By Rahil Gangjee
There are few relationships in a golfer’s life that can rival the one we share with our driver. Some players talk about their coach, some about their caddie, and a few even give credit to the gym for keeping their bodies in shape. But for me, nothing defines the highs and lows of my golfing life like that big stick in the bag.
If you ask me, my driver is a lot like a girlfriend—unpredictable, moody, and occasionally the best thing that’s ever happened to me. One moment it makes me feel like Rory McIlroy, bombing it down the middle, chest puffed out, smile for the cameras. The next moment, it reminds me that heartbreak is only one swing away. Slice into the trees? Hook into the lake? Oh yes, I’ve experienced it all.
And yet, I keep coming back. Why? Because, just like love, the driver is addictive. You can’t quit it. You promise yourself you’ll “just hit 3-wood for safety,” but then you stand on the tee, the fairway stretching out in front of you, and that 460cc temptress whispers in your ear: Go on, big guy. Show them what you’ve got.
The Honeymoon Phase
Every golfer knows the honeymoon phase with a new driver. You’ve been eyeing it online, checking reviews, watching YouTube launch monitor tests at 2 a.m. Finally, you walk into the shop, swipe your card, and the shiny new love of your life is in your hands. The grip feels perfect, the shaft promises extra yards, and the marketing brochure tells you it’s “forgiving.”
Forgiving? Ha! That’s the biggest lie since “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
The first few rounds are magical. You’re convinced you’ve found the one. Drives are soaring, your playing partners are impressed, and you even give it a little wipe with your towel after every shot. You treat it better than your car.
But, just like any relationship, reality sets in. One day you block it 30 yards right, and suddenly you’re questioning every decision you’ve ever made. Was it me? Was it the shaft? Did I swing too hard? Maybe she doesn’t love me anymore.
The Jealousy Factor
Here’s the thing about drivers—they hate competition. The moment you pull out a 3-wood or an iron off the tee, the driver sulks. Next time you give it a chance, it punishes you with a banana slice. It’s like saying hello to an ex in front of your girlfriend—dangerous territory.
I’ve had weeks where I’ve benched the driver altogether, thinking I was “better off without her.” But sure enough, by the back nine, I’m sneaking her out of the bag again, whispering, This time will be different. Spoiler: it usually isn’t.
Public Displays of Affection
When the driver behaves, though—oh man, the world needs to know. Nothing beats the rush of a 300-yard missile down the center. You pose a little longer than necessary, maybe twirl the club, and pretend it was routine. Inside, though, you’re bursting with pride. It’s the golfing equivalent of posting a couple selfie with matching sunglasses on Instagram.
And just like relationships, people around you notice. Playing partners start muttering, “He’s driving it well today,” with a hint of envy. You act casual, but you’re already composing a romantic poem in your head: Roses are red, fairways are green, with you, dear driver, I’m a driving machine.
The Mood Swings
But let’s not pretend this is a smooth ride. Drivers, like girlfriends, have mood swings. Monday: perfect draws. Tuesday: push slices. Wednesday: snap hooks. By the weekend, you’re questioning your life choices and googling “Is golf supposed to be fun?”
Sometimes, I swear my driver has a personality disorder. It behaves beautifully on the range, purring like a happy cat. But the moment I step onto the first tee, with a card in my hand, it turns into a wild tiger. Oh, you wanted a fairway? Too bad—how about OB left instead?
Why We Can’t Quit
So why do we keep coming back to this unpredictable relationship? Because the highs are worth the lows. When the driver and I are in sync, there’s no better feeling in golf. It sets up birdies, builds confidence, and makes you walk taller.
And let’s be honest—golfers are eternal optimists. We believe the next swing will be the one. Just one range session away, one shaft adjustment, one little tip from YouTube… and suddenly, it’ll all click. We cling to hope like a hopeless romantic writing late-night texts.
Lessons in Love (and Golf)
If my years with the driver have taught me anything, it’s this: commitment is key. You can’t give up at the first sign of trouble. Sure, I’ve tried replacing it with younger, flashier models. But deep down, I know it’s not the club—it’s me. Patience, practice, and a bit of forgiveness go a long way.
Also, just like relationships, you can’t compare yours to anyone else’s. My playing partner might be crushing his driver, but that doesn’t mean mine will behave the same way. Every driver-golfer relationship is unique. Some like a low fade, others a towering draw. Find what works for you, and stop swiping through catalogs like you’re on Tinder.
The Break-Up Threat
There are moments, though, when the temptation to break up is strong. Usually after a disastrous round where I’ve lost three balls and a chunk of my dignity. I march into the pro shop, convinced it’s over. “Show me the latest models,” I demand. But then I remember the good times—the bomb on 18, the eagle setup on a par-5—and I chicken out.
Because here’s the truth: you never really quit your driver. You just take breaks. Sometimes long ones. But one way or another, you always come back.
The Addictive Factor
In the end, the driver is the most addictive club in golf. No other stick in the bag has the same allure. You don’t hear people raving about their 7-iron with the same passion. Nobody writes poems about their lob wedge. The driver is special—it represents hope, power, and possibility.
So yes, my driver is like my girlfriend—unpredictable, moody, sometimes infuriating. But also thrilling, beautiful, and impossible to live without. And just like love, the only way to survive is to embrace the madness.
Because tomorrow, who knows? That next swing could be the one that makes me fall in love all over again.
And before I get completely carried away serenading my driver like it’s a long-lost love song, let me remind myself (and you) of the old adage: You drive for show, but putt for dough!
Rahil Gangjee is a professional golfer, sharing through this column what life on a golf course is like