You and you are sure together
As the winter and rough weather.
—As You Like It Act V, iv.
There’s a band in Chicago that plays every first and third Wednesdays of the month—and the occasional fifth Wednesday, which is a source of some small joy to their fans. The city entire has that joy this week, the third Packers week of the football season. The weeks the Chicago Bears play the Green Bay Packers loom large in each team’s schedule: Doug Buffone, the old Bear Hall-of-Famer, says that those games are “mini Super Bowls.” This week, the two teams play for the right to go to the actual Super Bowl. It’s a fitting time, then, to discuss just what Sweden means to professional golf.
The Chicago Bears and the Green Bay Packers are the two oldest teams in the National Football League: they go together just as surely as the winter and rough weather often found in their stadiums. They played their first game on November 27, 1921, which the Chicago team won, 20-0. Since then they have played 180 other games; the Bears winning 92 and the Packers 83, with 6 ties. The Green Bay Packers have won twelve league championships, the Bears nine. On the other hand, the Bears have 26 players in the Hall of Fame, while Green Bay has 21. Each team has more players in the Hall of Fame than any other team.
It is by far the most storied rivalry in the National Football League: Mike Singletary, the Hall of Fame Bear linebacker from the 1985 Super Bowl team, said recently that during Packer games “There are gonna be more penalties. Guys hit harder. Guys who are hurt are gonna play.” Which is to say, the dead walk on Packers week.
Those dead are presided over by two figures from each club: George Halas of the Bears and Curley Lambeau of the Packers. Both men were originally players, then became coaches and the leaders of their respective organizations. But the paths each took also demonstrate something of just why this football rivalry has impact beyond the sport.
Halas founded a family dynasty: in a world of corporately-owned sports franchises, the Bears are one of the last still run as a family business. It’s an arrangement that went out of fashion for the rest of the world sometime at the end of the 19th century.
The story of Curley Lambeau and the Packers is stranger still. The Packers are the only major-league professional sports organization in the United States run as a non-profit. There are roughly 100,000 shareholders in the Green Bay Football Corporation, owning almost five million shares. These shares do not pay dividends, do not appreciate in value, and bring no chance at season tickets.
No single stockholder can have more than 200,000 shares, so no one can ever assume control of the team. The Packers can never be moved from Green Bay, which is almost irrelevant because almost all of the stockholders are Green Bay natives. It is an arrangement that is a kind of parody of the corporate sports franchise. If socialism had a professional American football team, it would be the Green Bay Packers.
If socialism had a factory for turning out professional golfers, on the other hand, it would be Sweden, a nation of only 9 million that is yet disproportionately represented on both the men’s and ladies’ professional golf tours. Annika Sorenstam is the lead for this story: she dominated the LPGA for nearly a decade before finally calling it quits in order to raise children. But many other Swedish golfers have also made headlines in the past few decades: how, given such a small country—and the winters and rough weather—can that be?
One answer can be found by contrast with American golf, which might be likened to the Chicago Bears model. Like the Bears, the PGA Tour is a kind of toy version of the 19th-century vision of laissez-faire capitalism. Each golfer represents a competing firm struggling in a Darwinistic Sturm und Drang struggle to the death with his opponents.
Getting to that point is its own struggle. Golf in the United States is a hodge-podge, with differing state-level golf associations and youth golf associations. If lucky, the junior player develops enough to attract interest from various colleges and universities, which then compete for the best players, and then, by some further magic, the lucky player might have the good fortune to have found a program that provides the right kind of training to enable them to advance to the professional ranks. At every stage, golf in the United States is highly decentralized.
That’s by contrast to the Swedish model. As described by “Swedish Golf Success: Its History and Future,” a technical study done by American, Australian, and Swedish professors, that success is largely due to the highly-structured environment Sweden has developed for its young players at an early age. The Swedish Golf Federation takes care of its young players: it provides training and access to national and international tournaments early. Hence, younger golfers with potential can quickly be identified, and thus given more resources, all overseen by one central and national authority. Like Green Bay and its Packers, the nation is united.
Granted, what works for Sweden would be hard to duplicate in the United States, where the population of Chicago and its suburbs alone is larger than the entire Scandinavian nation. It’s something to think about in the United States, however; perhaps particularly since golf will become part of the Olympics in 2016. It’s widely assumed that Americans will dominate that event—which, in all likelihood, is what will happen.
Yet that’s what Americans always thought about basketball, until the past decade or two. The last year in golf, where Phil Mickelson was the only American to win a major championship (and Phil faded out the rest of the year), has shown—or should have shown—that American dominance at a sport is what the philosophers call contingent: it is not ordained by God or Nature. Hogan said golf ability is “dug out of the ground”—it’s a matter of effort. The sort of effort required though would have to be like Sweden, or Green Bay: you know, where “You and you are sure together.”