Practice makes unduly optimistic

There's my range swing. It is a smooth and rhythmic arc, with a high finish. The ball tracks into the air with a gentle draw. On the range, people ask me for help. On the range, I have been
told that I have the swing of a scratch player.

Then there's my course swing. Jerky and inconsistent, with an equal number of wormburners, bacon strips, and wicked, out of control slices.

Of course, on the range I am relaxed because I am not thinking about executing a shot. On the course, however, the shot is the thing. We stand behind the ball, look at the target, check our aim, think about hundreds of things other than just swinging the club like we do on the range.

I played yesterday- no warmup, one of those supertwilight, play until the sun goes down for cheap deals. I sucked. Hard. Because I made executing the shot the thing, and not just swinging the club. I thought that that since my swing was so composed and reliable on the range, that I must now be a better player.

Hogwash. I'm just a hacker who looks good on an astroturf mat.