If you break 100, watch your golf. If you break 80, watch your

Host: The sunlight dripped like honey across the green fairway, and the wind carried the soft whisper of swinging clubs and distant laughter. A private golf course at the edge of the city, just after dusk—where businessmen traded secrets more often than scores. The sky was painted with bronze and violet, and a faint smell of fresh-cut grass hung in the air.

Jack stood near the flag, tall, lean, his grey eyes fixed on the hole as if it were a contract clause. The club rested against his leg, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Jeeny approached from the path, her hair blowing lightly, her gaze calm but searching.

Jeeny: “So, you really think Joey Adams had it right? ‘If you break 100, watch your golf. If you break 80, watch your business.’”

Jack: (smirks) “I do. The moment a man gets too good at leisure, something’s rotting in his discipline. If your golf game’s improving, you’re spending your time in the wrong place.”

Host: A light breeze moved through the trees, rippling the flags and ruffling Jeeny’s jacket. The evening was growing colder, and the city skyline shimmered faintly in the distance like gold dust behind smog.

Jeeny: “You make it sound like success and joy can’t exist together. Maybe some people learn more about business, about life, even, from a good game of golf than they ever could from an office spreadsheet.”

Jack: “That’s the lie people tell themselves to justify slacking off. The world’s run by people who’re too busy working to swing clubs. You don’t see Jeff Bezos bragging about his golf handicap.”

Jeeny: (laughs softly) “You don’t know that, Jack. Maybe he plays in private, where no one’s watching. Maybe that’s how he resets his mind, how he keeps his clarity.”

Host: The sound of a ball being struck echoed across the course—a clean, crisp sound that hung in the air for a moment, then faded into silence. Jack’s jaw tightened, and he dropped the cigarette, grinding it under his heel.

Jack: “I’ve seen what happens when people forget the balance. My old boss—Roger—used to play every Friday, bragging about his 78. A year later, his company folded. While he was perfecting his swing, his competitors were stealing his clients. Golf doesn’t teach you hunger, Jeeny—it teaches you comfort.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it teaches you patience, strategy, and composure. You know, the same qualities that separate a leader from a grinder. Tiger Woods once said that golf is ninety percent mental. Isn’t business the same?”

Jack: “Sure, but you don’t learn strategy from a fairway; you learn it from a crisis. You don’t learn patience by waiting for a ball to stop rolling—you learn it when your cash flow is bleeding and you still have to make payroll.”

Host: Jeeny leaned against a bench, her arms crossed, her eyes glinting with quiet fire. The sky had turned deep blue, the first stars trembling faintly in the twilight.

Jeeny: “That’s exactly what I mean, Jack. You’ve built this worldview where everything must be earned through pain, through sacrifice. But some of the best ideas—the most innovative ones—are born when the mind is free, not chained to a desk.”

Jack: “Freedom’s a luxury, Jeeny. And luxuries make people soft.”

Jeeny: “Soft? Or human? Look at Richard Branson. The man built an empire, and he still kite-surfs every morning. You think that makes him weak?”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered, betraying a moment of doubt, but he masked it with a low chuckle.

Jack: “Branson’s an outlier. For every Branson, there are a thousand dreamers whose businesses collapsed because they wanted to ‘find themselves.’ Discipline, Jeeny, not self-discovery, builds an empire.”

Jeeny: “But discipline without soul builds a machine, not a legacy. You can grind yourself into dust chasing numbers, but if you forget to live—to feel—then what’s the point of the empire?”

Host: The tension between them hummed like an electric wire. The night insects began their song, a rhythmic chorus beneath the fading light.

Jack: “You talk about soul as if it can feed a family. As if a sense of wonder will pay the bills. When you’re in the real world, Jeeny, numbers matter. They’re the pulse. Lose sight of them, and you’re finished.”

Jeeny: “And yet, the real world is also made of people, Jack. Not just balance sheets. I once worked for a CEO who spent every Sunday on the golf course with his employees. You know what happened? The team got stronger. The company thrived. Because he listened. Because he knew that relationships—not metrics—keep a business alive.”

Host: Jack was silent for a moment, staring at the hole, his reflection faintly visible on the wet grass. He spoke more quietly now, his voice rougher.

Jack: “You’re romanticizing it. Most people use golf to escape their failures, not to understand them.”

Jeeny: “And most people use work to escape themselves. What’s the difference?”

Host: The air stilled. Even the leaves seemed to pause. A plane passed overhead, its lights blinking like a moving star across the darkness.

Jack: (after a pause) “You think I’m one of those people, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I think you’re afraid of becoming one.”

Host: He looked at her then, his eyes harder, but behind them was a tiredness, a kind of grief that came from years of fighting invisible wars.

Jack: “I spent ten years building something from nothing. Every weekend, every holiday, gone. While others played, I was at the office. And it worked. I made it. But then—” (he stops, exhales) “—when it finally slowed down, I didn’t know what to do with myself. The golf course felt like an empty field. That’s the part no one tells you about success—it’s hollow when you forget how to live.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Then maybe that’s what Adams meant, Jack. Maybe he wasn’t warning us about the game. Maybe he was warning us about the distraction. The danger isn’t golf—it’s what we let it replace.”

Host: Her voice was gentle, but the words struck like quiet thunder. Jack’s hand tightened around the club, then slowly loosened.

Jack: “So you’re saying… if you’re breaking 80, it’s not the score that matters, but what it says about your life balance.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. If your game’s perfect, but your life’s neglected, that’s when you need to ‘watch your business.’ Because maybe your focus has shifted—from purpose to pastime.”

Host: The wind picked up again, rustling the trees, carrying a faint smell of rain. The lights of the clubhouse flickered in the distance, warm and golden against the darkening horizon.

Jack: (half-smiling) “You always find a way to turn logic inside out, don’t you?”

Jeeny: (smiling back) “Not inside out—just right side up.”

Host: They both laughed softly, the sound blending with the evening wind. The tension dissolved, leaving only a calm, reflective quiet between them.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been watching the wrong thing all along.”

Jeeny: “Then let’s make a deal. You teach me how to handle a pitch meeting, and I’ll teach you how to handle a nine iron.”

Jack: “Deal.”

Host: A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by the low rumble of thunder. They began walking toward the clubhouse, their silhouettes crossing the green like two figures moving between worlds—one built on logic, the other on heart.

As they disappeared into the soft rain, the flag at the final hole fluttered, catching the last glow of light—a symbol of balance, perhaps, between business and being, between the drive to succeed and the grace to simply play.