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The worst of the worst Posted: Thursday December 27, 2001 12:10 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. Wednesday, Dec. 26 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- Your range rat is a glutton for punishment. Like Wile E. Coyote in the noir classic Chariots of Fur, he'll slam into a wall or run off a cliff at the mere glimpse of the letters DR- or -ANGE. Like the memory-impaired Guy Pearce in Memento, he'll show up on Wednesday to hit balls at the same lousy range that caused him to quit the game on Monday. Your range rat is like the man with the barbecue jones who eats five horrid meals a week in the hope that he'll find a hickory pit that makes his mouth water. But even a range rat knows where to draw the line. Back in August, while covering the LPGA Championship in Wilmington, Del., I drove up the pike one morning and crossed the border into Pennsylvania. There, behind a good-sized parking lot and next to a beautifully grassed, tree-lined, par-3 course, I found the worst driving range on earth. Like the parking lot, the range was paved, but weeds pushed up through the tarmac. The mats were actual doormats -- the tacky, black-cord kind with diamond-shaped drainage holes. And most amazing of all, the range was only 60 yards long. Was I dreaming? A driving range on an abandoned tennis court? No, a man and his son were hitting balls off the mats. (They were chipping, really, though neither one of them looked like they could reach the fence with a bicycle.) I walked into the golf shop, which was in a wonderful barn of a building, and saw wire buckets of long-abused balls lined up for rental. I did the sensible thing. I walked out, got in my car, and drove away. That, of course, was the only time all year I passed up a chance to hit balls, no matter how decrepit or misconceived the range. Last week I listed my 10 favorite ranges of 2001. Here are the five facilities that gave me the most grief: 1) Lucky Strike Driving Range, Lytham, England. Drive south on Clifton Road past the lighthouse and you come to this mats-only range. Keep driving. The balls, in square wire buckets, are decent and fairly priced at £2.50, but a sign warns that you can't get change for the ball-dispensing machine. (I had to bum a 50-pence piece off another customer.) The field is a simple rectangle. Unfortunately, the wooden stalls are not-so-simple rectangles -- they aim to the right, confusing your alignment. Worst of all, the ball is invisible against the sky on a normal, partly cloudy day. 2) Cracker Jax Family Fun and Sports Park, Scottsdale, Ariz. This automated range made my top-10 list a few years ago, but it wasn't much fun when I visited in January. The mats were troughed out around the pop-up rubber tees and the lights weren't strong enough to see the ball beyond the 150-yard targets. 3) Pinehurst No. 2, Pinehurst, N.C. Mats at Pinehurst? OK, it was a rainy morning in June, but mats? At Pinehurst? 4) Hakone Prince Hotel Driving Range, Hakone, Japan. Once you tire of the lovely view of Lake Ashi and Mt. Fuji, you realize that you're chipping lopsided balls off a cliff from a threadbare rug. It's OK for a warmup, but not worth a repeat visit. 5) TPC at Four Seasons Resort Las Colinas, Irving, Texas. A great place to practice blindfolded. The tee line is so badly misaligned that a straight shot heads for the left boundary fence. Want to hit to the most distant flags? They're way over to the right. (Ask the golfer at the next station if he minds you hitting a driver past his left knee.) I was unlucky, of course. I caught the TPC on a mats-only day. Surprisingly, that's it. Either I've become a kinder and gentler critic, or 2001 was mostly wine and roses. So here's my New Year's resolution: In 2002, I will pass up no opportunity to work on my raggedy-ass game, even if I have to practice on door mats in Pennsylvania. Or on roof tops in Tokyo. Cages in Cleveland. Snowstorms in Cincinnati. Heat waves in Houston. Ballrooms in Buffalo. After all, you never know where a lost swing is hiding.
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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