Puttering Around With My Otey Crisman

By Paul Roberts

With almost all of my siblings in town recently (sorry you missed it Kent), I accepted the challenge to engage in a round of golf up on the hill at Shoshone Golf Club with Kevin, Laurie, and David. We took Mom and my sister-in-law Linda along for the ride, knowing that two extra pairs of eyes would help us keep an eye on the balls that had a good chance of going in a direction other than where we were aiming.

It’s been quite some time since I tested my balky left shoulder with the Gentleman’s Game, and my bruised right rib cage from a nighttime fall - a story for another time - didn’t add much confidence to my effort. In my younger days I would have suggested some sort of wager to keep things interesting. However, other than the green fees, there was no money riding on the game, and once my sister suggested that the only strokes that she was counting were the ones when she was using her putter, I relaxed, and thoroughly enjoyed our slow, easy-going nine hole outing. You see, I am a reasonably skilled putter, but more than just an avid putterer.

Putter - noun  - a golf club used in putting; one who putts.

Putter - verb - move or act aimlessly or idly; to work at random.

Thus, one who putters is a putterer.

My Otey Crisman 218 HB hickory shafted putter was purchased some 40 plus years ago at the very new nine hole course on top of the mountain that had replaced the old Big Creek course at the mountain’s base. Mine is the left-handed model.

Golfers like to talk about their “swing thoughts,” a mantra of sorts that is meant to lend an air of confidence to their swing. I’m pretty sure our foursome’s swing thoughts were all over the place as we teed off, and then each took our own meandering approach to the first green. But when I reached the green and took my Otey Crisman 218 HB hickory shafted putter into my hands - two Titleist balls and too many strokes after teeing off - something changed. After years of not touching any of my clubs, I stared down my twenty foot slightly downhill putt with its cleverly concealed 10 inch left to right break, and with foolish confidence, stroked my ball into the hole.

Me and my Otey Crisman make a good team, but I can’t say I’m planning on heading for the golf course again any time soon. I love to use my putter, but I would rather be a putterer. Putterers tinker. They fiddle. Dilly dally. Diddle. Dawdle. Doodle. Fribble. They clown, hang, horse, kick, and mess around. It’s behavior I think my sister Laurie would call the random abstract learning style.

My golf clubs are back down in the large storage area in our basement, and will likely stay there for a while once again. But I’ve decided to keep my Otey Crisman 218 HB hickory shafted putter upstairs, close at hand. You never know what a good putterer can do with a good putter.

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