Bounce Back
Scottie Scheffler leads the world in birdies after bogeys. For those who might not be familiar with golf’s scoring ways and words, that means that, most times, when he finishes one hole one stroke over par, he finishes the next hole one stroke under par. One step back, followed by an immediate step back forward. Trip, stand-up and walk. Trip, stand-up and walk. Trip, stand-up and walk. This is how you keep from ever falling far behind. It’s also how you end up way ahead.
The best of the best don’t land with a splat on a bed of concrete when they fall, they bounce.
Scottie Scheffler celebrates his win at the Masters golf tournament at Augusta National Golf Club Sunday, April 14, 2024, in Augusta, Ga. (AP Photo/Ashley Landis)
While the world’s reigning number-one golfer is good at almost everything you need to be good at if you want to win at golf, he’s not the very best at much. Tim Widing is currently the tour’s longest driver, the purest putter is a guy named Denny McCarthy, and the leader of sand saves is Danny Willett, a title he shares with Victor Hovland (at last a name that armchair golfers know). Scottie Scheffler ranks high on the list in all of the above categories but the only stat he owns is bouncing back.
Some guys slip and slide --and slide and slide and slide. If they hit a ball into the bushes, you can feel the tumble coming on. The downhill headed snowball makes our stomachs drop because the meltdown is familiar. It’s not unique to golf. We can each think of moments when in the pressure cooker of competitive sports, athletes—and sometimes entire teams—turn one mistake into fifteen. The tennis player hits a pedestrian forehand into the net, then promptly double faults. A running back fumbles, then the noseguard jumps off-sides, then the safety interferes and suddenly the ball that was on the opponent’s six-yard line is about to be danced with in the other endzone. The confounding compounding can happen pretty fast.
Downward spirals that lead to avalanches can happen anywhere at any time. The stub that turns into a faceplant isn’t only reserved for sports.
I learned how to drive a car on the backroads in Carter County. My PaPa, a county Deputy Sheriff, let me learn by employing only slight instruction and mostly hands-on experience fed by cause and effect. One day (while no doubt thinking I had the cat in the bag) I veered off the old dirt road a bit, my front right tire churning in the shoulder’s loose debris. Instinctively, I jerked the car back up and onto the road sending us spinning crossways in a cloud of dust. Had any other cars been out and about that day, it could have been disastrous. I remember PaPa saying, “That’s what happens if you overcorrect.” Then he made me do it again and again on purpose, to practice coming back.
The veering-- he seemed to say without saying-- is a given. The goal is to not make matters worse.
One of two things almost always happens when we trip and fall or drop the ball. We either doubt all we ever thought we knew or we bend over backward vying to fix whatever it is we think we broke. Clearly, neither is ideal. This is where the world’s number-one ranked golfer sets himself apart. He doesn’t seem to panic and he doesn’t seem to doubt. He just doubles down on doing the next thing well. Inside this mental framework, the tumble turns into a trampoline.
Scottie Scheffler’s resilience shows up within the navigation of a single hole as well as in between them. A tee shot into the hazard more often than not leads to a boring chip that’s followed up by a beautiful putt. What the golfer with Happy Gilmore feet has that maybe others don’t is insides made of silly putty. He’s John Maxwell’s quintessential “forward failer.” Most of his stumbles are simply an underground tunnel toward something the masses can’t see.
At the 89th Masters at Augusta this past weekend, the champion Rory McIlroy took a page out of Scheffler’s playbook. He produced a weekend scorecard filled with undulations that mirrored the Bobby Jones’ greens. McIlroy tripped and tripped and tripped. Down the final stretch on Sunday even--into the water on thirteen, the bunker on eighteen, then over a four -foot putt to win it all.
The golf history he had held in his hand squirted out on the final green. Stunned patrons followed like antsy sheep as he made his way toward the playoff hole vs. the waiting Justin Rose.
Then Rory bounced.
He blasted a drive, then hit a gap wedge that nestled the ball on the green they hand trim with scissors, two feet from the hole. Then he calmly rolled the putt into the center of the cup.
Birdie. Green Jacket. Admission to golf’s small circle of Grand Slam champs.
Arrival, courtesy of a bounce.