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Swimsuit models and swing theory
Posted: Wednesday August 11, 1999 05:01 PM
Sports Illustrated senior writer John Garrity was a 42-year-old 8-handicapper when he suddenly lost his swing. Since December 1989 he has been looking for it -- a modern-day Odysseus adrift on the troubled waters of swing theory. As Garrity travels the world reporting on golf, he visits as many driving ranges as he can, avoiding the dreaded "mats only" ranges that prevent him from teeing it up. Here is the fourth installment of his story. Sunday, August 8 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- Before I left for the British Isles, I took you halfway through my lesson with Brian Mogg at the Leadbetter Academy in Orlando. I forgot to mention that there is always some 10-year-old Asian or teenaged Argentinian on Leadbetter's lesson tee, stroking one-irons with the quiet intensity of Ben Hogan. "Keep an eye on that kid," Brian is always telling me. "He/she is the next Tiger Woods." And he or she turns out to be Se Ri Pak or somebody like that. Other times, Brian points to some 30-something beating balls at the end of the range and says, "I ought to introduce you to Fred. He was national junior champion at 15, missed playing in the Walker Cup because he stepped on a nail, double-bogeyed the 18th in the final round of Q-school 10 years ago, lost his card. He'd be making headlines on the Tour today except that he blocks it way right whenever he hears a woman laughing." Anyway, Brian looked at my tape in the video room and spotted one thing that needed immediate attention. At the top of the backswing, my club shaft was across the line, or pointing to the right of a line parallel to my target line. From that position I tended to cast the club "over the top" with my upper body, producing either a powerful pull hook -- the shot I bounced onto the third tee at Shannon -- or something scuzzy, either thin or fat. "Here's what I want you to do," he said, having me assume my address position without a club. "Pretend you're holding a pail of water with two hands, down around your left knee, and there's a swimsuit model behind you, maybe 10 feet back. I want you to swing that bucket back so that the water drenches the swimsuit model." As swing thoughts go, this was a winner. But Brian only let me soak the model a few times before he replaced her with the butt of my five-iron, which he gave me to swing. He said, "I want you to feel like you're really laying the club off at the top." He had me swing back halfway, and then guided me to the top, lifting the grip end of the club with one hand while holding the shaft down with the other. "Try to raise the butt of the club higher than the club head." I tried, but couldn't; my muscles wouldn't stretch that far. "It's the feeling I'm going for," he said. "If you can get the club in the right position up here, you'll find it's much easier to swing it down from the inside, and you won't be so steep into the ball." He sent me back out into the heat to work on my two drills. When he rejoined me, 20 minutes later, there wasn't a dry swimsuit model in Orlando and I had the club head pointing right down the line when I reached the top. "I have to tape this," he said. He had me hit a ball for the camera, and we went back in to watch the tape. I couldn't believe it. Stop-action showed my club head in perfect position at the top. Brian took me back outside and made one other adjustment. He said, "You still have a tendency to hang behind the ball at impact, and that's making it hard for you to start it out to the right and draw it back. Let's get you set up with your hands a little more ahead of the ball and your upper body more forward." He moved me around until he was satisfied. "That's it." "It looks like my hands are way out in front, and it feels like all my weight is on my left foot," I said. "Hit one," he replied. I swung my five-iron and laced one about 200 yards, straight at my target, with a low trajectory and a tight draw. "Keep hitting it like that," he said, "and you'll have to quit Sports Illustrated and sign up for the Nike Tour." At the end of the lesson, when he was driving me back to my car in a golf cart, Brian gave me some encouraging words, along with a warning. "I have to be careful what I tell you to do," he said, "because you catch on quickly and then tend to overcook it. Most students, if I want them to move their bodies an inch, I have to tell them to move a foot." His point, I think, was that an inch or two is as good as a mile where I'm concerned. So that's what I've been working on the last few weeks -- setting up more ahead of the ball and feeling like the club is laid off at the top. I've been hitting lots of good irons and an occasional inspirational three-wood, although I haven't yet figured out what causes that sweeping hook off the tee. Maybe I'll work that out at my next stop: Chicago, swimsuit-model capital of the Midwest. Watch this space for another installment of Mats Only. To send John Garrity advice, share your experiences, or suggest a driving range, click here.
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