner self tells you to chuck half of this crap, but you are conflicted. There may well be an occasion when you need that fifth glove or you lose your 37th ball of the day. Or you will find yourself starving to death or dying of dehydration on the 7th hole.
So you resolve to buy a bigger bag.