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All this for one lesson
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. 23 PALM SPRINGS, Calif. -- I flew here for a lesson -- and, boy, did I get one, thanks to America West Airlines. My plan was simple enough: fly from Phoenix (where I have a hotel room in Scottsdale) to Palm Springs, toss my golf bag in the trunk of a rental car, drive to Mission Hills Country Club for a playing lesson with Rob Stanger, and cruise back to the airport for the 6:20 return flight to Phoenix. In Phoenix I planned to claim my other rental car in the terminal garage and drive to Scottsdale for dinner. Instead, I'm sitting here Tuesday night in the Palm Springs Courtyard by Marriott, grinding my teeth. What happened? Simple. America West Express flew me here this morning, but the airline left my golf bag on some cold concrete floor in Phoenix. It was my only luggage, and I checked in an hour before my flight time. "There's really no excuse for this," the sympathetic counter agent told me in Palm Springs. "But we'll get it to you when it arrives on the next flight." Trying not to huff or whine or display the usual symptoms of air rage, I explained to her that my lesson began in an hour and the next flight was not scheduled to arrive for another three hours. She cocked her head and said, "You can rent some clubs, can't you?" "Yes," I said, "but not clubs that will reach the ground." I pointed out that I am very tall and don't use standard clubs. Also, my distance glasses were in the bag along with my golf cap, my golf shoes and my golf glove ... and, yeah, I started to whine. Averting her eyes, she slid a claim form across the counter and promised that American West would rush the clubs out to Mission Hills as soon as they arrived. Sighing, I shuffled over to the Avis counter and got the keys to my car, doing the math in my head: $511.50 for the round-trip ticket, maybe another $60 for the car, $15 for short-term parking at the Phoenix airport -- and this was my money I was spending, not AOL Time Warner's. It was 1 p.m. by the time I got to Mission Hills. I met Rob at the members end of the range and explained the situation: no clubs, no glasses, no hat, no hope. Fortunately, he had some flexibility in his schedule, and he said we could do the planned lesson Wednesday afternoon. I instantly agreed, even though this meant I would have to stay overnight in Palm Springs (redundant hotel room, $129 plus tax, second day of car rental, $50). Furthermore, he said we could try to find some clubs with upright lies in the bag room and work a little on my short game (wedges being the only clubs I can hit when I'm wearing my bifocals). And if my clubs arrived, he said, we could go out and play a few holes on the Tournament Course. So while Rob looked for the clubs, I went into the pro shop and bought a Mission Hills cap ($18.50) and a FootJoy golf glove ($14). I shrugged off the cost of the glove, but paying for the cap killed me; I've got 50 caps in Kansas City and three more in my travel bag. Rob came through. Downstairs he found a like-new set of Callaway clubs with upright lies. He then took me to the north end of the practice range, where he now teaches for The Learning Center, a golf academy run by former Mission Hills CC head professional Jeff Harrison. Making lemonade from lemons, Rob gave me a really good swing lesson with just the sand and pitching wedges -- I'll get into the details next time -- and then made an appointment to meet me again at noon Wednesday. In the meantime, my golf clubs had not turned up. At 5 p.m. I drove back to the airport and hustled to the America West Express counter to reschedule my return flight for Wednesday evening. A different agent, a young man, went to look for my golf bag, and he almost fell over it in the doorway. In a subdued tone I thanked him and told him that I planned to sue America West for about $1 million. I then drove up Taquitz-McCallum Road and scored a room on my first try, here at the Courtyard by Marriott. But I wasn't through spending. I drove to the big discount mall in Palm Desert and bought a Polo shirt ($32), a pair of socks ($8), and a small tube of sunscreen ($9). Now I'm back at the Courtyard, where the desk clerk supplied me with a disposable toothbrush and a disposable razor -- greatly improving my disposable disposition. But I can't help feeling anxious. My clothes, files and laptop are at a Residence Inn in Scottsdale. My other rental car is racking up charges in the Phoenix Airport parking garage. And here I am in the wrong desert, making a pile of the receipts and asking myself where I went wrong. In other words, a night like any other. Like King Arthur and Guinevere in Camelot, I wonder what the simple folk are doing tonight.
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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