I am a golf wife. (New version)
(I edited the first one so it was worth sending out fresh).
You’ve not met this part of me before, trust me.
It’s masters week.
Masters as in, the golf tournament.
If you’ve got a day one golfer in your household, you’ll know that this is the week of all weeks.
Look, I can’t believe I’m starting a Substack entry talking about golf.
I never thought in a gazillion years I’d call the tour players by their surnames, recognise Eduardo Molinari on the beach in Italy, say golf terms like ‘lipped out’, be outraged on behalf of Rory McIlroy when the PGA announces it’s merging with LIV or say to my husband, “What golf’s on this weekend?”
And yet here I am.
I’m not actually a golfer though. I’m a golf wife.
My husband started playing golf as a teeny kid, refining his swing by watching the pros on tv ad nauseam. Then, after many years of dedication he went to Arizona State University as part of the golf team, playing alongside a lot of the top dogs who are on tour now. He then turned pro after graduating, headed for a life on tour.
Except he didn’t.
After eating, breathing and drinking golf for so many intense years, he burned out. He recalls sitting in the car waiting to start a tournament and not wanting to get out. I know that feeling— it’s how I felt about soccer after all those years.
Instead of starting his professional golf career, he took a left turn and went down a new path by joining his family company (which he threw himself into with equally as much devotion for over 12 years).
Golf remained a deep love of his even after he hung his pro card up, and he played socially whenever he could— but it wasn’t the main thing anymore.
In the last few years though, life has come full circle. He’s returned to his original passion and become a highly rated golf coach, training people all over the world virtually. He loves it. His clients love him.
Whenever he goes out onto the golf course with our friends, they always text me telling me things like ‘Erik sure can hit it ’round the green’.’ He’s played with the elite and he’s also played with guys who hit the ball as if they’re playing cricket. He is VERY patient and generous. He has the perfect persona for a golf coach. My son goes out with him once a week and they do an hour together of little drills. He’s very careful not to push him, or tire him, always keeping it fun first.
“What are the four rules, Pax?”
Respect the golf course and it’ll respect you.
Listen to Dad.
Try your best.
Have fun.
Pax loves dressing up for golf— with his Pebble Beach Golf Club polo (that’s where Erik grew up), tucked into his trousers, held up with his belt. If he’s not wearing an ASU (Arizona State University) visor, he’s wearing his ‘rippers’ hat. It’s the Australian team in the new golf tour— Liv. It’s one of the most controversial things to ever happen to golf, the Liv tour. Erik only just got on board as they announced the return of Anthony Kim— a prodigy from way back who went totally missing for a decade.
When I was reading through some comments section about his return (can you believe I spend my time doing that? Neither), I saw one that said ‘you’re a casual if you’re not excited about Anthony Kim’s return’.
Erik is anything but a casual. I’m starting to think I’m not either. What has happened to me?!
Erik teaches me the insides and outs of golf like I teach him the insides and outs of soccer.
When I say ‘teach’, I don’t mean I actually play. I mean, I understand the game, the nuances, the players, the history. I’ve gone out with Erik a few times to the driving range and I sat in the cart while he played 9 holes on our honeymoon. But since having kids it’s not been our choice of date activity. Flopping on the couch to watch it after a full day is a special sort of relaxation for my body and mind.
My kids favourite story from my golf wife files is this one— and I have full permission to share it, of course.
One time, when we were living in Arizona, we went out one weekend afternoon to the course so Erik could hit some balls. I was pregnant with our first child, Sol and so we were still living that leisurely ‘soooo whatcha wanna do this weekend?’ kinda life. Hike? Massage? Walk? Shop? Cafe again? Golf course? I remember I was pregnant because I wore golf shorts to the course (etiquette!), and I’d used a hair tie to connect the button to the button hole— my belly was getting too big to do them up, but I was in that awkward stage where I didn’t look pregnant, just bloated.
We must’ve eaten some spicy food for lunch, which was pretty normal for us. So, on the way there, Erik needed to go to the toilet. Like, BAD. As he was driving, his hands were shaking and we were frantically looking for somewhere to pull over. Alas, there was nothing but desert and a busy highway between us and the course so unless he wanted to get done for indecent exposure, or whatever the equivalent is in the USA, he needed to hold on for dear life (obviously, it was a number two). When we got there, he barely even turned off the engine before sprinting into the club and to the toilet as fast as he could. I stayed in the car, awaiting the news of whether he made it in time or not.
I waited, and waited and waited. Then about 15 minutes later, he walks out to the car in bright purple golf shorts— the only ones available in the club store, clearly. I mean, I don’t think he was trying to be fashionable in that moment. We both lost it laughing. He wore his bright purple shorts and I wore mine that were about to burst open at the belly.
My kids ask me to tell them this story all the time. They ask Erik too but it’s a much funnier story when I do it. Erik rushes through it— a good sport, but not stoked to have to relive it.
Of course I have golf wife stories that are much more sophisticated than this one, but being kids, they love this one the most.
Their favourite story that Erik tells is the one where he stepped on a rattle snake while fetching his ball from the thick, tall fescue. Erik really animates that story— seems stepping on a rattle snake and hearing its full on rattle was less traumatic than the purple pants one.
Being a golf wife is not as dull as it could seem.
I actually love it. I love hearing Erik’s stories and I love learning about something I’d never have cared about if it weren’t for him.
People always ask me if I’m any good at golf.
As a sport person I hate to say it, but no.
I suck at golf.
Sometimes I don’t even make contact with the ball and that kind of failure really frustrates me.
I mean, most people suck unless they practice and practice. For me I think the mountain seems so steep, I wonder if I have the patience to climb it (spoiler, I don’t).
I had a moment recently where I told Erik that I want to get better at golf. I was thinking ahead to when we’re older and the kids are living adult lives and… you know. He told me that I don’t have the patience to let him coach me and he is one thousand percent correct.
So, the masters. It’s on this week.
It’s one of the most prestigious tournaments in golf— so rich in tradition. Guests can’t bring their phones into the tournament at the Augusta National Golf Club in Georgia and when it plays on TV there is an opening little tune which Erik says is nostalgic heaven for him. Even last night he was singing it as we watched highlights from all the masters tournaments gone by. ‘Do do doooo do’.
The winner of the masters gets the prized green jacket, and each year, the previous winner puts the green jacket onto the new winner. It’s iconic in the sports world, the absolute pinnacle for golfers.
Each year too, the previous year’s winner gets to choose the meal to be served at the champion’s dinner. Each winner chooses something from their native country or state. The texans always choose steak, Hideki Matsuyama chose an epic Japanese spread, the Brits choose Sunday Roast, fish and chips or Yorkshire pudding, etc. Last year, John Rahm— a Spaniard won and his menu this year includes a recipe of his grandmother’s. Yes, I eagerly anticipated it. I looked it up. If you want to be a golf wife for a moment then here it is. Rahm is one of our favs and Erik always texts him after tournaments to congratulate him. Erik’s family company sponsored him many years ago when he was just getting big and he’s always been just such a solid, good guy.
My favourite part about being a golf wife is definitely the old school visors I collect, and the vintage golf club sweaters I have an excuse to wear, learning about the history, watching the old videos of the men wearing those big knickers and hitting with wooden clubs, the tradition and ‘classic-ness’ which always warms my heart.
I don’t want to put the pressure on Pax but I keep telling him that I could totally live the tour life as a golf mum, or a caddy. Erik tells me to stop it.
I’m a golf wife. And this week is masters week.
Love, PK XX
PS. Erik read through this entire entry before sharing it and said it made him smile. He also corrected a couple of little typos like ‘Augusta National Golf Club’ and not ‘Augusta National Club’ which were far more important to him than the purple pants story.
OK ok, let’s make Eric feel better. Am I about to share this on a public platform? Yep. I’m going in. I’ll make it quick though, much like Eric would tell his story.
I was working as a vegan chef (good ol’ vegan days, same as you, Peta ) on a prestigious sail yacht that was docked in San Diego… so naturally on some of my days off, I headed up to LA. There was a famous juice bar I *needed* to try. I grabbed the colon cleanser amongst others. Headed off, why oh why, why the FUCK why did I choose to drink the colon cleanser in LA traffic, I’ll never know. But I did. The traffic didn’t subside. There was nowhere to go but a random side street. There was nothing to use but my hand towel id taken from my bathroom on the boat. The ONLY good news is there was a bin outside the front of someone’s house.
There you go, Eric. And when I got back on board my chief stew asked where my hand towel had gone (as everything is inventoried.) I could only tell her after we’d both resigned and to this day, it’s always her favorite story too.
When you gotta go, you gotta go… XX
My husband and myself both love to watch the Masters even though we don't play golf. It is on really early on TV here in Brisbane so we always watch it while having breakfast, it's fantastic.