Talking tempo with the pros

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, Jan. 8

KAPALUA, Hawaii -- When I'm obsessing about my swing, it sometimes helps to put away the clubs and obsess about other people's swings. I got a great opportunity to do that yesterday afternoon at the Golf Academy at Kapalua, where Golf Magazine's chief photographer, Fred Vuich, was shooting swing sequences of some of the stars playing in the Mercedes Championships. The Academy range is perfect for this purpose because the tees are elevated and command a magnificent view of blue sky, scudding clouds and the sensational shore line. (By the way, if you don't recognize the name, Fred is the fellow who shot the award-winning photograph of Tiger Woods at Augusta National that graced the cover of Sports Illustrated in April 2000.)

The only blight at the range was a sign at the corner of the range: GOLF DIGEST, OFFICIAL MAGAZINE OF THE 2003 MERCEDES CHAMPIONSHIPS. Peter Morrice, the Golf Magazine executive editor supervising the shoot, encouraged the tour players to aim for this sign as they warmed up.

A look inside the boxy Hulcher. John Garrity

Morrice, a Martin Scorsese wannabe, was responsible for getting the players to the range, positioning them for the camera, and holding a large reflector. The reflector was designed to blind the players, making them more malleable. ("A little higher, Monkey Boy," Fred said to Peter, employing one of his favorite names for upper management.) Fred's contribution was pretty much limited to kneeling behind the $7,000 Hulcher 35mm camera, a boxy apparatus that makes a noise like a meat grinder while exposing 65 frames per second. "The man who invented it, Charles Hulcher, designed it to photograph artillery shells and missiles, to see what happens when they hit a target," Fred told me. "That's what I've heard, anyway."

The film for the Hulcher comes on reels, and it only takes four golf swings to consume an entire 1,100-foot strip. That's assuming that the film feeds through all the rollers, capstans and pinchers without jamming. On two occasions, Fred had to open the camera and snip away with scissors to extract the tangle of mutilated film. When I asked how often the camera jammed, Peter cheerfully jumped in. "With Fred, it's every couple of swings." Noting Fred's baleful glare, Peter said, "Hey, Point and Click, you started with Monkey Boy!"

Vuich framing a shot. John Garrity

Confident that my presence would not disrupt this finely tuned collaboration, I snapped some swing photos of my own with a Canon Elan II and a 75-300mm autofocus zoom lens. The first player to arrive was the 2001 U.S. Open champion, Retief Goosen, who was kind enough to answer some questions about tempo while Fred wrestled with the camera. "Tempo for the top players is the most important part of the swing," Goosen said. "Good timing is where the accuracy comes from." Another player, Phil Tataurangi of New Zealand, dissented, saying, "Tempo is important, but I don't think it's the most important thing. A lot of amateurs have really bad grips."

Rich Beem, the PGA champ, said his father taught him to take the club to the top and pause a second. Jim Furyk, whose eccentric swing doesn't seem to have a top at which to pause, praised the opposite extremes of Lanny Wadkins (fast) and Payne Stewart (slow). "Payne probably was the smoothest," Furyk said. "He had the best tempo I've ever seen."

When I asked the players what they did if their tempo deserted them, they were better able to put their finger on it ... so to speak. "Whenever I get jerky, I find that I'm gripping the club too tightly," said Matt Kuchar. "A lighter grip always leads to better tempo." Furyk agreed, saying, "When I'm hitting the ball poorly I have a lot of tension in my hands, arms and shoulders. That's probably the thing that ruins my tempo the most."

Vuich, Morrice and a subject go through the motions. John Garrity

The only guy I didn't ask about tempo was Craig Perks, the colorful New Zealander who won last year's Players Championship by chipping in twice on the last three holes. Perks warmed up by smashing a drive that landed atop a grassy berm at the far end of the range, 15 yards past any other pro's effort. Morrice said, "Do you think you could hit one off the range?"

"Sure," said Perks. His next swing sent a high draw rocketing across the target field; a few seconds later, the ball dropped behind the berm into a grove of trees. To show it was no fluke, Perks hit seven or eight more balls, all of them hanging in the air for an eon and clearing the berm with ease. "I could do better," he joked, "but these are range balls."

After the shoot, I hit some balls with Fred and Peter. None of us, I'm sad to report, managed to clear the berm on the fly. Or on the bounce. But Perks had given us an excuse: "These are range balls."

Range swings, too, unfortunately.

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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