Don't Be Bullied Out of Blades

This offseason, Rory McIlroy made a surprising equipment choice that he decided to debut at the Dubai Invitational. He swapped out his irons, a set of custom blades by TaylorMade that he had played for the last seven years, for a set of cavity back irons meant to offer some forgiveness on mishits. He said he’s been considering the change for a couple years, and finally went through with it after seeing the occasional 5-iron come up short. When he opened with a 66 in Round 1, it was the first time in his career he’d played competitively without blades.

“If there’s help to be had, I’ll definitely take it,” McIlroy said.

It is rare for equipment news to make any kind of ripple outside the world of golf gearheads, but Rory’s decision broke contain in part because it was a great opportunity for certain people to declare that you — amateur golfer — are not good enough to play certain clubs.  

Horvat wasn’t alone. For more than a day, much of Golf Twitter was abuzz with declarative condescension. It became a ripe opportunity to sneer about that one guy we all know, that unnamed, faceless friend who could probably shave 3-5 strokes off his rounds if he’d just kill his ego and embrace a set of cavity backs. If only 30 percent of professional golfers still play blades — Scottie Scheffler, Tiger Woods, and Adam Scott being among the most famous holdouts — then what business do you have putting them in your bag?

The problem with this position is that it fundamentally misunderstands what some of us enjoy about golf. I say this as a proud owner of two sets of bladed irons.  

There is a good reason for Rory McIlroy to try to optimize every aspect of his golf game. He is playing for millions of dollars every week, and he is playing to etch his name into the annals of history. It is his job to try and find every advantage he can within the rules, and if he mishits a 6-iron in a major and still finds the green because technological advances in equipment can now account for human error, this is an ideal result for him.

Winning majors, however, is not my job. It will never be my job.

If shooting the lowest score possible is the main way you derive satisfaction from the game, a part of me admires you. The endless quest to chase a number, to better a number you previously posted, is one of the reasons golf is so addictive. Every shot counts. There are no foul balls or turnovers negated by replay. But chasing perfection does not fulfill everyone. Chasing a feeling can be just as addictive. That, too, is what makes golf unique.

Anyone who has ever flushed a bladed iron can testify to this truth: There is nothing like it. There is something ethereal about it, the way the ball compresses in the center of the face without vibration, and the way it sounds when the club snaps through the turf, the way that a perfect strike feels like nothing at all. It is akin to strumming a perfect guitar chord. The scarcity of that feeling is the reason you chase it.

I don't play with my blades every round. There are times when I need all the help I can get. Instead, I break them out whenever I want to reactivate my senses, when I feel like the difference between shooting 82 and 87 has no bearing on my happiness. I like the way they look at address, the way they knife through the grass. I might never own a sports car, but I can understand the appeal whenever I put my MB-101 Miuras in the bag. My game-improvement irons are basically the equivalent of a Prius that gets great gas mileage.

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There are an endless number of people in the world who want to sell you a device that will optimize your life, that will help you gamify your quest to sleep better, to lower your cholesterol, to speak a second language. There are badges and streaks and digital leaderboards dangled to entice you.

What gets lost in all of this is the idea that satisfaction doesn’t always require an incentive. The feeling alone is enough. We don’t engage in every exercise as a vehicle for self-improvement. Some stuff we do solely because we love it.

I know the cynic’s favorite talking point: Why make it harder on yourself to hit good shots?

My rebuttal is simple. Why do you care? Engage with golf however you like.

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Willie Nelson has been playing the same acoustic guitar, a Martin N-20, for 56 years. It has been by his side for more than 10,000 appearances. There is a large hole worn into the wood above the bridge from years of strumming, and it has been signed by hundreds of friends. At some point, Nelson named the guitar ‘Trigger” after Roy Rogers’ horse. Trigger has been the subject of stories, documentaries, and paintings, and it is the rare instrument that has its own Wikipedia entry.

I am certain that Nelson could find a new guitar that would offer sonic improvements, if that was his goal. Advances in technology have dramatically improved the quality of acoustic instruments since 1969. These days, guitars use different woods, different glues, and different shapes to enhance the sound a musician can produce. But Trigger remains by Nelson’s side.  

“If I picked up the finest guitar made this year and tried to play my solos exactly the way you heard them on the radio or even at last night's show, I'd always be a copy of myself and we'd all end up bored,” Nelson wrote in the book, “The Tao of Willie: A Guide To Happiness In Your Heart.” “But if I play an instrument that is now a part of me, and do it according to the way that feels right for me, I'll always be an original."

Is it too much of a stretch to suggest that a 12-handicap hitting toe shanks and thin shots is anything resembling art? It probably is. But no amateur golfer has to apologize for playing what he or she loves.

Your joy needs no advocate.