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Thursday, 24 December 2015

Bobby Jones' Father and I

Bobby Jones had, by all accounts, a wonderful relationship with his father.  The two worked together, and golfed together.  And Bobby seemed to get a kick out of his golf-crazed father.

According to Bobby, they had adjoining offices and his father was inclined to come into Bobby's office every morning with a golf club in his hand and engage his son in a discussion about the latest idea or theory he had dreamt up about golf, or the golf swing.  He was obviously a compulsive tinkerer, and Bobby humoured him by, for the most part, patiently listening to his latest ideas about the game.

I have but one thing in common with Mr Jones Sr.  I don't have a golfing prodigy for a son, to whom I can air my ideas.  I'm not a lawyer.  But I am certainly a compulsive tinkerer, who, left to my own devices, can really mess up my game trying something I've read about, or dreamt up as being a better way to swing the club.  It's a curse.

Today I arrived at the course with a plan.  I was going to patty-cake the ball, and I was going to accentuate the top hand in the swing; both ideas that have worked in the past.  However,  after necking the tee shot, and then shanking my approach shot into the trees, I made a solid double bogey.  My plan, as often is the case, was for nought.

I confessed to Steve, who had witnessed the dreadful shank, that I had been "trying something," instead of just swinging my swing and hitting the damned ball.  He just shook his head, as much as to say, "What else is new?"

From then on I managed to play with my regular swing--the swing I make if I close my eyes and just swing the club--and I played pretty decent golf.  How nice it would be to just always swing your swing; to go to the course with no plans other than to hit the ball at the target.  The sad part is, "my swing" generally serves me reasonably well if I just leave it alone.  But do you think I can leave well enough alone?  The admonition, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," seems to be lost on me.

There should be a group for guys like us--Tinkerers Anonymous.  My name is John, and I'm a tinkerer.  I guess I'll just have to try to play golf one shot at a time--like the drunks.