In the midst of a golf drought

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, Aug. 20

KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- No golf since that afternoon at Katrineholms Golfklubb in Sweden. And that was merely a 44-range-ball salute, not a real practice session. I followed that with a week in Ayrshire, Scotland, where I covered the Women's British Open at Turnberry. Can a golf writer spend a week in Scotland without playing golf? Well, I did. (I don't count the hour I spent chipping around the pitch-and-putt course on the front lawn of the Westin Turnberry Resort Hotel. It's a beautiful little layout, but the longest hole is about 60 yards. I hardly touched my driver.)

I couldn't play when I got home, either. Thunderstorms and a cancelled flight kept me in Chicago last Tuesday night, and then I had to rush up to Minneapolis for the PGA Championship. Eager to get home after Rich Beem's wonderful win, I actually passed up an opportunity to play at Interlachen yesterday afternoon.

Consequently, my swing is gone again. I haven't actually tested it, but the Force drains out of me whenever I don't swing a club for two or three weeks. I'll be lucky to get the ball airborne when I hit the range this afternoon.

But first I have to sort through the Mats Only mail, which is piled high on my e-desk. The first rebuke comes from Dr. Brian P. Gaffney of Downpatrick, Northern Ireland: "Who exactly were you insulting in your swipe at the 'food police'? Good nutrition is important not only for the general public (the U.S. has an epidemic of obesity!), but also for those of us who struggle around 18 holes every Saturday morning. The Irish weather, combined with our links courses, means you can get cold and wet." He adds, "You need sound advice on sustenance."

Quick story, Doc. In the early '70s, when I was fresh out of Stanford, I went grocery shopping with some musician friends in Palo Alto, Calif. When I got to the checkout counter, my cart contained a pound of ground beef, a package of spaghetti, a head of iceberg lettuce, two tomatoes, a bag of dried apricots, a hunk of cheddar cheese, fresh plums, table grapes (union-picked, of course), a bag of Milano cookies and a large can of potato sticks. Eyeing my selection with horror, one of them said, "John, don't you eat anything but junk food?" It was only later that I realized that their definition of junk food was "anything that John eats." Since then, I have stopped worrying about my diet. I eat Cadbury bars to excess whenever I'm in Britain. I wolf down Sara Lee chocolate cakes when I'm in Australia. And I eat a lot of barbecue when I'm at home. My travels, fortunately, expose me to a variety of cuisines, and I balance my diet with salads, fish and Asian delicacies. (Counter-complaint: Why can't I get plain, salted potato chips in Ireland?)

My vacation in Prague drew the attention of a few correspondents. Buck Wolter of St. Louis says that he lived in Eastern Europe in the mid-'90s and had "the strangest experience" on the practice range at the Golf Club Praha. "I bought a bucket of balls and was hitting them from what I remember to be a decent range. The old man who had sold me the balls emerged from the shack carrying a shag bag and wearing a hockey goaltender's mask. He proceeded to walk straight onto the range to pick up balls while about 10 of us were hitting. It was a very strange sight."

Another correspondent, Gerry Priest of St. Andrews, Scotland, says that he, too, once played nine holes in Praha "in pleasant sunshine" (a bittersweet memory, considering the recent floods in that beautiful old city). "Did you see Don Giovanni at the Estates Theater, the very opera house where Wolfie conducted the premier performance?"

Answer: Yes. My wife, Pat, and I sat in one of those royal boxes off to the side, like extras in Amadeus. At the end, when Don Giovanni descended to hell in a cloud of sulfurous smoke, I leaned over and whispered, "He's not going to like it down there with all those teaching pros."

Derek Hartman of Warner Robins, Ga., weighs in with a contrarian view. "I actually prefer mats to turf when I practice," he writes. "My club here in Georgia has a grass driving range, but I find it easier to work on my game on the mats because I always have the same lie. If I hook the ball or slice it, it's because of club position, not the lie of the ball."

The e-mail bag, as usual, is full of range reports. Alan Stewart of Corydon, Ind., recommends the Pine Valley Golf Resort in Elizabethtown, Ky. "There are actually two places at the course where you can knock balls. The first is the typical, run-of-the-mill range. Right next to it is 3-Putt Willie's, which is a cross-breed of 19th hole, clubhouse and grill. There's a deck on the back that can seat 40 or 50, and to the rear of that deck are seven or eight of your beloved mats. When I went on Friday they had a crooner doing songs by Jimmy Buffet, Garth Brooks, James Taylor and the Eagles. It was a welcome change from the boring sounds of ping! and 'Oh, duff!' that you hear at most ranges."

A puzzled David McMakin of Huntsville, Ala., reports that his town has a new private club "perched on top of our mountain with a double-ended practice range nestled in a bowl partway down the southwest side of the slope." His problem? "I keep finding their range balls in the woods on the Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail, a couple of miles away. I don't know how they get there." He adds, "Charles Barkley played in the member-guest a few weeks ago."

There's your answer, David.

A couple more. Tracey Dujakovich of Kansas City, Mo. (a neighbor!), sends this pertinent quote from an unknown author: "The inevitable result of any golf lesson is the instant elimination of the one critical unconscious motion that allowed you to compensate for all your errors."

And finally, a letter to lift my spirits. "Anybody can play great golf on a given day," writes Doug Sack of Whistler, British Columbia, "but very few people can write consistently good golf copy. Be grateful for what you do well, and remember: Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods can't write worth a s---."

Thanks, Doug. I needed that.

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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