Confessions of a Putter

Like most golfers, I started my journey in love with the driver.

The sound it made when you caught one flush? Like cracking open a cold drink on a hot day pure, electric joy. The flight of the ball when you actually hit it straight? Poetry in motion. An arching missile that soared into the clouds like it had dreams of its own.

And the distance? Let’s just say there’s no greater ego boost than casually muttering, “Yeah, that was about 290,” while trying to hide the fact you threw your back out on the follow-through. The driver was love at first swing. Until it started ruining my life.

Drop Three, Pray for Bogey

For a club that promises greatness, the driver charged a steep price financially and emotionally. Every tee box became a roulette table, and I was betting balls like they grew on trees. If I wasn’t slicing it into someone’s backyard, I was hooking it so hard the local wildlife flinched. I started carrying a “ball retriever” that extended longer than my driver—because statistically, it was more useful. Let’s be honest: if you’re hitting two off the tee more often than one, you’re not playing golf. You’re playing fetch. So eventually, I did what any mature golfer would do. I gave up.

They Told Me to Trust My Swing. I Trusted My Putter Instead

Enter the putter. Now, nobody starts the game loving the putter. It doesn’t roar off the face. It doesn’t climb into the stratosphere. It doesn’t break windows or egos. It’s not sexy.

But it is faithful. I noticed something strange: the only club I consistently knew where the ball went… was the putter. Every swing was a guaranteed “in-play” moment. I never had to ask, “Did anyone see that?” or “You think we’ll find it?” or the classic, “Was that OB or just emotionally damaging?” With the putter, I always walked forward. Confident. Calm. Slightly smug. I wasn’t losing balls anymore. I was finding purpose.

It’s Not About Distance, It’s About Direction (and Dignity)

Let me be clear: my putter hasn’t saved me strokes. It’s saved me therapy bills. It’s a stress-free, drama-free club. The Prius of my bag. It’s not here to impress—it’s here to finish the job.

And sure, I still carry the driver. We’re on speaking terms. But our relationship is complicated. It’s like that friend who’s super fun at parties but should never have your debit card. Meanwhile, the putter? That’s the friend who helps you move and remembers your dog’s birthday.

Sometimes I Putt From the Fringe... of the Fairway.

I’ll admit, I’ve taken things too far. I once putted from thirty yards out. On a simulator. On a par 4. My playing partner asked if I was okay. I said I was just “taking control of my round.” Was it the smart shot? Probably not. Did I lose a ball? Absolutely not. That’s what the putter does. It reels you back in after the round has gone full Florida Man.

Final Thoughts from a Putter Guy

I’m not saying everyone should ditch their driver. I’m saying... maybe don’t trust it with your happiness. Find the club that grounds you. That treats you with respect. That doesn’t humiliate you in front of your in-laws or strangers at league night. For me, that’s the putter. It’s short. It’s stubby. It doesn’t get the glory. But it’s always there for me. In play. On course. And in reach, when I’ve just walked off the tee thinking, “Well, there goes that Pro V1... again.”

Experience Golf in a Digital World. One putt at a time.