The Secret of Golf THE SECRET EVERY SHOT MATTERS One of the big differences between amateur and pro golfers is how we practice. I see amateurs out on the driving range just hitting golf balls one after another without thinking. All they''re doing is ingraining bad habits. It drives me crazy to see that. Every shot you hit should matter. Every shot you hit should have a purpose. Ask yourself: "Why am I here?" TOM WATSON Tom Watson believes this: The point of playing golf is playing golf well. He does not accept any counterargument.

Over the years, I have said to him, "Look, some people just want to play golf for fun. They don''t care what they shoot. They just want to be out there, in the sunshine, among the trees, walking around with friends and a beer and ." At this point, Watson will cut me off and bark, "It''s no fun shooting a lousy score." This is Watson''s core conviction. No, he does not think every amateur can be a great golfer, but he does think every amateur can be a better golfer with a little guidance, a little work, and, most important, a shift in ambition. Many times I have watched him react when people ask him how much they should practice to improve their game. He grins that tight grin of his, the one that reflects not joy but some other elusive emotion, and the man who practiced as much as any golfer since Hogan says, "You determine that.

But I''ll bet it''s more than you practice now." Late in his life, in 2014, Watson was asked to captain the U.S. Ryder Cup team for the second time. The first time, twenty-one years earlier, the team won a stirring victory over Europe; this time things went wrong. Watson was a sixty-five-year-old golf legend, grumpy, stubborn, and hungry to win in a way that might be considered unseemly to younger players. And the players on the team were young, rich, successful, and perhaps a little bit satisfied. The Ryder Cup, after all, is a golf exhibition between players from the United States and players from Europe.

It is only as important as the players make it. On the Saturday night before the final day of matches, the U.S. team always has a party for the players and their wives or girlfriends. This should give you an idea of the light atmosphere surrounding the Ryder Cup. The United States trailed by a sizable margin, and Watson was fuming. Several of his moves had backfired. The team had disappointed him.

But the Saturday night party is a long-standing tradition, and the players gave Watson a signed replica Ryder Cup trophy. According to various news stories, quoting various anonymous players, Watson horrified everyone by grumping that he did not want the replica. He had come for the real Ryder Cup. With Watson, it always comes back to that question: Why am I here? Many years ago, when I wrote a daily column for Watson''s hometown newspaper, The Kansas City Star, he called to complain about something I had written. Complaints are part of a sportswriter''s daily life, of course, but this was an unusual call. Watson did not call to correct something I wrote about golf. He did not even call to criticize the grammar, though he has a well-earned reputation as a grammar scold. No, he called to tell me to stop writing those damned list columns.

I was still a young columnist then, still finding my way, and every week I would write a column filled with lists. The lists could be of anything: "Five rules baseball should change" or "Four reasons why the Masters is better than the U.S. Open" or "Six teams that should change their nicknames." It was a gimmick, filler, but it seemed to me a relatively inoffensive thing. Watson was offended. He called me at the office. Best I remember I had never had a complete conversation with him before.

"This is Tom Watson," he said. "Let me ask you a question. What do you want to be?" "I''m sorry?" "What do you want to be?" he repeated. At this point, I stammered something. "Do you want to be great?" he asked, piercing my pauses. "Do you want to be thought of the way the greatest sportswriters are thought of, the way people think about Red Smith and Jim Murray and Frank Deford? Do you want to be loved like they are loved? I think it''s a question you need to ask yourself. Why do you do what you do? What''s it all about? Do you want to be great? Not enough people ask themselves that question. It''s the most important question.

It''s the only question." And then he asked me again, "So, do you want to be great?" There was Watson''s question. Ask yourself: Why am I here? "Yeah," I mumbled. "Yeah, I mean, sure, I want to be great." "Then stop writing those damned list columns." And he said good-bye and hung up the phone.