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Casting about a new course
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, May 19 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- I'll take Manhattan -- Manhattan, Kan., that is. Yesterday I picked up my friend Cruise Palmer, the retired executive editor of The Kansas City Star, and drove out on I-70 to Colbert Hills, the new $18 million golf course at Kansas State University. Palmer is a K-State booster and he wanted me to see what the Wildcats got for their money. What they got is a big, sprawling layout that rides comfortably on the Flint Hills outside Manhattan. From the seventh tee, you can see for miles in all directions, and what you see is mostly sky and prairie, with a few ranches thrown in for rustic charm. The course is named for Jim Colbert, the K-State alum and Senior PGA Tour star (who is better known in my household for losing a semifinal match in the 1964 Missouri Amateur to a fellow named Tom Garrity ). The course is any length you want it to be, with as many as seven tee boxes per hole. The Bunyanesque golfer plays from the "Black and Blue Tees" (7,525 yards). The Garrityesque golfer plays from the silver tees (less than 7,000 yards) and hits one ball onto a neighboring ranch and another into a space-time continuum. Which is fine, because I don't count lost balls as lost; just hiding. The practice range at Colbert Hills is wonderful. The grass tees are on high ground near the clubhouse, and you can smack a driver for what looks like miles down to a grassy valley. The target greens are set into slopes on either side, providing exquisite definition and great visibility. In addition, the golf team has a private practice tee and a short-game practice area. The golf carts, by the way, are equipped with GPS distance-to-the-flag monitors. I find these to be particularly useful when your tee shot has put you 100 yards or so from the nearest sprinkler head. Sunday, May 20 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- I just have time for a quick look at my e-mail, which has been gathering in e-piles at the foot of my e-door. "Keep up the good work and the search for your swing," writes Bill Greene of Santa Monica, Calif. "Lots of us out here are in the same boat, and we follow your saga with a mixture of voyeurism and sympathy." In a similar vein, Doug Hollmann of Milwaukee writes: "I had the same thing happen to my bowling swing in 1987. I had planned to go on the PBA Tour, when I took a job at UPS. I lost 30 pounds of fat, gained about 20 pounds of muscle and, poof!, lost all ball speed because of tightness in my arms. I could never get it back." Doug also admits to being the proprietor of Tee it Up, a lousy driving range in New Berlin, Wis. "The range balls haven't been replaced in three years, and you hit into a flood plain, guaranteeing that the rocks you're hitting have three-year-old mud splotches on them. The range is only usable from morning until 2 p.m., when you begin hitting into the sun." I can almost hear the sigh in Doug's parting salutation: "Nice people running a bad operation." Thanks for visiting Mats Only, guys. Fairways and greens. Monday, May 21 ON DELTA FLIGHT 838 TO ATLANTA -- All right, I'm rested up, strapped in and ready to put on my other hat as judge of the Driving Range Hollywood Story Treatment Contest Thing. Patrick Megan of Hong Kong gets me started by writing, "I hear they're going to do a remake of the Hollywood musical Fiddler on the Roof. It's going to be called Fiddler on the Range, and you are going to make your movie debut." I can see me now, singing Backswing, Downswing to the tune of Sunrise, Sunset. Ted Underberg of Sterling, Va., casts M. Emmett Walsh as "the skinflint, leering owner of the driving range" and Woody Harrelson as the driver of the ball picker. "Any nubile, young creature who can pronounce 'golf' and can mention 'balls' without a snicker will probably suffice behind the counter." For the customer roles, Underberg suggests Joe Pesci, Gary Sinise, Rosie O'Donnell and Terry Bradshaw. "Have Alan Alda and the crew from M*A*S*H as the owners and pros at an inner-city driving range that doubles as a landing pad for emergency-medicine helicopters," writes Terry Rauch of Mountlake Terrace, Wash. "I can just see Jamie Farr as the cross-dressing ball shagger." (In the 1970 original movie version of M*A*S*H, of course, Hawkeye and Trapper John called themselves "the pros from Dover" and arranged a medical trip to Japan to play golf.) And this noir fantasy from David McLean of Fairfax, Va.: " Steve Buscemi plays the range attendant who wants teaching pro Vince Vaughan dead. He wants Vaughan dead because it appears that Jennifer Lopez, his sexy student, is interested in Vaughan rather than Buscemi. Buscemi hires Mark Wahlberg to do the hit, except that Wahlberg is a homosexual in love with Vaughan. Wahlburg takes Buscemi's money and takes lessons from Vaughan. Wahlberg tells J. Lo that Vaughan is gay, so she goes to Buscemi for comfort. In the end, it is all a daydream and Buscemi is awakened by Jack Nicholson pounding on the counter for range balls." Strong entry, David, though I don't know why Jennifer Lopez wouldn't be interested in Steve Buscemi. "OK, here it is," begins a breathless John Suess of Milwaukee. " Gary Marshall as the owner (or Wilford Brimley); Michael Richards as the pro; and, of course, Bill Murray as the maintenance man. Episodes can include the Dalai Lama having a lesson. Bill Cosby and Robert Culp can make a guest appearance to investigate the theft of range balls." Yeah ... but wasn't Robert Culp's character on I Spy a tennis pro? Hans Lindeman of Oslo, Norway, envisions a new TV series, à la Agatha Christie: " Roger McIntosh was found dead on the fourth tee one morning with a crushed skull and dimple patterns matching those of a Top Flite Tour Trajectory ball in his forehead. Who killed him? Was it Tommy (Forefinger) Gonzales, with the nasty slice, who nailed him from the 12th tee? Was it Dave Hill who got him with a massive drive from the third tee? Or was it his disgruntled girlfriend who poisoned him? Watch our pro, Ropey Charles, catch the killer." Great job, Hans -- and you get bonus points for the product placement. "A TV show idea," begins Nate Meranda of Wausau, Wis. "You could take one of the best sports sitcoms ever, Coach, and spin that off into Sandbagger. The tall, dumb, blonde guy from Coach sets up a hustling business at a local driving range/golf course. He presents himself as an idiot, but in reality he is a scratch golfer." Not bad, Nate -- but isn't that a little too much like This Week on the PGA Tour? I'm going to wait a week or so before choosing a winner, so it's not too late to send in your entry. Losing submissions will be forwarded to The WB network. Also, thanks to Dave Katko of Roswell, Ga., for reminding me of the best driving-range segment of all: the scene in The Insider where Russell Crowe, as R.J. Reynolds whistle-blower Jeffrey Wigand, hits balls under floodlights on a nearly deserted range, while a thug watches from down the tee line. "I seem to recall the goon was hitting balls in a suit and tie, which made me scratch my head," Dave says. "Crowe's swing wasn't too bad -- if he was the one actually hitting the balls." On that skeptical note, I'm closing the mailbag and heading for the piano. Vocal exercises, you know. For Fiddler.
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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