I’ve been thinking a lot about failure lately. This is partly because I experienced a big, blindsiding whopper of my own last week and partly because I’m on vacation and actually have some time to think. Well, make that think and watch golf.
For the record, I’m not a golfer…I just married one.
This means that – even at the beach – my husband is angling to be as close as possible to a TV – and therefore SportsCenter. (I’m not bothered by this because, frankly, I’m usually the one angling to be as close as possible to a power outlet – and therefore Twitter.)
Suffice it to say I’m accustomed to having golf in the background of my life and over the years I’ve caught fleeting glimpses of a million tournaments. Still, this weekend was the first time I can honestly say I was riveted.
For those of you who watched the British Open, you know what I’m talking about. Adam Scott – who was practically guaranteed the win – had a very public meltdown. What started with a sizable lead ended with him politely trying to conceal his disappointment as someone else walked away with the prize. And even though Scott granted scores of post-tourney interviews, he didn’t need to say a word.
The pain in his face said it all.
While I feel bad for the guy, I have to say that his loss was highly cathartic. It was a reminder that even the best in the world have bad rounds and, yes, sometimes they choke. I’ll be sure to remember this lesson the next time I blow it. Hopefully, you will too.