Bury Me In A Pot Bunker – Pete Dye with Mark Shaw, 1995 [Revised 1999] ★★

Golf's Bogeyman Looks Back

Resentment is the price many incur for being forward-thinking. This is true as well when designing golf courses.

When Pete Dye oversaw the opening of his Harbour Town Golf Links in South Carolina in time to host a 1969 PGA Tour event, tournament participants were apoplectic. Greens were much too small. Bunkers were much too large. Trees were everywhere.

The Hole Truth – Tommy Bolt with Jimmy Mann, 1971 ★

Who Knew Thunder Could Be Boring?

Tommy Bolt won his first and only major in 1958 at age 42, positioning the golfer as a senior statesman on the PGA Tour just as it exploded in popularity. Bolt seized the spotlight with a predilection for tossing clubs and venting at referees and spectators on the course.

It got him the nickname “Thunder” and a reputation for tantrums in what is still a sedate sport. You may pick up his golf memoir expecting lightning; expect a drizzle instead.

The Story Of American Golf: Its Champions And Its Championships – Herbert Warren Wind, 1956 ★★★★

Before Arnie Came

Golf’s elitist tag is long out of date; it was back in 1980 when Caddyshack came out but lingers still. Yes, the sport can be expensive and there are clubs for rich golfers only, but so what? They have clubs like that for other sports like tennis and swimming; no one considers those pastimes “exclusive.”

Another ugly word may have more merit in its application: Stodgy. People associate golf with tradition, with a sense of personal honor bordering on rectitude, and with boring stories told by a crusty old-timer who rounds his vowels like John Houseman. If you were to imagine a book written by such a fellow, it might well resemble something like what’s before us today.

Dead Solid Perfect – Dan Jenkins, 1974 ★★★½

Tee Offs & Put Ons

People who pick up Dead Solid Perfect expecting a serious endeavor at sports fiction need to understand: This may be a golf novel, but it’s also a Dan Jenkins novel.

Jenkins’ gimmick with sportswriting was not unlike Dean Martin’s about singing: It was something he seemed to do on the way to the bar, preferably with a few bawdy jokes thrown in.