There's nothing like a ball well struck

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, Feb. 25

KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- Your range rat has the soul of a poet. He's Nicolas Cage in Captain Corelli's Mandolin, wooing Penelope Cruz with nightsong and firelight. He's Cyrano at the garden wall, plucking sweet nothings from the air while trampling the cabbages. Sometimes your range rat seems to find his true voice. Just as often he drops to the ground and rolls into a bad lie, a mere club length from delirium.

Consider the words of Roy Mengot of Plano, Texas. Mengot wrote in recently to share his experience at a place in nearby Richardson called The Practice Tee. "It's a good facility with a lighted range," Mengot reports, "and I was out there working on my woods as a big, fat, yellow, full moon was rising. The range faces east, and I found that by hitting my 7-iron I could put the ball right across the face of the moon and fade it into darkness. A good 8-iron would loop over the top of the moon. I forgot about the practice greens and finished my bucket playing tag with the moon."

Exhibit 2, also from the Dallas area, is an e-mail from Barry Johnson of Arlington, who says he continues to visit that city's Family Golf Center even though it closed in 2002. "Despite the imposing fence installed by the bankruptcy trustee, I find that I can park behind the Mexican restaurant next door and slip onto the range through a small gap between the fence and the ball net. (Picture a portly, middle-aged man in golf shoes doing this with a golf bag.) After a trip to the local golf store for 200 certified range balls, I'm in business -- even though my range is not. I go at dusk, as the sun settles on the horizon. And since nobody's around, I can treat the three target greens as my own private course."

Johnson concedes that his range is less than second-rate, but he doesn't really care. "As the sun goes down, I head back to the clubhouse. I sit outside, leaning against the plywood that now covers the picture windows, and watch the last rays disappear. At last, under cover of darkness, I carefully slither out of my little hole in the fence."

And then you have those who are still looking for the hole in the fence, like Dwin Craig of Frederick, Md. "Make your own grass," Craig writes. "Not smoking type. Buy 1-foot squares of sample carpets. Pick out different thicknesses to represent different grass heights. Use some pegs to anchor carpet to mat, or see how far you can hit carpet. Good luck."

Right.

Let's turn to old business. Anders Kolstrom of Falkenberg, Sweden, read about my visit last fall to the Katrineholms Golfklubb. He writes, "The sign on the driving range meant, as you probably already know, 'It is absolutely forbidden to pick range balls.'" He adds, "If you come to Sweden again, you should try the range at my home club on the west coast. If you are able to knock those balls more than 200 yards, you'll be lucky."

In a similar, if warmer, vein, Ken Ige of Kailua, Hawaii, references my January visit to the fancy-pants practice range at Maui Lani. "Still wanna slum?" he asks. "Check out the Bayview Golf Club range in Kaneohe, Oahu. It's warped-mats-only, $4 per 70-ball bucket, and the balls have the complexion of slightly worn lava rocks. A two-level deck faces a bare dirt field with AstroTurf greens. And the bonus: Painted tires!

"Actually, I love it," Ige adds. "The workers are friendly and helpful, and it is rarely crowded."

Alan Jang of Livermore, Calif., is also in a gracious mood. He writes, "'... the balls, like aging ingenues, are losing their dimples.' I love that line! Thanks for so eloquently communicating the external strife that goes with the search for the inner calm that is a golf ball well struck."

Tony Muldoon of London wants points for his golf balls well struck. "In one of your articles you mentioned a range where they had targets that lit up," he writes. "Has anybody told you about a new idea over here called Top Golf? The balls are 'microchipped' and there are targets from 25 to 240 yards. A computer screen gives you feedback, and scoring is based on how close to the center of the target you hit. It's a very slick venture, but I hope one opens near me."

And I hope one opens near me. To learn more, visit www.topgolf.co.uk.

Finally, cartoonist/inventor Mark Bolton of Charleston, S.C., sends an interesting e-mail, to which he attaches this wry postscript: "If you find my swing while looking for yours, please send it to me freight collect."

Oh, there is one last e-mail. It's from The Head Nut at the Golf Nuts Society (www.golfnuts.com), who gently breaks the news that one of his members, Bob "Captain Hook" Scavetta, has recommended me for some sort of outreach program. "Bob is convinced that we can be of assistance to you in your search for the Secret," writes The Head Nut. "We are so good at discovering the Secret that nearly every one of us discovers it at least once a round." He signs off, "Forever Nuts."

Thanks, H.N. It's good to know that Roy Mengot and I aren't the only ones playing tag with the moon.

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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