If you drink don't drive. Don't even putt.

When Dean Martin, the crooner of velvet voice and effortless charm, declared, “If you drink don’t drive. Don’t even putt,” he wrapped eternal wisdom in a cloak of humor. At first, his words sound like a playful jest, a comedian’s wink to the follies of life. Yet beneath the laughter lies a truth as firm as stone: when clouded by excess, the mind falters, judgment collapses, and even the smallest of tasks becomes treacherous. What he delivered in jest was in fact a parable of self-mastery, restraint, and the perils of carelessness.

The origin of this saying lies in Martin’s world of entertainment, where wit often carried wisdom disguised in laughter. Known as one of the Rat Pack’s kings of cool, Dean lived a life surrounded by spectacle, song, and spirits. Yet even in a culture that celebrated indulgence, he recognized the danger of mixing alcohol with responsibility. By invoking the imagery of golf—“don’t even putt”—he stretched the lesson into the realm of absurd exaggeration, making it both memorable and sharp. If one cannot be trusted even with a gentle tap of the ball, how much less with the steering of a car?

The ancients, too, would have nodded gravely at this jest. For the Greeks warned against hubris, the arrogance that tempts men to believe they are in control when in truth they are ruled by desire. The Romans counseled moderation, declaring that wine in excess makes fools of wise men. Martin’s humor echoes this ancient wisdom: when judgment is clouded, even the simplest act—whether steering a wheel or stroking a putter—becomes a perilous risk. Laughter only sharpens the blade of the warning.

History itself provides stories to illustrate the weight of Martin’s words. Consider the rise of public campaigns in the 20th century against drunk driving, born out of countless tragedies on the road. Families shattered, lives lost, futures erased—all because a man or woman believed they could control what in truth they could not. In contrast, those who respected the warning, who practiced restraint, preserved not only their own lives but the lives of others. Martin’s joke, though lighthearted, stood as a subtle ally to this broader cultural truth: responsibility must triumph over indulgence.

The lesson is plain and profound: never let the loss of clarity endanger yourself or others. To surrender control, whether on the road or in the smallest duties of life, is to invite chaos. The wise recognize that there are times when even minor actions are unsafe under the sway of excess. Martin’s words remind us that discipline and self-awareness are not heavy burdens, but safeguards that protect life, joy, and freedom.

What then must we do? First, practice moderation in all things—honoring the pleasures of life without becoming their slave. Second, respect the limits of the body and mind, and never believe that willpower alone can outmatch impairment. Third, cultivate a spirit of responsibility, knowing that our actions ripple outward, touching the lives of others in ways we cannot always see.

Thus, Dean Martin’s playful remark endures not only as comedy, but as counsel: “If you drink don’t drive. Don’t even putt.” It teaches that laughter may carry truth more deeply than lecture, and that wisdom is often hidden within jest. Let us live with clarity, humility, and restraint, so that our steps, our drives, and even our smallest putts are guided not by folly, but by the steady hand of reason. For in this balance lies both safety and the true joy of life.