My brother Les inspirited me to play golf and take up the game. His love for Arnie was impressive and I combated him loving Jack Nicklaus.
In the 70’s he (Les) was a scratch golfer and golfed every morning after work. Les competed often.
I came home on leave from the Navy in 1975 and Les my brothers Rick and Rich invited me to play a round with him to spend some quality time together. I hadn’t played much, but I was an athlete and could scrap it around. He shot a low 70’s and I shot 90 something. We had a blast!
Enjoying a meal and a beer (or two) afterwards, I made the comment that I was going to kick his butt one day. Les replied, “When you do that, I’ll quit the game”. From that comment, I took away the challenge that I couldn’t beat him not realizing he was serious. It was a challenge I couldn’t resist.
In the early 80’s I came home (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) for my brothers wedding. For that six years I practiced and played routinely when in port and hit balls into a net when at sea and overseas when possible. I had gotten good! Well we went out to play a few days before the wedding and I shot a little 3 or 4 under par beating my inspiration like a drum. Shortly after that he quit never to play again. And it’s now been nearly 40 years. I always blamed myself for this and regretted it for years.
At a huge family reunion, my brother Les now in his 70’s was asked if the reason he quit the game was because I beat him as I recalled and reminded him of our conversation while drinking that beer. He laughed and said no way expounding that he had hurt his shoulder and back at work and was unable to swing a club due to the injury. He never told anyone until that moment, but regretted not being able to play the game he loved so much.