Bobby Jones on the Irons in Down the Fairway

Bobby Jones spoke in the conclusion to his book Down the Fairway about his love of playing the irons. Not that he always played them well, but that seemingly every time he won a big tournament he could look back on one particular long iron shot that effectively sealed the deal for him. 

In concluding the chapter, Bobby wrote:

    "Yes--I love the irons, even if sloppy play on the second hole at Skokie was costly in the national open of 1922, and looseness at Worcester ruined me in1925. I've studied the irons a lot, and listened to many a lecture. The last one I listened to was the shortest, and it seems to have done the trick--for the time being, at any rate.

     Genius or no genius--remembering the delicate compliment of Mr. Harold Hilton--I got away fairly well in Britain with an iron play that was never really satisfactory except at Sunningdale, which was a matter so exceptional that now I feel I must have been hypnotized. At Sunningdale, with its profusion of iron shots, I had the feel of the clubs to the extent that it made it seem utterly out of the question to be off line.

     But I wasn't satisfied with the somewhat compromised style in which I was hitting the irons, and when I got home to Atlanta after the big journey of 1926 I went out and had a little talk with Stewart Maiden, who to me will always be the first Doctor of Golf. I suppose I did a little confessing.

     Stewart said: 'Let's see you hit a few.'

     I hit a few. Stewart seemed to be watching my right side. He is a man of few words.

     'Square yourself around a bit,' said he.

     I had been playing a long time with a slightly open stance, my right foot and shoulder nearer the line of the shot than the left side.

     'Move that right foot and shoulder back a bit,' said Stewart.

     I did so, taking what is called a square stance.

     'What do I do now?' I asked Stewart.

     'Knock the hell out of it!' said he, concisely.

     I did. The ball went like a ruled line.

     That is Stewart Maiden's method of teaching or coaching. In this imperfect and complicated world I have encountered nothing else as simple and direct. Stewart saw that my swing was bringing the club on the ball from outside the line of play. He didn't bother with explanations or theories--he never does. He settled on one single thing by way of adjustment. It worked. That is a prime feature of his adjustments."

How fortunate Bobby was to have a teacher like Maiden. He was a man of few words who did not believe in confusing his students with long-winded explanations or theories. He simply put them in a position to hit the ball and then told them to go ahead and knock the hell out of it. We could use a few more teachers like him these days.

Bobby goes into more detail about how he plays the irons which I will cover in my next article.

Bobby Jones on Putting: The Dying Ball

As a kid, Bobby Jones saw putting as being no mystery. He would simply walk up to the ball and knock it in the hole; or at least try to do so. As he learned that three and four footers could be missed, he began to struggle on the greens, imitating the putting styles of great putters and thinking about mechanics rather than just thinking about knocking the ball in the hole.

In his book Down the Fairway, Bobby went on to explain the one thing he learned to once again become a good putter. Bobby wrote:

    "So I worked around and imitated some other fine putters, with indifferent results, and finally, after years of suffering and tournament wrecks--I took 40 putts in one round of the national open at Columbia--I finally arrived at the conclusion which obtains as these lines are written: that the best system for me is to stroke the ball with as smooth a swing as I can manage, and try always to guage an approach putt, or any putt except the short holing-out efforts, to reach the hole with a dying ball.

     Stewart Maiden had more than once urged this plan. 'When the ball dies at the hole,' said Stewart, 'there are four doors; the ball can go in the front, the back, or at either side, wherever it touches the rim. But a ball that comes up to the hole with speed on it must hit the front door fairly in the middle; there are no side doors, and no Sunday entrance, for the putt that arrives with speed.'

     This is especially true of keen greens. On a slow green you may take more liberties with hard hitting. But on the fast greens on which most championships are played--well, there's always that specter of the three-putt green. I had three of them, that last round at St Anne's, in the British open championship of 1926. You don't forget those things, I can tell you.

     Now, here's the way I look at it. Too frequently, it seems to me, the famous old maxim of 'Never up, never in,' is made the excuse for banging the ball hard at the hole; and the player, seeing it run past three or four or half a dozen feet, consoles himself with the idea that at least he gave it a chance. And yet it isn't so much of a chance. Of course we never know but that the ball which is on line and stops short would have holed out. But we do know that the ball that ran past the hole did not hole out. That's another way of looking at it. And a putt that is struck too hard has only one way into the cup--through the middle of the front door, and then the backstop must be functioning.

     Also, there is the matter of the second putt, not one precisely to be despised.

     There is nothing--I speak from experience--in a round of either match or medal competition that bears down with quite the pressure of having continually to hole out putts of three and four feet; the kind left by overly enthusiastic approaches. For my part, I have holed more long putts when trying to reach the hole with a dying ball than by 'gobbling' or hitting hard. And if the dying ball touches the rim, it usually drops. And if it doesn't touch the rim--well, you can usually cover the hole and the ball with a hat, which makes your next putt simple and keeps down strain."

The Best Luck Bobby Jones Ever Had

Bobby Jones came to believe in predestination or fate. He understood that in order to win big championships you had to be good; but you also needed some luck. Most golfers who have competed understand this to be true.

In order to become a champion, you don't simply need luck on the golf course, you need some luck to get to the point where you are good enough to compete with the best players of your day. You need opportunity to play and practise. You need to play against other good players. And you need good role models, mentors, and/or instructors. 

As I write this, I think of Ben Hogan who, perhaps as much as any great champion, dug it out of the dirt himself. But even Ben had Byron Nelson to compete against from the time the two of them met as caddies in Texas. Without Byron, who knows how good Ben would have been.

As for Bobby Jones, the luckiest thing that ever happened to him in golf was the arrival of Stewart Maiden at East Lake from Carnoustie to replace his brother Jimmy as the professional at East Lake. In his book, Down the Fairway, Bobby wrote:

    "I wish I could say that a strange thrill shot through my skinny little bosom when I swung at a golf ball for the first time; but it wouldn't be truthful. I do not remember the first time I hit a golf ball, or hit at one; and as I recall it the game did not make much of an impression on me, except that I used to get mad enough to dance in the road when a wild shot went under a little bridge covered with briers across the ditch which was the second hole. I liked baseball much better, and played golf, or what we called golf, be ause of a dearth of boys in the neighbourhood with whom to play baseball...

     We moved back to East Lake the next summer, in 1908, and here I ought to be able to record another sensation, because soon afterward Stewart Maiden came to be professional at the club, and that was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me in golf, which is saying a lot, because my entire career, if it may be called a career, has been lucky. There were times, during what one writer called my seven lean years, when I fancied most of the luck was bad luck; but I was wrong. Some people can learn only by having education drubbed into them; and I want to say right now that I never learned anything from a match that I won. Not jntil the seven lean years were over, at any rate... But the best luck I ever had in golf was when Stewart Maiden came from Carnoustie, Scotland, to be professional at the East Lake club... there was nothing sensational about Stewart. He said very little and I couldn't understand a single word of what he said; he was not long over from Scotland...

     No-- there wasn't any sensation, any more than when I swung the first time at a golf ball. Stewart was just another little Scot, like Jimmy, only Scotcher. But it wasn't long before I was following him about the East Lake course and watching him... When I followed Stewart, I didn't carry even one club. I just watched him. I never was conscious of studying his play, or trying to play like him. I liked golf pretty well; he was the best player at the club; and I liked watching him perform. He paid little or no attention to me, and after tagging along four or five holes I would leave the match and go back to our house -- we had moved into a cottage inside the club property, right by the thirteenth green of the old course--and get a cap full of balls and my mashie and putter and go out to the thirteenth green and pitch them all on and putt them all out, over and over again. It was pretty good practice, I suppose. I liked to pitch the ball, and as I recall I could get it close to the pin with a fair consistency... Lately I have caught myself thinking about those long, sunny afternoons, pitching balls at the pin on the old thirteenth green, and I've wished I could get the ball up there as accurately now, from proportionate distances. The short pitch is the weakest spot in my game, these last few years. Maybe I've got away from Stewart Maiden's method that was so clearly before me in thise days when I had so little else to think about...

     Now, I suppose all the time I was watching Stewart play golf the imitative faculty which seems inherent in most children was at work, and that I began hitting the ball as he did, so far as my limitations would permit. Dad says I was a natural mimic in those days, and I remember he used to amuse a veranda full of people at times by inspiring me to get out on the lawn and imitate the swing of this player or that one-- usually someone in the gathering."

Bobby Jones didn't have some sort of mystical experience when he first hit a golf ball; but he was lucky enough to have Stewart Maiden to watch and imitate, and a green by his house to hone his short game skills. 

So, when you think of Bobby Jones, don't forget Stewart Maiden. Without that quiet little Scotsman, Bobby might never have become one of golf's greatest champions.

You Don't Hit the Ball With Your Backswing

Golf is a simple game that has been made extremely complicated.  Golf involves hitting a ball with a stick towards a target.  It's as simple as that.  Now, while the ball has improved significantly from the days when we used featheries, and the sticks we use are better, the game remains the same.  We are still hitting a ball with a stick towards a target.

So to be the best golfer we can be, we need to be able to pick the right target and then figure out how to hit the ball in such a way that it flies, or rolls, most consistently towards the target. One of the mistakes I think we make when trying to learn the game, particularly as adults, is that we choose as our models world-class players.  If we don't happen to be blessed with tremendous timing, dexterity, strength, and flexibility, our efforts to mimic the swings of these world-class players inevitably falls way short.

In order to hit the ball straight at our target only two things are necessary--actually I guess there are three.  At impact the clubface must be aimed at the target.  The clubface must also be moving towards the target, or along the target line, and we must strike the back of the ball.  That's it.  What happens before or after impact is of little real consequence as long as those three conditions exist.  

Regardless of the differences in the swings of all the best players, they all look pretty much the same at the moment of truth when they are striking the ball.  And yet even at impact the great players might still look slightly different.  What looks the same, however, is what the clubface is doing.  For a straight shot it is moving down the target line, it is aimed at the target, and it is striking the back of the ball.

Now this may sound simple--perhaps even too simple--but it is the truth.  Not every top player holds the club the same way.  Not every top player keeps their left, or lead, arm straight.  In fact, not every top player does anything exactly the same as every other top player except strike the ball.  Because the results, good or bad, are all down to the strike.  

That's why Bobby Jones said that during competition he focussed intensely on the strike.  He trusted his swing to take care of itself.  Bobby, like all golfers, occasionally found himself thinking about his swing.  But he had a very special teacher in Stewart Maiden to occasionally remind him of the simple truth about the game.  He told him things like, "You don't hit the ball with your backswing, laddie."

After being distracted by swing thoughts, I eventually get back to just trying to hammer an imaginary nail right into the back of the ball at the equator, straight down my target line.  When I do my ball-striking instantly improves.  My shots are much straighter.  The ball flight is more piercing.  And I have far fewer fat or thin shots.  This works just as well for chipping and putting.  It's a thought that I've seen work like a charm for others as well.  You just hammer the nail.

Why don't I hammer the nail all the time?  Because It's probably too simple, and because I'm obviously not the sharpest knife in the proverbial drawer.  I eventually get distracted and start thinking about my shoulder turn, or whether I'm bracing my right knee, or whether I'm taking a big enough backswing...  It's not very smart.  But then, no one ever accused me of being smart.