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The Dawn of Golf

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A Journey to Its Origins

Hello, fellow golf enthusiasts,

I am Robert Greenfield, and I am delighted to welcome you to our first installment of “Tales from the Greens: Chronicles of Golf Through the Ages.” Together, we will explore together the rich tapestry of golf’s history, from its humble beginnings to the global phenomenon it is today. My passion for golf is not just about playing the game but understanding its roots and how it has evolved over the centuries. So, let’s tee off our series by venturing back to where it all began—the ancient origins of golf.


Tracing the Lineage of Golf

While the modern game of golf is closely associated with Scotland, its true origins are a subject of much debate and fascinating conjecture. Historical traces of games similar to golf can be found across various cultures and continents, suggesting that the concept of hitting a ball with a stick towards a target is indeed a universal pastime.

The Romans played a game called paganica, where participants used a bent stick to hit a stuffed leather ball. Some historians suggest that this game spread across Europe with the Roman legions, possibly influencing later games in other regions, including the Celtic game of shinty and the French game of jeu de mail.

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However, it is in Scotland that the game took on the identity we recognize today. By the 15th century, golf had become a popular pastime in the Kingdom of Scotland, so much so that it was temporarily banned by King James II in 1457, as it was deemed a distraction to learning archery, an essential skill for national defense at the time.

The Scottish Links

The real pivotal development of golf, however, occurred in Scotland’s links lands—coastal areas where the sandy soil and tough grasses provided a suitable terrain for the game. The Old Links at Musselburgh Racecourse claims the title of the oldest golf course in the world, with documented evidence of golf being played there in 1672, although it is likely that the game was played on these grounds as far back as the early 1500s.

St. Andrews, often revered as the “home of golf,” is where the game truly flourished. The standard 18-hole course, which became the benchmark for golf courses worldwide, was established there in 1764 when members modified the course from 22 holes to 18 holes. The St. Andrews Links had become the cradle of modern golf by the 19th century, hosting both the amateur and professional versions of the game that attracted players from across the British Isles and beyond.

The Game Grows

As golf clubs and balls evolved, so too did the accessibility of the game. The featherie ball, a hand-sewn leather pouch stuffed with boiled feathers, expanded the game’s reach in the 17th and 18th centuries, although it was expensive. It was the advent of the gutta-percha ball, or “guttie,” in the mid-19th century that democratized golf, making it more affordable and popular.

Golf’s spread was inexorable. By the early 20th century, the game had reached the United States and other parts of the British Empire, planting the seeds for what would become a global sporting culture.


As we explore golf’s storied past, I look forward to uncovering these tales of innovation, passion, and tradition with you. Next time, we will delve into the stories of legendary figures whose lives and exploits on the greens have become almost mythic in the annals of golf. Until then, may your appreciation for golf’s rich history enhance your next round on the links.

Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Warm regards, Robert Greenfield

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Meet The Canadian Open Qualifier Tied To ClickIt Golf!

“This week was incredible,” he said. “A dream come true.”

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Josh Goldenberg doesn’t plan to quit his day job. But he had a great time dabbling in his old career.

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He gave up on pro golf, then qualified for his first PGA Tour event.

Read the full story here
https://golf.com/news/josh-goldenberg-rbc-canadian-open/?amp=1

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Bets & Babes: Betting on Birdies

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In this latest episode of Bets and Babes join me and my special guest Robert from the World Series of Golf as we tee up a whole new way to think about betting on the green.

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PING Hoofer

We break down golf betting basics, share hilarious stories and talk about how to bet in a way that might resonate with us ladies.

Whether you’re a total newbie or just curious how to make golf Sundays more exciting, this episode delivers fun, flirty, and smart tips to get you in the game. 🎧⛳💸

Click below to listen to the entire episode and leave your comments and suggestions for future episodes.

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The Bogey Man’s Guide to Accidental Course Exploration: Or, How I Found My Ball (Eventually) in the Rough of Life

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Ah, golf. The gentle game of precision, patience, and occasionally, profound personal humiliation. You know, the kind that makes you question all your life choices, particularly the one where you decided to spend your Saturday morning chasing a tiny white ball around 18 acres of manicured torture.

Boo here, reporting live from the depths of a particularly thorny patch of “rough” that I’m fairly certain wasn’t on the course map. My mission? To recount a tale of a golf shot so spectacularly off-target, it became less about breaking par and more about breaking new ground. Literally.

It was a glorious Tuesday. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and my swing felt… well, it felt like something. I was on the par-4 7th, a hole notorious for its deceptive dogleg and a bunker that swallows balls faster than a hungry teenager devours pizza. My plan was simple: a nice, controlled fade, landing gently just short of the green. A textbook approach, really.

What actually happened was less “textbook” and more “abstract expressionism.” My driver, bless its misguided heart, decided that “fade” was merely a suggestion, and “controlled” was a concept best left to professional pilots. The ball, a brand-new, gleaming Titleist Pro V1 (because, you know, optimism), launched with the trajectory of a startled pheasant and veered sharply right. So sharply, in fact, it cleared the cart path, hopped over the maintenance shed, and disappeared into what I can only describe as a dense, untamed jungle previously known as “the woods bordering the 7th fairway.”

Now, a lesser golfer, a more sensible golfer, might have declared it lost, taken a drop, and moved on with their dignity mostly intact. But I, dear readers, am Mr. Bogey Man. And the Bogey Man doesn’t abandon his children, especially when they cost $5 a pop.

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So, armed with a 7-iron (optimism again, clearly), a profound sense of misplaced determination, and a faint hope that perhaps a deer had picked it up and was using it as a chew toy, I plunged into the abyss.

The first five minutes were a blur of tangled vines, unseen roots, and the distinct feeling that I was being watched by small, judgmental woodland creatures. My pristine golf shoes quickly became mud-caked relics. My carefully tucked-in shirt became a casualty of low-hanging branches. I swear, I heard a squirrel snicker.

Then, a glimmer! A flash of white amidst the green. “Aha!” I cried, startling a family of robins. I pushed through a particularly stubborn bush, only to find… a discarded plastic water bottle. My heart sank faster than my last putt from 3 feet.

I pressed on, muttering to myself about the unfairness of golf, the existential dread of lost balls, and whether it was too late to take up competitive napping. Just as I was about to give up and declare the ball a permanent resident of the arboreal underworld, I saw it. Nestled perfectly at the base of an ancient oak, gleaming defiantly, was my Pro V1.

The triumph! The sheer, unadulterated joy! It was like finding the Holy Grail, if the Holy Grail was spherical and prone to slicing. I carefully extracted it, brushed off a few leaves, and held it aloft.

Then I looked around. I had no idea where I was. The fairway was a distant, hazy memory. The cart path? A myth. I was utterly, gloriously lost.

It took another fifteen minutes of bushwhacking, a brief but intense wrestling match with a particularly aggressive thistle, and the accidental discovery of what I’m pretty sure was a very old, very moldy sandwich, but I eventually stumbled back onto the course. My playing partners, who had long since finished the hole and were contemplating sending out a search party (or at least ordering another round of drinks), looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement.

My score on the 7th? Let’s just say it involved a number that would make a mathematician weep. But the story? The adventure? The sheer ridiculousness of it all? Priceless.

So, the next time your ball decides to take an unscheduled tour of the local flora and fauna, don’t despair. Embrace it. See it as an opportunity for accidental exploration. You might not break 80, but you’ll definitely have a story. And isn’t that what golf is really about? (Besides the frustration, the lost balls, and the occasional snickering squirrel, of course.)

Until next time, keep those swings (mostly) in bounds, and remember: even a bogey can be an adventure.

Boo

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