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Two swings for the price of one
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. Wednesday, August 9 HOUSTON-- "I hope you find your swing." That has been the touching salutation at the end of many of the e-mails you readers have sent me since Mats Only began a year ago. As you've probably figured out by now, I never expect to find my old swing again and have actually stopped looking for it. That swing was flawed and funky and came without a manual. I'm well rid of it. So when you say, "I hope you find your swing," I take it to mean the swing that's right for me, the swing I deserve, the swing that will make me forget a decade of comic futility. And guess what? I have found that swing. To be honest, I have found TWO swings, both of them more effective than my old high-hands, left-side-pulling, leg-driving, wild-ass power stroke.
Swing No. 1 has been well documented in this column. It's the one taught me by my Florida swing guru, Brian Mogg of the David Leadbetter Academy. It features a quiet lower body, a takeaway with the left arm held close to the body, and a downswing with a "laid off" feeling that creates a Swing No. 2 is the one I learned in just one lesson with my California swing guru, Rob Stanger of the Mission Hills Resort. This swing is less muscular and the arms don't move so much to the inside; the clubhead traps the ball against the ground and stays on the target line longer through impact, creating a lower flight and a shot that checks up nicely upon landing. With this swing I can draw or fade the ball with some consistency. I use Stanger's swing for all my pitches, all my short irons and some long irons, and it has virtually eliminated my fat and thin shots. It has also given me the ability to hit those choke-down, low-trajectory iron shots that bore through the wind -- a tool I didn't have before. For this, Rob deserves a Pulitzer, a Peabody and at least two Emmys. Thanks to these two swings, I no longer experience the meltdowns of old. I don't hit worm burners, cloud busters, shanks or flares to rightfield. My wayward shots are often playable now and don't require conversations with angry homeowners or the filling-out of insurance forms. Golf is fun again. Of course, I still can't play the game. While I've been working on my full swing, my chipping has atrophied, my putting has turned abominable and my sand game has sunk to indescribable depths. If my scoring is to reflect the improvement in my ball striking, I'm going to have to get the gurus working on my bunker play, my distance control on pitch-and-run shots and my reading of greens. None of these skills, I'm sad to say, can be practiced at your typical commercial driving range. I guess I am about to join the sad ranks of those who practice putting in their hotel rooms and chew up their lawns by chipping balls at lawn dart rings. Thursday, August 10 OTTAWA -- Oh, Canada! I flew in yesterday afternoon for the Classique du Maurier and immediately rifled through the Yellow Pages for a driving range. It looked like an easy drive from the downtown Marriott to a range called the 19th Hole, so I took a 20-minute nap and then motored out Carling Road past beautiful riverfront parks and high-rise apartments. The development thinned out into countryside and -- voilà -- a commercial range as good as any I've visited all year. The 19th Tee has grass tees, top-cloth mats and brush mats-- over 100 stations in all, wrapped around three sides of a grassy field packed with yardage signs, target flags and greens. A super-large bucket of first-rate range balls costs only eight Canadian dollars, and even the smallest bucket provides access to the chipping and pitching greens, where you can hit blue-striped balls 'til the moose come home. (This place even has four free club-cleaning machines.) I hit balls until dark, moving around the perimeter for shot variety and to change views as a golden sun dropped through gathering storm clouds. I'm going back tonight. This time, though -- remembering my vow to work more on my short game -- I'll spend most of my time with those blue-striped balls at the chipping green. Damn! I forgot to pack my copy of Dave Pelz's Short Game Bible.
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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