I don't want to play golf. When I hit a ball, I want someone

When Rogers Hornsby, the great hitter of the early twentieth century, declared, “I don’t want to play golf. When I hit a ball, I want someone else to go chase it,” he spoke with humor, but also with profound truth about human nature, labor, and purpose. Beneath the jest lies the philosophy of a man who dedicated his life to baseball: a recognition that life is too short to waste energy on tasks that bring no joy, and that true fulfillment is found when our efforts are met with meaning, rhythm, and partnership.

The origin of this saying lies in Hornsby’s career as one of the most fearsome batters in baseball history. Known for his sharp eyes and devastating swing, he found in baseball not only competition, but communion—a game where the strike of the bat set in motion a dance of many players. By comparing golf to baseball, he revealed the contrast: golf demanded solitary labor, chasing one’s own ball across lonely fairways, while baseball was a shared drama, where the ball in flight brought the entire team into motion. His remark is humorous, but its essence is serious: life’s energy is better spent in endeavors where our actions spark the efforts of others, not where we toil in isolation.

The ancients would have understood him well. In the Greek epics, the hero does not act alone; his deeds set companions into motion, rousing armies, stirring nations. Achilles’ spear may strike the foe, but it is the host of Greeks who rise behind him. Odysseus’ cleverness may guide the way, but it is his men who row the ships and endure the journey. So too in baseball: the batter may hit, but the fielders, runners, and pitchers all take their part. Hornsby’s words, cloaked in humor, remind us that greatness is not only in action, but in the symphony of many acting together.

Consider the story of Hornsby’s own 1924 season, when he hit .424, a batting average unmatched in modern baseball. Each time he struck the ball, he was not alone; the field erupted into action—fielders scrambling, runners advancing, teammates cheering. His performance electrified not only himself but his entire team, lifting them into the collective joy of the game. By contrast, golf, no matter how fine the shot, left the player to wander the grass alone, searching for the ball. For Hornsby, who thrived on the communal energy of baseball, this solitude was barren compared to the roaring life of the diamond.

The lesson is clear: seek out pursuits where your actions ignite the movement of others. Do not waste your life chasing tasks that bring no deeper fulfillment, no shared joy. Instead, pour your energy into work and play that inspires community, sparks collaboration, and brings meaning beyond yourself. A life lived in isolation, forever chasing one’s own ball, is poorer than a life lived in harmony with others, where every strike of effort sets the world into motion.

What then must we do? First, examine our labors: do they leave us chasing endlessly, or do they connect us to others in purpose and joy? Second, choose wisely how to spend our energy: the days are too few to be squandered on pursuits that do not nourish the soul. Third, remember that true satisfaction comes not only from personal achievement, but from shared struggle and shared triumph. In this way, our lives become more than solitary games—they become living dramas where every effort resounds across the field of others.

Thus, Rogers Hornsby’s playful remark endures as wisdom: “When I hit a ball, I want someone else to go chase it.” It reminds us to seek not only action, but impact; not only movement, but meaning; not only effort, but community. May we live as Hornsby played—striking boldly, igniting others, and refusing to spend our lives chasing after things that matter little. For in the end, the true measure of life is not in how far we hit, but in how deeply our actions set the world in motion.