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Strapped Scrambling for my swing deep in the heart of Texas
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, Sept. 20 FT. WORTH, TEXAS -- This morning I joined a few other journalists for a tour of the Adams Golf plant in Plano, Texas and a presentation on the new Tight Lies irons. After lunch we all drove over to the Hank Haney Golf Ranch in nearby McKinney, where we got to smack the irons and chew the fat with Haney, swing coach to Mark O'Meara and other top touring pros. The Haney Ranch is actually a commercial driving range with a nine-hole short course and a tour-quality teaching area with private tees and target greens. A whitewashed stable has been transformed into hitting bays for inclement weather -- not that the Dallas area has had inclement weather in anyone's memory -- and the barn has a full-service golf shop and changing rooms. The Haney Ranch also has Haney, a delightful, unassuming man with a real gift for teaching. We chatted on the East tee, and he pretty much confirmed my theory that it was "the strap" that destroyed my swing 10 years ago at the Golf Digest School. "If you went to those guys today, I'm sure they wouldn't strap your arm to your body," he said. "But that was the hot thing back then -- for about six months!" As I recalled, the purpose of the little straightjacket was to keep my left arm from separating from my body on the backswing, "connection" being the Holy Grail at the end of the 20th century. Now, however, most swing coaches don't think a little space on the backswing is anything to worry about, and it certainly doesn't justify trussing the player up like a Thanksgiving turkey. "They sent me home with that strap," I told Hank, "and I practiced with it for several weeks. Pretty soon I was swinging around my body like this" -- I showed him the penguin-style pass I made at the ball with the straightjacket on -- "and I couldn't extend the club down the target line after impact. I think that's why I got so steep and why my club wants to go left on the follow-through." He nodded. "I think you're right. The strap doesn't allow you to make a free arm swing, and it robs you of power." Hank didn't give me a lesson, but he did watch me hit some balls. He seemed to like what he saw. Just before he left, I hit a nice five-wood over my target flag. "John!" he yelled from his golf cart. "I'm announcing to the world that you're back!" Encouraging words. At dinner I rewarded myself with a shrimp cocktail. Thursday, Sept. 21 FT. WORTH, Texas -- Tomorrow is the annual two-man scramble for the Dan Jenkins Partnership, the highlight of my fall calendar. Those of us from out of town warmed up this morning with a four-man, best-ball-with-handicap competition at Mira Vista Country Club. I played with our Mira Vista host, Walter Rainwater, and with the legendary Don Cherry, the chart-topping singer who was one of the country's top amateur golfers in the 1950s and '60s. I was in my pocket on two or three holes, but otherwise I justified Haney's assessment of yesterday. On the par-four 16th hole I drove over the green on the left and then holed an impossible pitch shot off a grassy bank for a natural eagle. On another par four I let my drive leak into a water hazard on the right, 50 yards short of the green, and had to drop; but my pitch from the rough cleared a sand bunker by a safe margin and curled up six inches from the hole to save par. There's more! On the par-five 11th, I hit a drive and a carbon-copy of yesterday's final five-wood to the back fringe, 20 feet behind the hole, and lagged the lightning-fast putt down near the hole for a tap-in birdie. "It was almost a perfect day," I told Walter afterward. "I hit only one house!" The day's only disappointment was the absence of my Sports Illustrated colleague, Jaime Diaz, who was a late scratch. Jaime and I usually have a friendly range war after lunch at Mira Vista, but today I had to practice alone; the afternoon heat drove most everybody indoors. I hit balls for no more than 15 minutes before driving back to the downtown Courtyard. At dinner I rewarded myself with another shrimp cocktail. Friday, Sept. 22 OKLAHOMA CITY, Okla. -- The greens at Z-Boaz Golf Course had me flummoxed today. They were much slower than the tournament-ready surfaces we played yesterday, and I couldn't seem to get the ball to the hole. Otherwise, the annual reunion of Dan Jenkins' old Goat Hills pals was as delightful as ever, and I had a ball. My scramble partner was Golf Digest senior editor Mike O'Malley. We had no chance of winning -- to win the Jenkins an average golfer needs an inflated handicap, a partner who plays to scratch or better and a pencil with an eraser -- but we teamed together nicely. When one of us hit a sorry shot, the other usually came to the rescue with an effective drive or approach shot. Mike had the shot of the day, an iron to three-feet on one of the par threes that won him closest-to-the-hole. I popped three or four impressive drives and hit a couple of middle irons that made me happy. Z-Boaz was nicely dried-out and brown, and the Firth of Camp Bowie was down about three feet, shortening the water carries. As usual, jets and cargo planes from a nearby base roared over the course as a tribute to Jenkins. Afterward, Dan thanked me warmly for playing, and I thanked him even more warmly for letting me play. Then I went into the golf shop and bought the most garish Z-Boaz cap I could find. I like to wear a Z-Boaz hat to the Masters and to the British Open. The temperature was 98 when I drove out of Ft. Worth at about 3 p.m., and it was still hot after dark, when I checked into the La Quinta motel in Oklahoma City. Now the sky is exploding with lightning and rain has started to fall in vast sheets, making a river of the breezeway between my window and the pop machines. Summer may finally be over.
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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