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Something old and a lot of new
Posted: Monday April 24, 2000 02:07 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.
Saturday, April 22 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- It has been a long and wondrous spring in the Midwest. The dogwoods and redbuds are in full bloom. The robins are dancing over worms. The rabbits who eat our tulips every year are stretched out on the lawn, sunning their swollen bellies. The spirit of renewal extends to golfers -- even those of us with thin gray thatch where lush turf used to grow. Here's an Easter week status report from the City of Fountains: 1) New clubs for the kids. The grandkid, that is. Christopher will be 12 in May, and although he is no beanpole, a recent growth spurt has made his kiddie clubs non-conforming -- i.e., they no longer reach the ground. After checking out some junior clubs in the pro shop at Milburn Country Club, Chris decided to split his order. His metal woods, a one-three and a five-seven, will be Taylor Mades, because both Chris and I love the copper-colored finish of the Firesole line. The irons we ordered from First Tour -- nifty-looking cavity backs with mustard-colored inserts behind the sweet spot. When I jokingly asked Chris if he thought the colors clashed, he said, "They're golf clubs, Papa. You don't have to worry about the fashion police." My granddaughter, Megan, just turned 10 and will play with the three-hole kids this summer. I think the little set I bought her last year at Galyans should serve nicely for another year, maybe two. 2) New shoes for the feet. The gray-and-white DryJoys I bought a few years ago in a Monterey storefront are practically worn out. I'm looking for another pair of FootJoys or some Etonics in size 13 1/2. (Twenty years ago I had to special-order my gunboats. Fortunately, America's feet are growing. When I took the grandkids bowling on Thursday, the proprietor said she could rent me size 15 bowling shoes.) 3) New superintendent for the golf course. Milburn's new turf titan is Bill Maynard, who comes straight from a prestigious gig at Champion Hills in Hendersonville, N.C., home course of renowned architect Tom Fazio. Bill is also a consultant to Augusta National, which bodes well for our slick, undulating, bentgrass greens. But we have an uncloseted skeleton at Milburn: the practice range, which is basically a pocket park with a 25-foot-high chainlink fence some 200 yards out. If the new man can grow grass on our small, overused teeing ground, we'll carry him through the streets on our shoulders. 4) New planes for the swing. The dead pull has almost vanished from my shot inventory. My one-hour lesson with Brian Mogg after the Masters built on our earlier efforts to shallow out my swing plane. This time Brian asked me to start my downswing from the ground up, sliding my left thigh toward the target before letting my arms fly. (He wants me to get my lower body out of the way so the hands and club can drop into a slot closer to my right hip, swinging out from the inside instead of in from the outside.) In a manner of minutes, Brian had me hitting a push-draw with a five-iron. Satisfied that I had the concept, he pulled the headcover off my Callaway five-wood and said, "Try this." Hitting off a tight lie, I ripped a perfect long draw over my target flag. "Awesome," Brian said. Before my disbelieving eyes, he pulled off another headcover and handed me the club we had not touched in three years of lessons: my driver. I hit four drives for Brian. The first was a push-fade that went maybe 260 yards. The second was a slight push, no fade, that went a bit farther. The third was a powerful high draw that bounced up on the Lake Nona members tee, just right of my target. And the last was a Tour drive -- a long, tight draw that split the middle of my imaginary fairway and rolled past ball No. 3. "It's time to sign you up for Q school," Brian said. It's never that easy, of course. The first couple of times I practiced at home, I hit a bunch of sweeping hooks and off-center clankers with my middle irons. But my divots were shallower and squarer and pointing right of the target. So I persevered. I also continue to work on the short-iron checkpoints I got from Rob Stanger in March. That drill is teaching me how to keep the clubhead going down the target line longer with a square clubface. Yesterday, on the range, it all came together. I hit a very high percentage of good shots with every club in the bag, sand wedge to driver. And I finished with a flourish, blasting a half-dozen drivers over the fence and across the second fairway in the manner of a younger and stronger Tiger Woods. 5) Old plans for Easter. I was worried that the kids might be too old for Easter-egg hunts, so I asked Megan if she still wanted to search for eggs in our yard on Sunday. Her eyes got big at the very thought of no hunt. "Papa," she said breathlessly, "when we're too old we'll tell you." All in all, I can't remember a sweeter spring.
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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