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Lucky 7 Posted: Wednesday March 19, 2003 12:10 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. Friday, March 14 KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- I had a plane to catch this afternoon, but nothing was going to stop me from trying out my new sticks. I drove out to Milburn Country Club before noon with my golf bag full of virgin Callaways, right out of the box. I warmed up on the range and then jumped in on the eighth tee. My first drive with my new Great Big Bertha II was a good one: long, straight, high and well past the big fairway bunker that narrows the landing area on the dogleg par-5. When I got to my ball, I kicked it into the rough. You see, I couldn't wait. I had to try out my new 7-wood. I've heard so many players (old farts, most of them) sing the praises of their lofted fairway metals. Until today, I had never actually hit a ball with one. Senior golfers and LPGA players, meanwhile, have been loading their bags with these glorified coffee stirrers -- so many, in fact, that the head-cover manufacturers have had to add extra shifts at their plants. "Long irons are dinosaurs," a club rep told me recently. "I'm giving mine to Goodwill." So there I was, in the light rough to the left of the eighth fairway. Mild breeze from behind. Two hundred and seven yards to the center of the green, which is fronted on the left by a wide, cavernous sand bunker. "Seven-wood," I said, "do your thing." And I swung. The ball jumped off the clubface and started for the flagstick. But it was a high hook, clearly destined for the bunker. But no! It cleared the bunker and stopped pin high, about 30 feet from the hole. "Cool." I dropped another ball, aimed a little more to the right, and took another swing. This time the ball flew on a slightly lower trajectory, with just a hint of draw; it seemed to lock onto the flagstick like some piece of laser-guided ordinance. The ball skirted the bunker, hit the middle of the green, and rolled gently toward the flagstick. I thought it might go in the hole, but your eyes can play tricks with you at that distance. When I got to the green, I found that the ball was a good four inches from the hole. Not as close as I had hoped, but practically a tap-in for a confident putter like myself. Thirty minutes later I repeated the 7-wood experiment on the par-4 10th hole. I dropped a ball in the fairway, 200 yards from the flag. My first effort, as before, was a slightly overcooked hook that wound up on the left collar, pin high and 15 feet from the hole. My second try, a tight draw, nearly hit the flagstick and wound up 10 feet behind the hole. "Wow." When I got home, I took the 3-iron and 4-iron out of my bag and put them in a dark corner of the garage, where my wife stores her old tiki torches and aluminum centrifuge tubes. The 7-wood I left in the bag. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Monday, March 17 NEWPORT BEACH, Calif. -- When I went to bed last night at the Marriott in Woodland Hills, I thought I was going to drive to Rancho Mirage today for a lesson with Rob Stanger. Instead, he called this morning to cancel. He said he had to fly to Phoenix to work with a teenage girl. Well, not just any teenage girl. The girl in question is 19-year-old Christina Kim, who capped off a stunning LPGA debut yesterday with a tie for fourth place at the Welch's/Fry's Championship in Tucson, Ariz. Kim, who shot a third-round 62, has been working with Rob at Mission Hills Country Club. "She called me Saturday night," Rob said, "and I tried to prepare her for the Sunday pressure. She said, 'I'll be OK. My nerves won't be that bad.' But when we talked last night, it was different. It was, 'Man, you were right. I can't believe how bad my nerves were.'" On Sunday, Kim told Rob, she could not feel what her body was doing at all. "I've been there as a player and as a coach, and those final rounds are different," Rob said. "She was lucky to even hit the ball." Kim was lucky, as well, that she didn't get a call from the FCC. As a lark, she had agreed to be miked at Tucson for the Golf Channel. ("Bad idea," Rob said, after the fact.) On Saturday she blurted a few intemperate syllables that produced an oh-dear-me reaction from the commentators and made her self-conscious for the rest of the tournament. "I personally don't see what benefit she got out of wearing that microphone," Rob said. "It had to be a distraction." Kim was second on the Futures tour money list last year, so she may be better than most at handling distractions. I was disappointed that my lesson had to be scrapped, but Kim's good fortune wasn't going to keep me from hitting some balls. I checked out of the hotel and drove down past the L.A. airport to The Lakes at El Segundo, which has one of my favorite mats-only ranges. This double-decked facility on Sepulveda Boulevard is surrounded by refinery tanks and transmission towers, but the golf course, a muni, provides a lovely buffer. The mats always seem to be in good shape. The range balls are scrubbed and dimpled. The lower deck is sheltered from the sea wind. And talk about a bargain: From 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. on weekdays you get two buckets of balls for the price of one. I didn't know about the special when I opened my wallet in the golf shop. "A large bucket," I said, thrusting seven crumpled dollar bills across the counter. The cashier gave me three tokens in return. The ball machine was out behind the range, and when I fed the first token into the slot it regurgitated range balls in a succession of dry heaves until my large bucket was almost full. One token, I found out later, was good for 70 balls. I had booked 210 balls with my $7. Having neither the time nor the energy for that kind of workout, I compromised. I hit 70 balls from the lower deck. I hit 70 balls from the upper deck. And the third token I pocketed. (I'll use it the next time I find myself at LAX with a few hours to kill.) I hit every club but the 7-wood. I didn't want to scuff it up. 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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