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One mea culpa and one great deal

Click here for more on this story
Posted: Wednesday March 28, 2001 1:22 PM

 

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.

Tuesday, March 27

KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- It's true, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. I learned that last week after I filed my column on the College Golf Center, a commercial driving range in Palm Desert, Calif. While I gave the CGC high marks, I threw in a mildly defamatory line about the grass tees, which had been defoliated by a thousand hackers and could be more accurately described as dirt tees. Imagine my embarrassment when I went back the next day and discovered that management had opened up grass tees on the opposite end of the tee line, behind a safety net. The new tees -- green, lush and unblemished -- compared favorably to the turf at the resort-course ranges I frequent on my visits to Palm Springs. And then, just to make me feel more guilty, the ball clerk took a dollar off the price of my large bucket. "It's the early-morning discount," he said.

So here's my early-morning discount: Discount what I said about the grass tees at College Golf. They're great.

I did get away for one afternoon practice session at my old haunt, the Westin Mission Hills Resort in Rancho Mirage. This, you will recall, is the range where I lost my swing 12 years ago. It's also where I met teaching pro Rob Stanger, exactly a year ago. Nothing so dramatic happened this time, but I got a pleasant surprise in the pro shop when I reached for my wallet. "That's OK," said the young man behind the counter. "The range closes in 50 minutes. Hit what you can."

How good a deal is that? I got nearly an hour of practice on one of my favorite ranges at the best time of day -- the desert sun dropping over the mountains, a nice breeze encouraging a draw -- and it didn't cost me a penny.

Any other old business? Well, I was hitting balls at the College Golf Center on Saturday night when I became aware of a father and his little boy on the adjoining tee stations. The boy was no more than seven or eight, and his dad was trying to teach him while also practicing himself. What made it funny was the role reversal. The kid was carefully teeing up each ball, checking his grip on the club, making sure his stance was correct -- taking practice swings, even -- while his dad was whacking balls as fast as he could, a machine-gun drill of slices, skulls and chunked shots.

"Look, Dad, I hit it past the white sign!"

"Did you? Good. But you wanna work on your short game, too."

That struck me as good advice, so I slipped down to the end of the tee line and hit a few short pitches over the practice sand bunker onto a little target green. When I returned to my bag, the father was out of ammo, but the kid still had two-thirds of a bucket left. "I'm gonna get some more balls," said Dad.

"You can have mine," said the kid.

"No, you need to work on your swing."

"But I'm never gonna finish. Look how many I have!"

"Practice your short game." The father headed off toward the pro shop.

The kid teed one up lethargically, took an undisciplined swing and whacked the ball about 60 yards in the air. "Dad, look!" He whirled around. "Past the white sign!" But his father was too far down the tee line to hear.

I wish I had a crystal ball. My guess is the kid will grow up to be either a professional golfer ... or a very expressive violinist.

No telling what I'll be when I grow up.

Watch this space for another installment of Mats Only. To send John Garrity advice, share your experiences, or suggest a driving range, click here.

Mats Only will return in late April.

 
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