Fearless Golf: Conquering the Mental Game

live in very real fear of the embarrassment they may suffer at almost any moment. Ego golfers put a great deal of stock on matters that are only distantly and superficially related to actually playing golf. For them, a round of golf is closely aligned with the mindset people adopt for “image management.” Golf is merely a means to the end of boosting their ego, status, and reputation. Of course, as you will come to understand, it is a pretty suspect support system. It is their chance to shine. It’s not about golf (the task), it’s about them (and their ego).
    When ego golfers are playing with confidence, they have their ego-boosting goals in sight and they see those goals as achievable. They are playing well, swinging with authority, and are getting the recognition that feeds them. All eyes are on them, and all hearts are at their feet. At times like this, ego golfers know that the way they are playing will lead to what they want from golf: prestige, stature, attention from friends or fans, money, awards, the boss’s approving nods. Their ears are pinned back, their egos are being fed, and they are leaning into every shot. The fact, however, is that they have something to prove.
    When things go well for the ego-oriented golfer, it is not difficult to understand how they could well feel a sense of euphoria. Showing off feels really good, and recognition is a wonderful aphrodisiac. Who doesn’t want to feel this way? But the approval of others rests on very shaky ground, and playing for others has its own set of consequences. Golfers who play to bolster their ego will indeed have their ego bolstered—but only if they are successful. As the saying goes, success is a cheating spouse, especially in a fickle and fluctuating game like golf.

    The Story of Mike: A Rising Star

    Mike was a twenty-two-year-old golfer who had come to see me in the summer of 1999. Mike had been an excellent junior player who had finished well at several AJGA (American Junior Golf Association) tournaments. He’d won his club championship by a record number, and after an excellent junior year in high school, Mike was ranked by several national publications as one of the best high school golfers in the nation. In the small, elite world of competitive golf, Mike was beginning to turn heads. His parents beamed at his achievements, and in the small town in Georgia where he was from, he was even treated as something of a celebrity.
    When he practiced at the club, members would stop and watch in awe. At the snack bar inside the clubhouse, he heard people whisper his name. “Isn’t that the kid who shot 4-under in the club championship?” He was accurate with his irons. He was long off the tee. And he had an incredible touch around the greens. The questions surrounding Mike were not “whether” he would be on the PGA Tour, but “when” he would be on the PGA Tour. We all have our own “personal fables”—imaginary narratives that we use to describe our lives—and in Mike’s fable, he was a shining star on the rise.
    The messages from the outside world seeped into Mike’s head, and the praise and attention were, to him, nothing short of intoxicating. He began to relish the attention and status that came with being such a good golfer. He liked to read his name in print, to hear his name whispered, to be respected for his game, and to be feared in competition.
    During the summer before he was to attend college, something happened that would have a dramatic effect on Mike. One morning, while jogging along the road, Mike tripped over a stone, fell to the pavement, and broke his wrist. The nature of the break was serious and would require several delicate surgeries. The prognosis was that the wrist would be in a cast for at least four months, and it would be at least a year and a half before it could withstand the torment of serious practice. In the millisecond it takes for a delicate wrist bone to crack, Mike’s life had changed.
    It is said that time heals all things. In this case, that cliché was only partly true. Time did heal Mike’s body. But just as time healed the body, it had a funny way of playing tricks with the mind. The world of golf did not stop and wait for Mike’s wrist to heal. It went on without him, and as other golfers began to steal the spotlight and attention, Mike felt left behind. Not to play, not to compete, and to feel that he didn’t belong disturbed Mike greatly. His commitment to return to competitive