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Bonding with fellow range rats
Sports Illustrated senior writer John Garrity was a 42-year-old eight 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. Tuesday, Jan. 9 PONTE VEDRA, Fla. -- I finally got out of the ice box. Monday afternoon I hit three bags of balls at the TPC at Sawgrass, which has one of the better practice facilities in the country. I didn't hit the ball very well -- my tempo was off, the ball looked small sitting on the ground, and every aspect of my setup seemed contrived. But I didn't melt down, either. The best part of the session was the half-hour I spent hitting short pitches in the short-game area. Unlike those at most facilities, the TPC's practice green is surrounded by closely mowed bermuda. It's intimidating at first, trying to hit a short, lofted pitch over a bunker from a tight lie, but it's precisely the shot you need to practice to gain confidence on the course. To my surprise, my performance with the sand wedge was better than it was when the Polar Pig invaded Kansas City in early December, freezing my progress. Meanwhile, your e-mails and harassing telephone calls have been piling up. "Do you ever actually play golf?" asks Robert Spellman of Bronxville, N.Y. "It sounds as if you may be addicted to the driving range. If that is the case, congratulations, because so am I. The driving range, mats or not, allows for the opportunity to self-examine, self-teach and self-confuse, all in less time than it takes to play 18 holes. Does it get any better?" No, it does not -- at least not according to James Weston of Melbourne, Australia, who writes to thank the webmaster for posting my feature "Home on the Range" as a Mats Only extra. "Range rats love their existence," James says, "because there's no penalty for the shank or duck hook. No looking in trees and lakes while your partners wait. Just reload and try again. And as your finish says, no matter how bad the range, we'll always get the clubs out of the car and saddle up." Ray Ferguson writes from Springboro, Ohio: "I really enjoyed your article on driving ranges. What do you think about indoor ranges? I hit at one in Detroit, and it was a good winter option." Ferguson adds, "A problem now is rude people with cell phones. They are too insecure to turn them off and too selfish to take a walk when they get into a heated argument." To be honest, Ray, the only indoor range I've ever visited was the whimsically named St. Andrews Golf Club in an abandoned power substation on the Thames in central London. It resembled a serial-killer's dungeon, except the instruments of torture had been replaced with mats, nets and an artificial green with an attached sand box. It was a great place to visit when the fog was thick -- a page out of a Sherlock Holmes story -- but I didn't have much luck hitting into the nets with borrowed clubs. As for the cell-phone problem, I find that a sharp, downward blow with a pitching wedge is enough to silence the little bastards. And I leave it up to you to guess if I mean the phones or the phonees. "Love your work," writes a generous Mike Bartholomew of Billings, Mont. "Just finished 'Home on the Range' for the second time -- wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything. I forwarded it to my wife so she'll know I'm not the only husband addicted to the game. If you ever happen to lose a bet and wind up in Billings, drop me a line." In fact, I have fond memories of Billings. A few years ago I went there to write a feature on U.S. Open local qualifying, and I found a public course with a driving range that was glorious on a sunny spring afternoon. I hope it's still in business. An especially rewarding e-mail comes from Jim Reed of Lake Linganore, Md., who was the subject of the Mats Only column that appeared with "Home on the Range." Reed, you may recall, was my choice for Range Rat of the Year because of his eccentric swing -- he has a tendency to hit himself on the head with the shaft on the backswing -- and because he clearly loves the game. Lack of space in the magazine prevented us from running a photo sequence of his swing, as we had planned, but Jim doesn't sound too disappointed. "Thanks for your article about me," he writes. "You've captured the drama, the lonely road, the idiotic compulsiveness of my golfing life. I plan to enclose copies of your piece with every Christmas card I write this year and next, so I reckon your Web site will pick up some visits from my aunts, uncles, cousins and old roommates. Plus, I'll frame one for my den to hang right next to my Pro Staff Hole-in-One plaque from May 5, 1977: 170 yards, Champion Lakes Golf Course, Ligonier, Pa., Walter Hagen Ultradyne 5-iron. Alas, no other trophies do I have. Yet." And just to prove that I am a good judge of character and bad swings, this came in from Jonathan Hurwitch of Sterling, Va.: "I am a 14 handicap and have known Jim Reed for 20 years. His only flaw is that he is as nice a person as his swing is eccentric; otherwise, he would have taken a lot of money from unsuspecting pigeons over the years. Jim should be not only Range Rat of the Year, but of the century, as well. He hits more balls than Vijay Singh, without the improvement." From the "complaint" pile comes this softly worded chiding from Tom Hill of Albuquerque, N.M.: "What are you doing? Two driving ranges from Albuquerque in your top 10? Please, no more pumping the golf around here. It's still affordable and you can still get tee times pretty easily." He adds, "I do enjoy reading your articles. It's great to know we live in a country where you can get paid for hitting golf balls at a driving range and then writing about it." I'm saving the "best range" and "worst range" letters for next week's column, but Dennis Barr of Pittsburgh, Pa., caught my attention with this short e-mail: "I can't believe that the Italian driving ranges failed to make your 'worst in class' list. There aren't 492 dimples TOTAL on all the driving-range balls in Italy." Thanks, Dennis. Armed with your data, I plan to convince my editors that a summer trip to Florence, Venice and Rome is in order. Until next week ... arrivederci.
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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