[Dark Saint Alaick]

There really is no mystery whatever about the game of golf. It is one
of the simplest of games, but unquestionably it is a game which is
very difficult to play well, a game which demands a high degree of
mechanical accuracy in the production of the various strokes. It is
apparent from the nature of the implements used in the game that this
must be so. All the foolishness of nebulous advice, and all the quaint
excuses which have been gathered together under the head of "the
mystery of golf," are simply weak man's weaker excuses for his want
of intelligence and mechanical accuracy. Until the golfer fully
understands and freely acknowledges this, he is suffering from a very
severe handicap. If, when he addresses his ball, he has firmly
implanted in his mind the idea that he is in the presence of some
awesome mystery, there is very little doubt that he will do his level
best to perform his part in the mystery play.

We do not read anywhere of the mystery of lawn-tennis, the mystery of
cricket, the mystery of marbles, squash racquets, or ping-pong. There
are no mysteries in these games any more than there are in golf, and
the plain fact is that the demand of golf is inexorable. It insists
upon the straight line being followed, and the man who forsakes the
straight line is immediately detected. In no game, perhaps, is the
insistent demand for direction so inexorable as in golf. Perhaps also
in no game is that demand so frequently refused, and, naturally, the
erring golfer wishes to excuse himself. It is useful then for him to
be told of the mysteries of golf--the wonderful mysteries, the
psychological difficulties, the marvellous cerebration, the incredibly
rapid nerve "telegraphing," and the wonderful muscular complications
which take place between the time that he addresses the ball and hits
it, or otherwise.