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Flying the unfriendly skies
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, Feb. 24 ON AMERICAN AIRLINES FLIGHT 46 TO LONDON HEATHROW -- Wrestling the mailbag up the jetway in Chicago left me breathless, but we're 33,000 feet over Nova Scotia now and I'm ready to tackle my correspondence. Let's start with this coldly efficient letter from America West Airlines, the outfit that cost me hundreds of dollars and a lot of bother a month ago when it flew me to Palm Springs, Calif., for a golf lesson -- and left my clubs in Phoenix. "Dear Mr. Garrity," writes the man from Customer Relations. "Thank you for your recent letter concerning your delayed property. The importance of care and accuracy in all baggage matters is continually stressed to all our employees, for we realize the hardships any mishandling can create for our customers. I have enclosed our check for $25 as settlement for the financial loss you incurred as a result of this incident. I realize this is not the type of compensation you were expecting; however, damages that are contingent, speculative, or consequential are beyond the liability parameters of our Conditions of Contract. We are capable of providing better service, and I am confident we can demonstrate this to you the next time you travel with us." The next time? The next time I travel with America West will be the day I fly home from Phoenix with Cameron Diaz on one arm and Michelle Yeoh on the other. In the meantime, I'd love to hear from any of you who have had your clubs creatively handled by the airlines. And I'd like to know if any of these airlines have offered more than $25 and a raspberry for your inconvenience. For instance, Larry Choate of Spring, Texas, writes, "I know how frustrating your air-travel experience was. I flew in October with my clubs in a hard-shell travel case. When I claimed them in Houston, there was a U-shaped crack 11 inches long on the back of the case. Continental politely informed me that it was a common occurrence with hard-shell cases. It claimed the change in temperature from ground level to 38,000 feet causes the cases to become brittle. (Almost as brittle as Continental's refund policy!)" I laughed out loud at your letter, Larry, because an airline recently asked me to sign a claim waiver for my clubs because they weren't in a hard-shell case. We obviously can't win. It's like the guy who files a claim under his fire and theft policy and is turned down by the insurance company. "It's a fire and theft policy," says the claims adjuster, "not a fire or theft policy. To collect, your home has to be burgled while it burns." More air rage: "Good to see you take America's Worst Airline to task," writes Pete of Scottsdale, Ariz. "I had a similar situation coming back from Pebble Beach. Thank goodness it was coming back and not going, or I would be in custody for aggravated assault." I hear you, Pete. The Monterey Airport is notorious for its scenes of crying golfers at the baggage carousels. Now, back to Mats Only business: lost swings. "I'm glad you have not lost your sense of humor," writes Ken Glinter of Athens, Ohio, who had not yet had the opportunity to read the previous eight paragraphs. "I can't imagine being an 8 handicap and losing my swing. I hover between 17 and 22 and try to always remember that I'm out there for fun. I tried everything imaginable this year when I went into a slump. I took lessons, hit buckets of balls, stopped playing for a few weeks. Nothing seemed to work until I just said, 'F--- it. I'm going out with my buddies and doing the best I can, even if it looks terrible.' On closing day at our club, I shot an 83 -- the only time all year I broke 90." Ken's secret? "The only thing I did was remember a tip from the past: Keep your elbows in. No chicken wings!" This mailbag brought lots of range reports, mostly of the "pass this one up" variety. Mike Goodwillie of Omaha, Neb., nominates the Spearfish Golf Club of Spearfish, S.D., as the best range in ... well, Spearfish. "You cross a road to a patch of grass and hit balls into the side of a 10-story hill," he writes. "No drivers allowed. There is one flat corridor to the right of the hill that goes out about 175 yards, but balls hit long or right go into the back of a strip mall." A fair man, Goodwillie notes that the course itself "is kind of interesting, and the setting -- the middle of the Black Hills -- is spectacular." A better-known meeting of the picturesque and the pathetic is Torrey Pines Municipal in La Jolla, Calif., site of the recent Buick Classic (won by Phil Mickelson ). "I played Torrey Pines South in July," reports Tony Marro of Lombard, Calif. "The course was beautiful and in pretty decent condition for the amount of play it gets. But the driving range was one of the sickest and worst-maintained I have ever seen. You could only hit off mats, which were ridden with holes and missing their plastic tees. The grass in the field was worn, the bunkers were bare, and the flags were torn. I can't comprehend how a championship course could have a practice facility as bad as Torrey's." I share your wonder, Tony, and I extend it to the whole San Diego area. The commercial ranges there are so bad that I sometimes leave my clubs behind in Kansas City, saving America West the trouble. But how about this from Peter Boland in Hong Kong: "You should check out the golf range at the Tollygunge CC in Calcutta, India. That is a real shocker, my friend, I can tell you." Note to Peter: Tell us! What can we expect to find at Tollygunge? A slaughtered regiment of Foreign Legionnaires? Blind beggars on the tee line? Nehru jackets on sale in the pro shop? Send the particulars immediately. And while we wait, let's contemplate the Rockcliffe Range in Ottawa, Ontario. "This range was built on an old soccer field measuring the standard 110 yards," writes Dave Baines, "but they've slapped a 250 sign at the far end, which is reachable with a 9-iron. The confidence gained by newcomers to the game quickly evaporates on the 510-yard opening hole at the nearest course." Not everybody is grousing. Larry Murray of Brawley, Calif., says he visited the world's best driving range last year -- the Camp Aquinaldo Driving Range in Quezon City, the Philippines. "The range itself offers no special amenities," he says. "On the contrary, the golfer must hit from hardpan using small piles of compressed dirt prepared by dutiful tee girls." So what was the attraction? "A gorgeous Filipina working in the pro shop. She had every golfer on the range convinced he was a cross between Ernie Els and Kevin Costner. Lucky for me, my golf swing that night found the right rhythm -- we just celebrated our first wedding anniversary!" Great story, Larry. As a belated wedding gift, I'm sending you a gold-plated set of Adams Tight Lies irons in a mink-lined, hard-shell travel case. (Hope you get them; I'm entrusting them to America West.) Finally, this plea from 22-year-old Rich Shropshire of Wolverhampton, England, a man whose name and address alone can compete with a Brother Cadfael mystery. "You've got to help me, John," he implores. "I'm Al Pacino seeking money, power and women in Scarface. I'm the Man with No Name in High Plains Drifter ... oh, bugger, I can't think of a character synopsis/witticism for that one." Rich goes on to explain that he is planning to open his own driving range in the U.K., something better than the "fine in the summer, crap in the winter" range he works for now. "I've read about mats, balls and analysis technology, short-game practice areas, effective floodlighting, heating, target areas, lush grass teeing stations, lesson packages and indoor centers," he writes. "In fact, I'm the only lad I know who doesn't just use the Internet for its original purpose -- porn!" Anyway, Rich is headed to the States for a fact-finding tour of East Coast driving ranges. "My aim? Observe, plagiarize and generally skulk around as many U.S. driving ranges as possible in the futile hope that such single-minded 'range rattiness' will help the development of my own range back in the U.K." OK, Range Rats, let's give the Shropshire lad a helping hand. He's visiting Toronto, New York, South Carolina and Orlando, and he wants to see some first-class practice facilities. I'll run your recommendations in the next Mats Only. Then we'll wait to hear from Rich. Enough. My eyelids are heavy, the cabin is dark, and I'm being lulled to sleep by the gentle breathing of Cameron, leaning on my left shoulder, and Michelle, slumped against my right. My only question: Did the girls remember to check my golf bag through to Dubai?
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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