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A scare on the course Posted: Thursday March 21, 2002 2:49 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 19 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- "To be honest, I don't follow golf," the paramedic told me as we pulled out of the parking lot of the Bay Hill Resort and Lodge. "I know who Tiger Woods is, but that's about it." I watched with interest as he tore open a sterile packet and poked something sharp into my left arm to open a vein for an i.v. tube. It was my first ride in the back of an ambulance. "Well, Tiger won the tournament," I said. "That's three straight at Bay Hill and 30 tour wins for his career. He's the youngest guy to win 30." I almost added that Woods was now 22 for 24 in tournaments that he had led after 54 holes. My mind was still on the story, even if my laptop lay abandoned on a table back at the media center. My troubles had begun in the usual place -- on a practice range. Sunday morning was hot and muggy in Orlando, and by the time I got to the International Golf Club the sun was in sweat-extraction mode. I hit a couple of buckets of balls, pausing every 15 minutes or so for a water break. My hands got wet, the grips of my clubs turned slippery. Steam fogged my glasses. The conditions didn't affect my ability to hit an 8-iron, but my drives were loose, hooking and slicing with gay abandon. Disappointed, I wrapped up with a few wedge shots and drove back to my hotel for a shower. Hours later, at dusk, I found myself standing by the 10th tee at Bay Hill with a reporter's notebook in my hand. That was not unusual, but for one thing: The tournament was over. I remembered being in the interview room as Woods answered questions about his victory. I remembered feeling a band of pressure at the back of my head and an overall feeling of malaise. I remembered leaving the press conference to search for a doctor. However, I didn't remember being assigned to interview the tee markers on No. 10. One ambulance ride later -- and after blood tests, EKGs, a CAT scan, and a battery of questions along the lines of "Who is buried in Grant 's tomb?" -- the greatest minds at Orlando's Sand Lake Hospital ruled out a stroke and charged me with heat exhaustion. As treatment, they dripped a whole bag of electrolytes into my arm. Great stuff, electrolytes. Within 30 minutes I felt strong enough to walk 18 holes. By 11 p.m. I was out of the hospital, by midnight I was eating pot roast at a Perkins restaurant, and by 1 a.m. I was snoozing peacefully at the Courtyard by Marriott on International Drive. I want to thank Alan Shipnuck and Gary Van Sickle , my Sports Illustrated colleagues, for catching the standard as I fell. I promise, from here on, to keep myself hydrated, even if it means bloating out on neon-colored performance drinks. As for those hot-weather practice sessions, I'll never again .... But, no, I'm not ready to make that promise. I have a lesson with Rob Stanger scheduled for next week in Rancho Mirage, Calif., and I'll probably hit balls on four different Coachella Valley ranges before the week is out. If there's time, I may even stop by Mission Hills Country Club to cover the Kraft-Nabisco Championships. After all, Annika Sorenstam is the defending champion. And she's hot. Watch this space for another installment of Mats Only. To send John Garrity advice, share your experiences, or suggest a driving range,
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