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How to hit the knockdown
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, Oct. 30 HOUSTON -- It is late afternoon, the sun hovers over Champions Golf Club, and the air smells of fresh-mowed grass and chocolate-chip cookies. My quandary: Should I write a column or go hit balls? My compromise: I'll open the Mats Only mailbag and let the column write itself. The first letter is from Gerald Roberts, who describes himself as "a proud Texan who has been transplanted to Connecticut." He writes, "Thanks for your great report from Fort Worth on golf with your brother. I haven't played at Z Boaz since the early '70s, with B-52s from Carswell flying overhead. I really miss the cheese enchiladas at Joe T.'s, but I have to say I'll take the bentgrass fairways and greens of the Northeast over the razor-thin and patchy Bermuda of Z Boaz." Another correspondent, who identifies himself only as Jake from Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla., raises the touchy issue of sibling rivalry: "About your brother's prowess: Don't you just hate that? I'm sure you're happy for him, but when someone hasn't hit a golf shot in two years, and then they come out hitting rifle shots! I mean, a knockdown 3-iron under the wind to a green 190 yards away?" I know what you mean, Jake, but it honestly gave me a chill to see Tom hit those shots. I asked him about his technique, and he said he learned to hit the ball long and low in 1961, when he was on the PGA Tour. "I remember a practice round at Bermuda Dunes in Palm Springs," Tom said. " Tommy Bolt and I were playing a long par-4 in the teeth of a 20- to 25-mile-an-hour wind. I took a club and a half more than normal, hit it hard, and came up 25 feet short of the hole. Bolt took maybe three clubs more and hit his shot pin high. I asked him what he hit, and Bolt said, 'Son, it don't matter what number is on the bottom of the club as long as you keep it under the wind.'" For those of you who want to try this shot at home, here's my brother's recipe for the wind-cheating, knockdown long iron. "First of all," he says, "you have to be comfortable taking three clubs more than you think is necessary. It is not a full shot, and you don't hit it hard. You are trying to take spin off the golf ball; otherwise, it is going to blow all over the place. You just take an easy, 3/4 swing and hit down and through the ball on a shallow track, keeping the clubface on the target line." As if to demonstrate just how easy this shot is, Tom accidentally had left his glasses in our hotel room the morning we played Z Boaz. "The ball looks a little fuzzy when I stand over it," he told me after a couple of holes, "but I'll be fine as long as it doesn't move while I'm swinging." And he was. We birdied four of the last five holes, and our two-man scramble team finished in the top third of the championship bracket with a gross score of 63 and a net of 60. It was nothing special for Tom, but it was my best finish in six appearances at the Dan Jenkins Partnership, even though I have been paired, in previous years, with two touring pros and a club pro. Apparently, Tom gave my column a lift, as well. "Thanks for a nice read," writes Tom Ierubino of Somerset, N.J. "Golf is great, but the combination of golf and family is even better." In a similar vein, Dave Malloy of Trumbull, Conn., says, "Your story about golfing with your brother reminded me of the article you wrote about playing a three-hole course with your granddaughter, Megan. I've got a 4-year-old named Meghan who I'm trying to get hooked on golf. Right now our outings consist of Meghan hitting two or three shots at the range and spending the rest of her time sorting the balls for me. If we are lucky she finds one or two colored balls, which she's convinced are dinosaur eggs." Turning to other matters, the readers have pretty much ruled for me in the case of Norris v. Garrity, which dealt with the right of an aging sportswriter to play golf without turning in scores or maintaining a handicap. "I find in your favor, babe," writes John Pierucki of Matthews, N.C. "And tell David Norris to get a life." Tom Galvin of Corning, N.Y., joins the chorus, saying, "If you were playing $2 Nassaus on the weekends, entering tournaments, etc., then certainly you would be maintaining a current handicap. But given your heretofore fruitless search for your swing, there is nothing wrong with what you are doing." "My vote's with you," writes Marc Denny of Lakeside, Calif. "Too many people I play with worry about every stroke, every breath, every plumb-bob." "A resounding 'not guilty' for that fine Irishman, Mr. Garrity!" bellows Mike "1-putt" Harrington of Pensacola, Fla. "If you change, John," warns Patrick Ott of San Gabriel, Calif., "I may as well read the USGA Web site. Keep up the good work for the rest of us." Rick DeBiasio of Ocoee, Fla., casts his not-guilty vote from atop a soap box. "We Americans are obsessed with handicaps and stroke-play scores, and I am way over it," he writes. "I used to be a member of a private club outside Rochester, N.Y., and they took literally the USGA rule that there is no such thing as a practice round. If you went off by yourself in the late afternoon and wanted to work on things, you were looked on as a sandbagger because you didn't keep an accurate score with one ball. The tyranny of the handicap ruled the club. It led to a lot of "tight-ass" golf with people grinding over three-foot putts that should have been backhanded in." A strong dissent is offered by Mike McCracken of Virginia Beach, Va. "John, sorry, but you are a sandbagger. Until you post scores and get your index changed, you are an 8.3, regardless of how badly you hit it. If you want to call yourself a 12 or 13, then post your scores and earn that handicap. I wouldn't bet against you as an opponent, and I certainly wouldn't want you as a partner." McCracken is joined by an anonymous correspondent from Charlotte, N.C., who writes, "If you get no joy in posting scores, then don't. But do not call those who count them all and who like to play by the rules 'snobs.'" One recent e-mail combines the wisdom of Solomon with the precision of Miss Manners. "I think Mr. Norris was guilty of assuming facts not in evidence," writes Brian Kuehn of Ann Arbor, Mich. "By all accounts you play golf by the rules, and it was wrong for Mr. Norris to assume otherwise." So far so good, but he goes on: "I think you need to respond, 'I do not maintain a handicap' when asked about your handicap. Too many people do not report scores and continue to use an outdated index. Lastly, if you do not keep track of your score and at best can say "about an 80 or 81," then I think it would be more accurate to say, 'I hit the ball well but do not know what I shot.'" This strikes me as splendid advice, and from now on I will use Kuehn's language when people grill me about my scores. Before I drop the subject, however, I want to acknowledge an e-mail that David Norris sent me shortly after I put him on my stage and handed out rotten tomatoes to the audience. "I just read your column and am flattered by your inclusion of my commentary," he wrote. "I am sure I will be vilified by the golfing population at large, and I am already planning my community-service time. That you assigned me duty at a golf course can only be considered charitable." Touched by his humility and good manners, I have pardoned Mr. Norris and sent him home with a cheap suit and a copy of the new Jenkins novel, The Money-Whipped, Steer-Job, Three-Jack, Give-Up Artist, autographed by the author and by myself. You're a good sport, Dave. You can keep score for me anytime.
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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