I, Duffer

Starting this blog back up...

2009-02-01T16:30:00.002-05:00

Because I love the game. I love the culture of the game.

I went to the Philly golf show yesterday and bought myself a $10 driver. This club originally sold for hundreds when it was released. Now, it's just a leftover, an overstock. And yet here I am, fully expecting an eight year old club to be the answer to all my prayers.

Golfers have an almost endless optimism in the ability of stuff. Even cheap, old stuff. That kind of optimism is something we can all use.

Practice makes unduly optimistic

2006-04-14T23:12:00.000-04:00

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.

Played a par 3 course...

2006-04-03T22:57:00.000-04:00

First time out for the season. Could really only afford to play a par 3 course.

Seven holes in, and my scorecard was like a sitcom phone number. As in, 555-
6347.

I did get warm on the back.

I hate this game...

2005-07-25T01:44:00.000-04:00

or does the game hate me? In the unending battle with Old Man Triple Bogey, the aged bastard came out ahead yet again. Eighteen holes at Kimberton, and I can count on one hand the number of good shots I hit- that includes the good misses.

Moreover, I got paired up with some very good players- a 5 HCP, and maybe a couple 10's. It's no fun at all to be worst player in your foursome. All it made me was more self-conscious about my game.

Maybe I should take up lawn darts.

The ball's not moving, and you have a bag full of sticks

2005-04-20T20:58:00.001-04:00

We, the golf addicted, understand that the game is hard. Opening or closing the clubface by as little as two degrees could mean the difference between 270 yards down the middle of the fairway and 180 yards out but 50 yards right. What's worse, we often cannot tell that anything is awry until we are in the fescue, picking chiggers off our legs trying to find a $0.75 Top-Flite.

So what makes it so hard? The ball, as I noted in the title to this article, is not moving. It should be easier than, say, baseball- where the ball is coming at you at 90 MPH. Yet just last week, John Kruk opined on ESPN that golf is harder- partly because he can't play it. The Kruker was a career .300 hitter, no less.

Golf is hard in part because we think it should be easy. It starts with basic concepts like par. Most people think that par is the standard, what you should shoot on a given hole. The rulebook, however, defines par as "errorless play by an expert golfer." Standing on the tee of a 430 yard par four, even the most spastic hackers think they should make par, but it is unrealistic to think that a 20-something handicap like myself can get get down in 4. Mark O'Meara maybe, but not me.

It is a game of opposites- try to crush the ball and it goes nowhere, but a nice smooth swing sends the ball miles. The harder we try to do well, the worse we play- but go out and play for pleasure, you will shoot the lowest number of your life. Golf is hard because it doesn't seem hard- the ball's not moving, and you have a bag full of sticks. It shouldn't be this difficult.

Etiquette, or Try Not To Choke The Slow Playing Bastards

2005-04-18T20:17:00.000-04:00

Played yesterday, and played very well if I say so myself. I set a personal best at one of my regular courses. I averaged less than 2 putts per hole, and I met some great guys who were just great fun to play a round with. Add in the perfect weather, and you have an amazing day.

Or at least I did on the front. Teeing off the back we stopped at the clubhouse for dogs and drinks, and got stuck behind the single slowest foursome. Ever.

How slow? Standing in the fairway waiting for them to leave the green so we could hit up, three groups were lined up on the tee behind us, including a threesome of 60-something women.

On the 11th hole. Yup, they caused a four group backup on the back nine, in two holes.

Then they had the audacity to ask us not to hit up on them.

Not believing that they could possibly be so slow, and knowing that this particular course has a reputation for slow play on the weekends, I had assumed that there was a group in front of them.

There wasn't. We had all hit up to the green at 11, and when we pulled up around the dogleg and could get a look at the next hole, I saw for the first time that there was absolutely noone ahead of them. The 12th is a par five, and it was completely deserted from tee to green.

They hadn't even teed off yet, either. We all skipped ahead to 13.

That is simply inexcusible. They each had to be taking at least double par, and marking the ball for every putt, including the two-footers. Yes, they marked and plumb bobbed two foot putts for triple bogey. You shouldn't have to rush- golf is a leisurely game, a good long walk through fescue and heather, uphill and down, through trees and sand, around ponds and along streams- but you owe it to your fellow golfers not to hold them up.

Old Man Par

2005-03-01T20:21:00.000-05:00

Undefeated since 1600. Played Bayou Oaks in New Orleans, a PGA Tour course. As one would expect, the course won. I made a few good shots, and many more bad ones. But I had a good time.

Y'know, except for the agony.

The JIg Is Up

2005-01-08T16:45:00.000-05:00

Yup- my wife found this blog. The cat is out of the bag- I've been purchasing stuff. She is... displeased. Oh well- as that philosopher/salesman said, "It is easier to ask forgiveness than permission." As I have learned, not by much.

I've been watching the event from Kapalua, and I have to say that it's good to have meaningful golf to watch again. The silly season is, well, silly. You watch one of those made for tv events and you have to wince at the names alone- "The Target World Challenge Presented by Williams." Two-count 'em- two title sponsors. Hard to take that seriously, and I already have a problem with the events that only have one sponsor.

So until I can play for real, and until I go cash in that gift card and get Tiger 2005- I guess I'm just thankful that golf is back on tv.

Baby Did Yet Another Bad, Bad Thing

2005-01-06T22:50:00.000-05:00

So there I was at the local golf retailer, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a Ben Hogan hybrid 3-iron that the simulator said I hit 250. A man with available credit and a handicap in the high 20s does not look gift equines in the mouth. No interest until May, so, WTF? I bought it.

I played this past Monday. My employer gave me that day off, and not the New Year's Eve Friday that, ummmm, everyone else got. It was okay, though. I had weather in the 50s and a course entirely to myself. The problem was that I was coming off a nasty head cold, and I should not have been out of bed. Oh well- I played until I couldn't take it anymore, which was 7 holes. On a $12 nine-holer, I didn't care.

So the first few holes were, well, really bad. A 5-iron hit off the heel, a push sliced 4-wood, a goodly number of chili-dipped approach shots. I didn't warm up until the fifth, a 145 yard par three. On a warmer day, I would have used an 8-iron, but Monday I went with a 7.

Pin high, checked up, about 18 feet from the hole. None too shabby. Missed the birdie, two putt par.

The sixth is a short (459 yard) par five. The fround was soft, and I wasn't hitting the driver particularly well, so I went with my beloved Cleveland 3-wood. About 200, just in the rough. Second shot: a 5-iron that didn't carry very far, and then took a weird kick too boot, leaving me about 120. It was a weird downhill lie in thick rough- I took out my 9-iron.

And chunked it. It rolled down the hill about 70 yards into a fairway cut collection area. There's a little creek and then a severely sloped green. I took out my lob wedge, took a couple of three-quarter practice swings until I felt it was right. Then I knocked it to eight feet. I had a tricky downhill putt that I could only barely touch. I left it about two rolls short- which was okay by me, since the slope picks up pace on the other side of the hole. I could have lost it completely.

I skipped seven and eight, and walked directly over to the ninth, which is a short par three. It looked to be about 125, which would ordinarily be a PW, but I played my nine accounting for the cooler air. I caught it thin and yanked it. I teed up another. I made solid contact on the sweet spot, but it flew the back. Nine was too much. Trust my yardage.

I looked down at the tee- completely untouched, with a clean, thin divot about an inch in front, just like they say you ought to.

I teed up another, and used my wedge. It took off high and straight at the pin. It came down about eight feet above the pin, and then it spun back to pin high, coming to rest about four feet left of the hole. I had never managed to spin a shot like that- I'm still amazed. I felt like a tour pro. We mere mortals can't spin shots like that- we shoot low and run up to the hole. This was something else.

Then I missed the putt. Augh. Can't get ahead, can I?

Somehow, I Got Old

2005-01-01T11:24:00.000-05:00

After nursing a cold for the better part of a week, I celebrated New Years Eve the way I imagine they do in our finer nursing homes- with a couple Tylenol Cold Nighttime, and a 10:30 bedtime. Now, I am sitting in my easy chair with the Rose Bowl Parade on TV and a heat pack on my back, trying to work out a knot. It can only be a short trip to the early bird special at the Old Country Buffet from here.

The Golf Channel makes me feel no younger- it's a special on Arnie. Great. The man whose greatest achievements occurred mostly before I was born. Fifty years of muscular, restricted swings. When I first started playing, it was actually Arnie's swing that I tried to emulate, thinking (not unreasonably) that since it was Arnie's swing, it must have the swing. Thank God I was born in the days before Furyk.

So there I was, 20 or so, never played an actual course nor taken a lesson and only ever taken full swings on a range a few time, suddenly gifted with third- or fourth-hand Spaldings (blades and persimmon, of course- thankfully not hickory shafted). I went to the Rutgers course after class one day, and as befits someone who is secretly a dandy (in the Victorian sense, thank you), I put on very nice khakis and a button down shirt, a la the 1920s (no tie or vest, which is something of a shame, it's a very dapper look). No one who actually had played golf before thought to tell me that I should take a full backswing or follow through; not that it mattered, I would probably have reposponded "Well, my swing is naturally like Arnie's."

Pretense- I never outgrew that.

(ish)

2004-12-31T18:30:00.000-05:00

I am inveterate. It was a nice, warm(ish) day today. I, however, was working.

Driving home, I could see from the overlook that people were, in fact, playing at Ingleside. It’s a short course with a linksy feel, par 68, but with two legit par fives, elevation changes, and a couple of extremely tricky greens. It’s also where I broke 100 for the first time after getting on the Tour Tempo plan. During the summer, it’s a nice place to sneak in nine after work, because it’s halfway home. You wouldn’t exactly make a special trip to play it, but if you were in the neighborhood, you might give it a go.

Anyway, there I am at Slick’s office with a rather pathetic assortment of petty miscreants, when outside the sun is shining, the wind is quiet, and the grass thin and wispy as it is in the winter. All I could think was, “I could be golfing right now.”

I have Monday off, and it should be simlarly nice out. If so, I will play- maybe. There’s so much going on these days. Dad is sick. The car is in the shop (and needs to be picked up). I have to spank it into a cup. I have a fairly nasty cold. So much more than golf.

On the other hand, I have a fair bit of confidence right now. Spent some time in the simulator at Golf Galaxy, and I was consistently hitting the ball long(ish) and straight(ish), meaning just enough that I could play a second shot. I really feel that I will get my average into the 90s, and maybe even shoot in the 80s at some point.

I also have to get some practice in. In February, I will be going to New Orleans and will play Bayou Oaks. It’s the perfect course- a cheap ($20!!!) city park course, that’s hosted PGA Tour events. I will need to be up on my game if I hope to survive that course with my handicap intact. On the other hand, I’m in N’awlins and I only spent $20 to play golf, so I can drink pretty hard. Hopefully in celebration, but I’ll drink for consolation too.

Anyway, it’s New Years Eve, and I’m home alone, in my jammies, watching the Liberty Bowl (a pretty good game, actually). I’m nursing a cold, so I don’t think I’ll be partying later. And yet, all I can think is, “I could go golfing...”

I am inveterate.

Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing

2004-12-29T20:11:00.000-05:00

Home from work, Day 2 of some kind of respiratory infection, and bored to tears. Around lunchtime I went out for food, and, well to get out for a little bit. I found myself walking into Golf Galaxy.

I walked over to the used clubs, and spotted a Nike 4-wood (17*, stiff shaft). I held it in my hands, and the club felt balanced and light. I stepped into the simulator. First swing, 236 straight. Second swing, 220-ish, slight draw. I took a few more swings, and aside from the occasional mishit (popup, dead pull), they were all in that range.

An associate spied me, clearly in deep contemplation over the club. Thinking he could hit me with the forced choice he asked, "Will you need a headcover for that?"

"I'm not sure that I'll be buying it yet. I have a wife to report to."

"It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission." Clearly he'd heard that before. The quasi-philosophical nature of the sales pitch put me over the top.

"Yeah, I need a headcover."

It was only fifty bucks, and besides- she doesn't see all my credit card statements.

Exclusive Clubs- A Lateral Hazard

2004-12-27T21:09:00.000-05:00

All day long, when I wasn't idling in front of my computer at work suffering through the onset of a cold, or shivering from the chill that lingered after a holiday weekend when the thermostat was cut back to keep the bills down, I dreamed of golf. It is absurd, my devotion to a game I freely admit I suck at. Few things bring me such pleasure, though.

We are planning a long weekend in February to New Orleans, and I plan to get at least one round in at Bayou Oaks (preferably the West Course, which has hosted PGA Tour events). It's a city park, so it's cheap- how's twenty bucks, is that cheap enough for ya?

It's a misconception that golf is an elitist, exclusive sport. Certainly some clubs have a history of exclusion, but the truth is that the game is a game of the people. My favorite place to play (not my favorite course, by any stretch of the imagination) has a bar that serves draught beer in plastic cups. Elite? Hardly

My darling wife once asked me, "If you could afford to join Merion, would you?"

I thought deeply, took a breath, and said, "No." Of course, I didn't tell her that what I was thinking, "If I could afford to join Merion, I would join Baltusrol." Ever the Jerseyan.

The simple fact is that people don't play the game because some clubs are hard to join; people play because it's fun. Make more courses available to more people, and they will play.

Boxing Day 2004

2004-12-26T18:50:00.000-05:00

These are the darkest days for the unrepentant golfer. I’ve dug holes into my basement carpeting with a MacGregor wedge “practicing” my swing, as well as one can with a seven foot ceiling. Foam practice balls driven into the wall. Putts into a plastic hole (the carpet breaks left- take a line about six inches wide, and it’s faster than it looks).
I surf golf web sites. I idle away time in golf stores. I watch Golf Channel coverage of the Asian Tour, all for want of a club in my hands, and soft bentgrass under my feet.
Having just been gifted with some wonderful things (including the iBook I am using to write this), I find it somehow not good enough. I want a driver, a five wood, new irons, and lessons. Really, the only clubs I feel confident with are my spoon (a Cleveland three wood I got from my father, which I can hit about 260, and straight as a pin) and my putter (twenty bucks used, go fig).
Golf is a Zen koan- the object is to be the least imperfect player around you, knowing that perfection is impossible. It is a game of opposites- to hit the ball far you must hit the ball hard; but if you try to hit the ball hard you will not hit the ball far. The equipment I so unabashedly covet will not likely help me play the game- it is just another impediment to overcome.
Why covet, you may ask? Because improvement in golf is so hard to achieve that you think making a change- any change- will help. Some invariably do, as when I practiced my swing tempo, focusing on rhythm as opposed to mechanics. Some do not help at all (my belly putter comes to mind). Actual improvement does not come from a change in clubs, or balls, or a lucky hat- it does not even come from practice. It comes from within.
This is principally why I golf as often as I do. It triggers that part of my brain that has lain dormant since my childhood days, when I felt deeply the call of the priesthood and the serenity of an unquestioning believer. Golf makes me a better person, the way I used to think that The Church did (capital T, capital C- ever the Catholic). Golf reminds me how imperfect I am; it also reminds me how greatly capable I am, as when I cut a five wood hard around a tree from 190 yards to about eight feet from the pin (missed the birdie, of course, because golf reminds me how imperfect I am ).
Golf gives me a chance to commune with the divine, as God is never nearer than when you are staring down a 175 yard carry over water with no obvious bailout. The shot is within you- you just have to get it out of you. No matter what you may think, getting it out of you has little to do with your clubs, your hands, or your hip turn. To make that shot, stop thinking about how to make the shot. That is nothing short of a leap of faith. A Zen koan, a parable of Jesus.
I do my best thinking on the course. Keeping my body focused on the game allows my mind to focus on other things. I never think about sex while golfing. I do think about work, about art, and about life. This would probably shock my coworkers, as well as most of my friends, who think that sex is on my brain all the time. Not while golfing- the physical being is too busy to interrupt the mind with low concerns.