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Hitting the links in Prague Posted: Friday August 02, 2002 12:31 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. Monday, July 29 PRAGUE, Czech Republic -- "You will be playing nine holes," the man behind the counter said. "Yes," I said, "I think so." He gave me a no-nonsense look through clunky spectacles. "No. You will play nine holes." He added, "You will play alone." That was my introduction to golf in the Czech Republic. It wasn't clear to me why I was restricted to one turn around the nine-hole Golf Club Praha course, or why I had to play alone. Was it because I didn't possess a "green card" or a valid handicap card? Was it because I was carrying only four golf clubs in my driving-range carryall? Was it because I had arrived on foot, crunching up the gravel path from the dark woods? Whatever the reason, the clerk didn't seem to have anything against me, personally. When I asked if I could rent a putter, he brightened. "You have no putter? I will get you my putter!" He led me outside and around the clubhouse to a little shed, where his golf bag was stored. "You can use this." He handed me a Ping putter with a black graphite shaft. "But return after you play." He then gave me a scorecard, a pencil, a large hang tag proving that I had paid my greens fee (about $13), and a full-color yardage booklet that would rival anything sold at the most posh U.S. golf resort. "First tee is there." He pointed up the hill behind the clubhouse. "Enjoy the game." For me, of course, the game had started when I walked out of the Prague Marriott with my four clubs and a pocket full of golf balls. I went down the steps of the Namesti Republiky metro station and took a long, steep and very fast escalator down to the train platform. Fifteen minutes later, a westbound train to Zlicin deposited me at Nove Butovice, where I caught a northbound bus for a trip that covered perhaps a thousand yards. When I got off at the K Vidouli bus stop, I looked around. There were two tall smokestacks with red rings painted around them. Chemical tanks. Transmission lines. Communist-era apartment towers of ugly, pre-poured concrete. And trees. Lots of trees. "Golf?" A little man in a football jersey had gotten off the bus with me. He pointed across the road to a cleft in the trees. "Two hundred," he said in heavily accented English. I thanked him and walked down the hill into the woods on a paved road that was not much more than a path. But it turned out to be a short walk -- 200 meters? -- to the gravel parking lot of the Golf Club Praha. So what is Czech golf like? It's like ... well, it's like golf in most small towns in the U.S. The Praha course is built on the slopes of a high, wooded ridge, giving it commanding views of the Prague suburbs. The fairways and greens are covered with well-maintained turfgrass, but almost every feature is tilted left or right, up or down. The greens, no doubt because of their severe slopes, were as slow as flypaper. On the first green I had a five-step putt; I left it two steps short. On the third green I had an uphill, seven-step putt for birdie; I hit it as hard as I would normally hit a 14-step putt and still left it one-step short. Two men played ahead of me, but they caused no delays. Two teenagers played behind me, followed by a single man in an Australian bush hat, but they didn't try to catch up with me. We all played brisk, efficient golf, and before I knew it, the round was over. Afterward, I sat alone on the club's deck and slowly drank a bottle of Sprite, enjoying the breeze and the shade of the tall birches and fir trees. The deck looms over the ninth green, making it a perfect perch for watching golfers finish their rounds. Was that the end of my golf day? Of course not. The Golf Club Praha has a driving range down in the valley, by the third green. Twenty Czech crowns got me a token good for 40 Czech range balls, and I hit 25 of them back up the hill from amazingly good, tight turf, marveling at the white-sand base revealed by my divots. There was also a covered hitting area with mats, but they weren't needed on this hot, sunny afternoon. I carried the blue plastic bucket with my remaining 15 balls to the short-game area and practiced chipping for a while. (Did I mention that Golf Club Praha has two excellent practice greens, one for putting, one for chipping?) Two young men practiced on opposite sides of the green. One was working on his sand shots. The other was working on a young blonde woman, who watched him with unabashed admiration as he chipped balls in random directions. I didn't practice long. My wife and I planned to attend a Vivaldi concert after dinner or simply stroll through the throngs of tourists admiring Prague Castle from the Charles Bridge. I couldn't wait to tell her that I had learned the Czech term for driving range. ("So what is it?" she asked me later. "It's driving range," I said.) As I walked away from the club, I noticed the handful of cars parked under the trees in the gravel parking lot. They were all Mercedes-Benzes or BMWs. Trudging back up the path to the bus stop, I felt slightly déclassé. 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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