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The day my swing departed
Posted: Wednesday August 25, 1999 11:20 AM
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 sixth installment of his story. Tuesday, August 24 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- I look for my swing on practice ranges because I lost it on a practice range. Specifically, I lost it on the south practice tee at the Westin Mission Hills Resort in Rancho Mirage, Calif. Once or twice a year, when I'm in Palm Springs for a story, I revisit the spot. I stand on the north tee and hit balls out over the grassy valley, and between shots I stare across at the well-grassed tee where my swing was taken from me. I've told the story many times (most often on the first tee when I'm asked for my handicap). Roughly nine years ago, the editor of Sports Illustrated asked me to write a first-person feature about golf schools. I jumped at the opportunity. Having taken the game up again after a 15-year lapse, I thought some intensive instruction would be helpful. I also thought that a week or two in the sun would be helpful. It was early winter in Kansas City, and the first snow had already turned to slush. I went to two schools. The first, the Ben Sutton Golf School in Sun City Center, Fla., was founded by a former vacuum-cleaner engineer -- I'm not making this up -- and attracted mostly new retirees wanting to play better golf as they walked toward the ultimate sunset. My instructor was Toby Lyons, a septuagenarian pro who had played in 15 U.S. Opens and given lessons to the likes of Yogi Berra, Joe Louis, Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. Toby loved my swing. "Look at that leg drive," he told my fellow students as we watched tape in the viewing room. "Look at his swing arc. Look at how high his hands are. That's a 300-yard swing." I interrupted to say that I had a tendency to play my second shot from parking lots and pool decks. "That's just timing," Toby said dismissively. "Don't change your swing." So I didn't. I had a fun week in Florida, learned a cute little pitching technique that Toby taught, and returned to Kansas City with my swing and sanity intact. A week or so later, I flew into Palm Springs for a three-day Golf Digest school taught by Jack Lumpkin and John Elliott. More sunshine. More range balls. Different outcome. I want to say at the outset that I have the utmost respect for both Lumpkin and Elliott. They are terrific teachers and great guys. If I wanted to hire a personal swing coach, I would feel comfortable with either of them. And while I'm at it, let me throw some praise to Golf Digest. Their golf schools are miracles of efficiency and luxury. The facilities are top-notch, the hotels and food first-class. I would let Golf Digest plan my daughter's wedding. But here's what I learned at the Golf Digest school: Don't take lessons from someone who is living out of a suitcase. Jack and John, although they were as impressed as Toby with my ability to pump the ball a long way, saw no hope for improved scores unless I learned to control the ball better. My downswing was too steep, my takeaway too far inside, my leg action too pronounced, and I had a bit of the no-longer-chic "reverse-C" posture in my follow through. Jack, in particular, didn't like the way my arms separated from my body on the backswing. It was important, he said, to stay "connected" -- a term coined, I think, by the influential swing guru, Jimmy Ballard. "To help you get connected," Jack said, "we've got this little swing aid ..." And this is where the young assistant I dubbed "Igor" crept up on me with a harness of buckles, metal loops and black nylon straps. I date my golfing decline to that moment. When they slipped the straight jacket on me and pulled the straps tight, I was, for all practical purposes, signed in at the funny farm. (I'll finish this story in the next installment. In the meantime, can anyone recommend a really bad golf course in the Boston area? I want to play the week of the Ryder Cup, but I'm looking for the worst course available -- a track fit for inclusion in the new edition of my book, America's Worst Golf Courses. If you know of such a course, please e-mail me a description and driving directions. But don't tell anyone I'm coming.) 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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