Podcast Transcript
Most mental game advice won’t help you play better golf. And I say that as someone who makes mental game content.
I’ve spent years studying this stuff — reading the books, talking to experts, learning the frameworks. And if I’m being honest with you, which is kind of the whole point of this show, I’ve had plenty of moments on the course where all of it just disappears. Where everything I know goes right out the window and I’m just out there hacking it, hoping something starts clicking.
So why do I keep making this content? And why should you keep listening?
Because I genuinely think there’s a version of the mental game that actually works. And a version that doesn’t. And most of what’s out there — including some of what I’ve put out — is the version that doesn’t.
Here’s what I mean by that. The version that doesn’t work is essentially a list of things to do. Breathe here, say this to yourself there, follow this pre-shot routine, do this when your mind starts to race. And look, it sounds good. It’s clean. It fits nicely on a slide. But if you’ve ever actually tried to use that stuff in the middle of a round — when you’re three over through six and there’s a tight tee shot coming up — you already know that a breathing technique isn’t going to save you. Not on its own. Not without something deeper underneath it.
The version that actually works starts with understanding yourself. Not techniques, not frameworks — yourself.
And that’s what I want to talk about today, because I’ve been sitting with something called the 5 Whys.
It’s not a golf concept originally. It was developed by a guy named Taiichi Ohno, who built the Toyota production system. So we’re talking industrial manufacturing, which I know is not exactly what you’d expect to come up on a golf show. But the idea is something I keep coming back to.
The premise is simple. When something goes wrong — when a machine breaks down, when a process keeps failing — you don’t just fix what’s on the surface. You ask why it happened. And then you ask why again. You keep going, five times if you need to, until you find the actual root cause. Because the thing that looks like the problem almost never is the real problem.
I want to give you a real example of how this showed up for me recently, because I think it’ll land better than me just explaining the concept in the abstract.
I had to give a presentation not long ago. The topic was actually about overcoming fear — which, looking back, is kind of funny. Because right before I had to get up and speak, I froze. Full anxiety. The very thing I was supposed to be talking about overcoming just completely overcame me in that moment.
And afterward, instead of just brushing it off and moving on, I decided to actually sit with it and ask why.
Why did I freeze? Because I felt like I had no control over what was about to happen. Okay, why did I feel that way? Because I was afraid I’d mess up, fumble my words, lose my train of thought. Why was that so scary? Because I didn’t want to be seen a certain way. Why did that matter so much? Because I was worried about being exposed somehow. And exposed for what, exactly? That’s where it got uncomfortable. I was worried that what I know and what I actually live can be two very different things. That maybe I talk about this stuff more than I actually use it. And that somewhere underneath all of it, I already know that.
That was the root. Not the nerves, not the presentation. It was a real question about my own integrity that I’d been carrying around without fully looking at it.
Now, golf. Because I think this same pattern shows up for almost every golfer who’s ever struggled mentally, and it’s worth walking through slowly.
Most of us have pretty surface level explanations for why we fall apart. I get tense on the back nine. I can’t close out a round. I play great in practice and terrible when it counts. And those things are real, I’m not dismissing them. But they’re the surface. They’re the symptom, not the cause.
So what if you actually asked why? Not just once, but kept going.
Why do I fall apart under pressure? Because I start making mistakes and then I can’t stop thinking about them. Why does that spiral bother me so much? Because I feel like I should be better than this by now. Why do I feel like I should be better? Because I’ve put in the time and I expect it to show up when it matters. Why does it have to show up in this particular round, today? Because if it doesn’t… what does that actually say about me?
And there it is. Somewhere along the way, golf stopped being golf. It became a measurement of something else — your worth, your progress, your identity as a person who works hard and should have something to show for it. And when the game is carrying that much weight, no breathing technique is going to help you hit a straight drive off the first tee.
Now I want to be upfront about something, because I think it’s important. The 5 Whys is not something you use on the course. I’m not suggesting you stop on the 14th tee box and work through five layers of self-inquiry before you pull a club. That’s not what this is, and that’s not how it works.
This is the kind of work you do before a round, after a round, in a journal, in a quiet moment when you’re not competing. It’s slow. It’s not glamorous. And honestly, it’s not going to directly make you hit better shots tomorrow.
But here’s what I’ve come to genuinely believe, and it’s kind of the thread that runs through everything on this show — the mental game isn’t a set of tools you apply on the course. It’s who you are when you show up. And who you are when you show up is shaped by the honest work you do when nobody’s watching. Understanding what’s actually underneath your emotions on the golf course — not the surface reaction, but the real thing driving it — that quietly changes how you carry yourself out there. Maybe not on the next shot. But over time, in ways that actually stick, it does.
So here’s what I’d leave you with. Think about one thing that consistently gets in your head on the course. One pattern, one reaction, one moment you keep coming back to. And just ask yourself why. Write it down if you can. And then ask why again. Don’t stop at the first answer that feels comfortable, because that’s usually not the real one. Keep going until it starts to feel a little uncomfortable. That’s generally where the honest stuff lives.
You don’t have to solve it today. You just have to be willing to actually look at it.
And if you do that work consistently, here’s what I’d expect you to start noticing over time — not a sudden transformation, but small things. You might find that a bad shot doesn’t linger quite as long as it used to. That you can recognize what’s happening inside you on the course without immediately being taken over by it. That the story you’re telling yourself in a tough moment starts to feel a little less automatic. Maybe you start to notice when golf is feeling like a referendum on who you are as a person, and you catch it earlier than you used to. None of that shows up on a scorecard right away. But it’s real progress. And honestly, it’s the kind of progress that eventually does show up on a scorecard — just in a quieter, less linear way than we’d all like.
So here’s your challenge. After your next round, sit down with a journal and pick one moment that got in your head. One shot, one hole, one reaction. And ask yourself why five times. Don’t rush it, don’t let yourself off the hook with an easy answer. See where it actually takes you. You might be surprised what’s sitting underneath something you’ve just been writing off as nerves.
