The Swing.
The ball does not care how I feel, which is most of why I keep hitting it.
Golf is the same honesty as the mat in a quieter medium. Nobody else touches the ball. I stand over it and either commit to the shot or steer it, and the flight says which.
Some of this is a range at night under floodlights, a bucket and a driver. More of it is out on the course: a grey morning on a tree-lined tee, a hillside in October sun, a valley under weather, a June evening with the light going. Same swing, same question.












