Zen golf, Japan, putting, by Paul Spencer Sochaczewski

Published in the International Herald Tribune
14 March 1996

ZEN SHRINE HELPS DUFFERS FIND THE ANSWERS TO COSMIC QUESTION: WHY CAN'T I PUTT?

ANNAKA, Japan.

Golfers, Lord knows, seem to need more spiritual guidance then practitioners of other sports. How else could you explain the almost-religious-like belief duffers will place in a Heaven Wood, or the way they mumble the mantra "Tetrachaidecohedron dimple pattern" in order to ensure that they will not slice their drives off the first tee during a tournament?

Which is why is heartening to learn of the world's first Zen shrine devoted to golf.

As reported in Sports Illustrated, the golf shrine is the brainchild of 56 year-old Seiko Omi, a "great monk" at the 430-year-old Zenshoji Zen temple at the base of Zuirin Mountain, about three hours northwest of Tokyo. The two-metre tall stone altar Omi designed features Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. She holds a putter in her right hand, a golf ball in her left. Above 13 drivers radiating from her head are the Japanese words "hole in one."

Omi, who shoots a modest 36 handicap, hails from a family which has produced monks for 20 generations. He is convinced of his unorthodox approach. "Practicing Buddhist meditation teaches you to calm down and increase your powers of concentration," he says.
"The power to concentrate is good for everything, especially golf."

Omi's ultimate aim is that eventually young golfers who visit the shrine may be moved towards Buddhism.

This softly-softly approach might have aided US golfer Tommy Bolt, known for his graceful swing and terrible temper. Once, after lipping out six straight putts in a tournament, he shook his fist at the heavens and shouted, "Why don't You come on down and fight like a man!"
Golfing legend Sam Snead tried another approach to obtain a golf benediction. Passing through Rome in 1961, Snead stopped for an audience with Pope John. The famous American golfer had been playing poorly and he confessed to one of the papal officials: "I brought along my putter, on the chance that the pope might bless it." The monsignor nodded sympathetically. "I know, Mr. Snead," he said. "My putting is absolutely hopeless too." Snead looked at him in amazement. "If you live here and can't putt," he exclaimed, "what chance is there for me?"

Unwilling to ask the Pope for help, and unable to make the pilgrimage to Japan whenever I play a competitive round at my golf club in France, I instead draw a crayon representation of Kannon. I place the representational teeity in a bunker at my home course that is so deep Sergei Bubka couldn't pole-vault out. I light a joss stick while offering the golf-aiding Kannon a three-pack of new Titleists. "Just a little help with my short game," I intone. "Oh hell, let's go the whole hog." I place a Pebble Beach visor near the altar and add: "And a birdie on that diabolical par five by the lake. Just once."