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Forbidden Sweden Posted: Monday August 12, 2002 1:33 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. Thursday, Aug. 1 STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN -- The sign at the Katrineholms Golfklubb practice range was brief and to the point: ABSOLUT FÖRBJUDET ATT PLOCKA BOLLAR. I knew I was being warned, but about what? And how did AT&T figure into it? Looking for clues, I walked around the covered tees to the ball dispenser. A handwritten note was taped under the coin slot. It read, "2 x 5 Kr = 22 bollar." Translation: "Two five-crown coins gets you 22 balls." Bollar meant balls, so apparently I was absolutely forbidden to plocka the range balls. But what did plocka mean? Steal? Eat? Fondle? It obviously didn't mean hook, slice or top, because two young men and a teenage girl were doing all three with characteristic Swedish intensity. Shrugging off the warning, I dropped 20 Kr into the slot and watched 44 balls rumble into my wire basket. I only had time for a few shots -- just enough to get the flavor of the place. (My wife, Pat, the tourist, was seated on a bench under a tree, happily reading her Maeve Binchy.) The range offered about a dozen open-air stations, no two of them alike. Several were wooden or steel platforms with two small rectangular mats, one to stand on and one to hit off of. I chose to hit from a wooden platform with a conventional one-piece mat, and it wasn't bad. I might have gotten comfortable if I hadn't been so worried about what was ABSOLUT FÖRBJUDET. The target field was spacious and dotted with flags and advertising boards. One sign touted the merits of CRAMO. Another sang the praises of BLAB. I quickly and heedlessly slapped my 44 balls into a two-club wind. Long shots disappeared over the brow of a little ridge, which partly concealed the far end of the range. My appraisal of the practice facility: BLAH. Thirty minutes later, I had to revise my assessment. Strolling out onto the golf course (I was looking for the childhood home of the Swedish golf star Robert Karlsson, whose father, Bjorn, is the Katrineholms greenskeeper), I skirted the distant, hidden end of the range. Wouldn't you know it? The other end had grass tees, piles of range balls and a short-game practice area. It confirmed my long-held belief that the grass is always greener at the other end of the range. So I didn't really give Katrineholms a fair test. On the two-hour drive back to Stockholm, Pat asked how my practice session had gone. "Sorry," I said. "I am absolut förbjudet to say." I have since learned what plocka means. And although I did not commit this offense at Katrineholms Golfklubb, I have certainly done it often enough in the past. So, it's contest time! Send me an accurate translation of the driving-range sign, along with a line or two about how you may have honored or violated this prohibition in the past. I will share the best offerings with the Mats Only malcontents, and the winner will receive ... something. (Either a duplicate review copy of some new golf book or a two-week golf vacation in Ireland, depending on how much I like the winning entry.) As always, employees of Mats Only and their immediate relatives are ineligible. Or, as they say in Sweden, ÅRSMÖTE OCH EXTRA ÅRSMÖTE. (And if you've ever had your pizza with extra årsmöte, you know how good that can be.) Next stop: Turnberry, Scotland. 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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