It's hard to resist the old point and shoot
It's easier to judge than take responsibility for our own stuff
“Therefore, Whatsoever, ye would that men should do unto you do ye even so unto them.”
The Golden Rule sign outside door at Acme Sucker Rod Factory in Toledo, Ohio in 1913.
It’s not the nicest phrase, but most of us have a list of folks we love to hate.
If you’re a Toronto Maple Leafs fan, enemy No. 1 right now is Brad Marchand, an elite player and pest, although every Leaf fan knows if you had a team of them, you’d win every year. I don’t think anyone really hates Marchand; they just find him annoying.
The list of folks who get up my nose includes Flea (bass player for Red Hot Chili Peppers), Aaron Rogers, Pierre Poilievre and Justin Trudeau in equal measure, and Bryson DeChambeau. Donald Trump doesn’t annoy me. He scares the crap out of me.
I’m still churning around my reaction to DeChambeau during the Masters. He’s been rankling my couch time since he came on tour.
What set me off this time was seeing him carrying a sign-post over his shoulder during Saturday’s round. ‘Geez pal, so now you’re trying to look like Jesus on the way to Calvary? Come on,’ I grumbled in my best crusty curmudgeon.
When he plunked his ball in the water on 15 and his putter betrayed him down the stretch, I didn’t delight in his misfortune but I didn't hate it. It’s not like when I watch a goalie get lit up; I want to give the poor sap a hug, tousle his hair and say, “It’s ok.”
Before the final round of the Masters, my buddy Kent sent me text that he was rooting for “the mad scientist” to win.
I responded: “I can’t stand watching Bryson. Makes me tense, crabby and judgmental.”
The way DeChambeau vibrates over the ball, looking like he’s about to explode Monty-Python style; the strangled putter grip, his arms ramrod straight, tendons bulging like steel cables; the petulance and pouting—it all makes me want to throw something at the TV and yell, ‘Dude, the sun doesn’t shine out of your orifice!’
Kent: “I watched his YouTube channel and I’ve come to appreciate him.”
Me: “I’m hanging on to my projections. Don’t ask me to change.”
Kent: 😂
Alas, none of this is Bryson’s fault. As the psychologists say when they’re not on TV: It’s all my own shit.
I’ve projected all over poor Bryson. That is, my judgments about him are judgments that I have about myself: I grandstand. I’m petulant. I pout. I can get finicky about my hallowed address position. I’d just rather not own them. It’s far more convenient to project them on an easy target like Bryson.
I find myself making judgments constantly—about people who I believe drive too fast, who let their dogs hang out the car window, who pontificate (Poilievre and Trudeau)—and appear too big for their britches, as the ancient saying goes. I try to be a good boy, observe the golden rule, and let the judgments go. Obviously, I still have lots of work to do.
When we project, it’s like we metaphorically form a finger gun, point it at someone, and say, “He’s a jerk.” But here’s the thing—there’s one finger pointed at the other person, three are coming back at us.
The other acts like a mirror. They may very well do things that we are unethical, against the law or community standards and plainly wrong, but our projections are still our own creation. Owning a projection means accepting responsibility that you are the agent of your own crappiness. But it’s way easier to say, “She’s the Drama Queen.”
Projections also have social consequences. In hierarchical structures in society and in organizations, we point our finger handguns and pronounce: he’s a bully, she’s a zealot, he’s an idiot, she’s a flake, he’s a right-wing nutjob, she’s woke, they don’t know how to drive, they’re lazy.
Projection isn’t just something we do to annoying drivers and celebrities. It also fuels polarization and scapegoating. Projections put a person, a group or even a country in a box, which provides no basis for understanding. It’s the stuff that leads to troubled relationships, estrangement, political gridlock, and even wars.
How did a blog that started off mainly about Bryson get here? Well, I show up as a golfer the same way I show up in the rest of my life. And vice versa. I believe we all do.
Just so you know I’m not all talk and no action, I watched five whole minutes of Bryson’s Break 50 series on YouTube. I figure that watching his series is the equivalent of being curious, which is the antidote to being judgmental. You know, he seemed pretty OK, but we’ll see how I react during the next major he’s in.
If you’re curious, the Break 50 episode that I choose features Paige Spiranac. If you want to judge me for that, go for it.
If you are interested in golf coaching, please send an email to tim@oconnorgolf.ca.