Struggles

There are a lot of promises made by unscrupulous and dishonest golf teachers and club manufacturers. If you were to believe the hype, you could find yourself very disappointed by the fact that the new club didn't have you hitting it thirty yards farther off the tee, or dead straight every time; or buying that video didn't make you capable of never slicing. Golf isn't like that. If it sounds too good to be true, it's because it is.

Bobby Jones was the greatest player of his generation--and perhaps of all time. And he had some really valuable observations and advice for all golfers. He saw no virtue in trying to develop the mythical repeating golf swing because he knew it didn't exist. He didn't believe in golfers trying to break the golf swing down, or trying to swing the club according to Hoyle because he knew the secret was in the strike--not the swing.

Bobby Jones understood that golf was a game of struggles. He understood that champions were champions because of their ability to deal with the inevitable struggles that every round brought. He believed in being determined, and resourceful, in dealing with troubles, and said he won championships because he tried harder and was wiling to take more punishment than his opponents--not because he had managed to groove the perfect swing.

Bobby finally learned, still as a young man, that perfection simply wasn't attainable in golf. You simply will never hit it dead solid perfect every time no matter what equipment you buy, or how long you labour on the practice tee. He said that he played his best no more than six times a year; and in those best rounds he would hit no more than six shots--other than putts--exactly as planned. And he was the greatest player of his time. 

If we believe Bobby Jones--and we should--we should accept and be prepared for trouble in every round; and we should not be disappointed on the days when we have more trouble than normal. With that mindset, coupled with the resolve to never give up, we can be the best golfer we can be. Or, we can buy the latest club, or video, that promises us the world. It's really up to us.

Teach Golf as it is Learned

So many golfers, myself included, spend an inordinate amount of their time focussing on their swing. This search for mechanical excellence never seems to end for many of us when it is quite possible that many of us would be better off learning to play with what we have. 

In his book, Golf is my Game, Bobby Jones wrote about the state of the game in his day. About teaching, he wrote:

    "It seems obvious to me that writing about the golf swing has become too technical and complicated, and even the most earnest teaching professional presents the game to his pupil as a far more difficult thing than it really is. It is equally obvious that what the game needs most if it is to grow in popularity is a simplification of teaching routines which will present a less formidable aspect to the beginner, and offer the average player a rosier prospect of improvement.

    The trouble could be, and I think it is, that golf is not taught as it is learned. It is taught more as a science or as a prescribed set of calisthenic exercises, whereas it is learned as a game."

Today, we still see the vast majority of teachers focussing on helping golfers improve their golf swing, as though this was the way for them to improve as players. To some extent, I suppose, they are giving golfers what they think they want or need; namely a path to a sound, conventional golf swing. And Bobby said he would never discourage anyone from pursuing that goal with a qualified teacher.

There is, however, often a problem with this approach--this swing focussed approach to learning golf. Bobby Jones wrote: 

    "It is folly for either teacher or pupil to expect that any swing can be perfected in an afternoon, a week, or even a season. It is significant that Stewart (Stewart Maiden, Bobby's teacher) did not try to fill my head with theories. He merely put me in a position to hit the ball and then told me to go on and hit it."

Bobby Jones believed that you learned to play golf by playing it. Sounds obvious, but if we examine what is happening today, we might wonder. Bobby wrote:

    "I have always said that I won more golf tournaments because I tried harder than anyone else and was willing to take more punishment than the others. More immodestly, I will say now that I think a large factor in my winning was a greater resourcefulness in coping with unusual situations and in recovering from or retrieving mistakes."

Bobby credited his success to his ability to play the game, not on a perfect, repeating golf swing--something he believed was impossible to obtain. And I think teachers who really want to see their students improve would do well to emphasize the playing of the game over the swinging of the club. At every level we see golfers with unorthodox swings beating golfers with textbook swings. Why? Because they play the game better.

While I am not a teacher, I have seen players I've attempted to help make improvements in their game by working, not on their swings, but on course management, learning to play bunker shots, and choosing the right clubs and shots when they find themselves in trouble, or when they are around the green. Golf is a game. It is best learned, as Bobby Jones said, by playing it.

Try Harder

Bobby Jones identified these two things that he felt made him able to win championships. In his wonderful book, Golf is my Game, Bobby wrote: 

    "I have always said that I won golf tournaments because I tried harder than anyone else and was willing to take more punishment than the others." 

Sometimes great golfers can make the game look easy. They can appear relaxed and maybe even casual as they go about their business. But the great players all try the hardest. They refuse to give up, or to take shots for granted. They realize that one shot played carelessly can cost them a tournament. 

Now, if I'm being honest, I don't think I've ever played eighteen holes of golf where I gave every shot my full attention. I've come close, but if you've ever tried it, it's hard work to concentrate that hard and maintain your intensity on every shot for 18 holes of golf. And where you tend to have the let-downs are when you have what appears to be a relatively simple shot. It's easy to focus and try hard on the tough shots. So, trying hard is a key element in becoming a good golfer. Golf, as Bobby Jones once pointed out, is not a game to be played impetuously. You've got to try on every shot; whether it's for birdie or double bogey.

And golf does punish you. The other day I played with Steve, Levi, and Justin. Justin and I were teamed up and I started with three doubles in a row. In fact, I played the first nine holes without making a single par, shooting 49. I cannot remember the last time I shot 49 for nine holes. Needless to say, Justin wasn't overly thrilled to have me as a partner. Not only that, but I had only brought one pain pill which I had taken at the start of the front nine. These days, with my back issues, I tend to require a hydromorphone every six holes to get around without being in agony. 

So, after nine holes I felt well and truly punished. If ever a man felt like quitting it was me. But, as I drove to the eleventh tee after finally making a par on ten, I told Levi that, while I really wanted to just quit, I was going to keep trying. I was bound and determined to just keep on hitting it, no matter what happened, which was Harry Vardon's advice to Bobby Jones--the best advice Bobby felt he'd ever received. Suffice it to say, not giving up worked, and I came home in 37. And, Justin and I actually came back and won the match.

Golf is a lot like life. You never know what can happen if you just keep trying and refuse to give up. So trying hard and being willing to endure the punishment--the trials and tribulations this game can put you through--is the first key to winning golf. In my next article, I'll write about what Bobby Jones felt was the second key to great golf.

Bobby Jones on Match and Medal Play

Bobby Jones figured he was better at medal, or stroke, play than he was at match play. But he learned, over time, to be a master at both forms of competition. There is definitely a difference between the two, and I tend to find that Bobby's experience was similar to my own. Medal play was, and still is, harder on my nerves.

Consider what Bobby Jones wrote on the subject in his book, Golf is my Game:

    "I was very acutely aware that my mental attitude and nervous attunement towards the two forms of competition were quite different. I was nervous before a match, but it was more an eager sort of nervousness or impatience to go out and see who could hit harder and make the most birdies. Before a medal round my nerves would be even more tightly wound, but the eagerness gave way to apprehension and caution. I always had that hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my concern was to get the agony over, rather than to have the conflict started. I never had any sensation of fear before a match, but more of it than anything else before a medal round."

Funny, as I read this, I realize that I have generally been the same way. In match play, my nervousness is more like it was playing other sports. It is more anxiousness about just wanting to get out there and see if I can beat the other guy. But in medal play, I am always more nervous. I know that hollow, sick feeling in the stomach that Bobby wrote about.

But the interesting thing for Bobby was that he became better at match play by learning to view it differently. He wrote:

    "I suppose I never became as good at match play as at medal, but I did make progress in the former department by the ultimate achievement of the realization that, after all, a round of golf in either form was still a complete structure to be built up hole by hole, that restraint and patience paid off in either form, and that consistent pressure would subdue an opponent just as effectively as an opening salvo of birdies.

     It was not precisely playing the card or against 'Old Man Par' hole by hole. It amounted more nearly to setting out in complete detachment from surrounding circumstances to produce a fine round of golf. An opponent might do some damage at one stage or another, but he was not likely to surpass the entire production."

For me there are some terrific things to learn from Bobby's words. First, even the great players are anxious and nervous, even fearful, before a round of golf. So, I guess it's not a sign of weakness if it happens to me. Secondly, in any form of golf, we have to be patient, and we have to be detached from the surrounding crcumstances, such as how our opponent might be playing, or a bad break we might have suffered, or how we might be hitting the ball on the first few holes. We have to learn to view every round of golf as "a complete structure to be built up hole by hole." I love that analogy. We need to set out every time we play to try to build a fine round of golf. And that round is played one shot and one hole at a time. 

Rome wasn't built in a day. And a round if golf is not completed until the last putt drops, or us conceded. A hot start can end badly, and a poor start can end well. My best round of 65 started with a shaky par on the first and a clumsy bogey on the second hole. You just have to be patient, and sometimes good things can and will happen.

Bobby Jones on How to Take Strokes Off Your Game

Bobby Jones did discuss the golf swing. In part, I guess, because the golf swing seems to be a consuming interest for most players and teachers alike. But he wasn't at all convinced that anything he said about the golf swing was going to be particularly helpful to the average golfer. 

But Bobby Jones did believe there was one area where he could definitely help; and that was with respect to the short game. Consider what he had to say in his book, Golf is my Game:

    "When I try to tell a person something about how to swing a golf club, I am never quite certain that I am really helping him a great deal. But when I am on this particular subject (the short game) I know I can give sound advice which anyone can apply, to take strokes off his score and add to his enjoyment of golf.

     The main idea in the short play is to give yourself the benefit of all percentages. Never try to be unnecessarily fancy. Wherever possible, select a club which will permit the shot to be played in a straightforward manner and which will make all use possible of the most carefully prepared part of the golf course--the putting surface itself.

     As must inevitably follow from the above, do not for one moment entertain the notion of playing all short approaches with one club. A chipper or run-up club has no place in today's limited set.

     The rule to follow is this. Aim to pitch the ball in the air by only a safe margin on to the nearest edge of the putting surface, and strike it in a manner which will insure that it will take a full, normal roll--that is, without abnormal spin.

     If your ball lies a foot or two off the putting surface on what would be called the 'apron' of the green, use a number three iron and loft it just over the bit of apron on to the putting surface. The shot becomes only a long putt. From a few feet farther back you would use a five iron, and so on, but the shot would be the same. In any case, you are playing for the best possible average of results and not trying for anything spectacular. If you can consistently leave your chips within a radius of four to six feet from the hole, you won't suffer too much in the average golf game.

     All this may sound pretty simple and obvious, but even in select company I have seen departures from it which proved costly... One other rule should be definitely made for the average golfer. Let him never take his sand wedge (or 60 degree wedge) from his bag except when his ball is in sand, or in such heavy grass that a prayerful escape is the ultimate hope. The pros do wonders pitching with the wedge, but the extreme loft and extra weight cause it to be a treacherous club in the hands of an inexpert player. It is so easy with it to leave a ball sitting or to top it into Tiger country beyond the green."

Bobby Jones believed in the virtue of simplicity and practicality when it came to golf. Perhaps that's why he is my favourite teacher, who declined to consider himself a teacher. He never forgot that golf was ultimately about shooting the lowest score. Being fancy, or looking pretty, was never something he cared much about. This advice about short game alone could save many average golfers four to five shots a round; especially if they are average golfers who like to use their 60 degree wedge around the green.

I am probably not in what Bobby would call the average class of golfer, but even in my game I have found that not just automatically reaching for my 58 degree wedge around the greens--which was something I did for years--has helped my short game. I holed out the other day from the apron to a hole about forty feet away using an 8 iron. I left a couple of other chips stone dead using the same club. A few years ago, I wouldn't have even considered that sort of shot. I preferred the fancy shots.

A Little Less Ambition

Bobby Jones had to have been an old soul. He seems to me, when reading his books, to have been wise beyond his years. He wrote Down the Fairway at the ripe old age of twenty five. Now it is true that by then he had already been competing at the highest level for eleven years and had plenty of battle scars, but his wisdom and insight is amazing for such a young man; speaking as an old fart who still seems to be learning about this game.

One of the things I love to do, when I'm not playing golf, is to grab one of Bobby's books and just flip it open to any page and see what pearl of wisdom I can find. I'm rarely disappointed. In this case, I turned to Bobby's opening comments in Down the Fairway, in his chapter entitled "Miscellaneous Shots--and Trouble." If I wanted to, I couldn't imagine a better way to sum up the problems and issues facing the average golfer when he finds himself in trouble on the golf course. Consider what Bobby wrote:

    "As a general proposition I fancy it might be laid down that the main object of a trouble shot in golf is to get out of trouble. This conclusion is not so obvious as at first it may appear, especially in the case of the average golfer, or worse. In that case, the object, or it might be better called the perilous ambition, is not only to get out of trouble but also to achieve a shot the equivalent of that which might have been made had the element of trouble not been injected.

     He wants to get there, anyhow.

     Now this ambition is in a way laudable, and at times it is grimly necessary to execute a shot which will minimize the punishment for getting in trouble. But it should always be borne in mind that, if a brilliant recovery be needed, it is far more feasible to make this brilliant effort after getting the ball back into a thoroughly playable position.

     Now, I can speak with considerable feeling, if not with authority, on this point. The greatest improvement in my game in the last five years has been a growing disposition for calculating a difficult situation, and an increasing distaste for the taking of reckless chances. In the old days, furious with myself for the missed shot that had incurred the trouble, I was quite ready without further consideration to go up to the ball and put my back into a shot designed without delay to take up the slack. Now, I figure the chances a bit--sometimes."

Is it just me, or is this not, in a nutshell, one of the biggest problems faced by average golfers, or worse? They simply don't use their heads; and they lack sufficient self-control and patience when faced with trouble. They too often, as my old father liked to say, let one bad shot beget another.

Yesterday Levi, Justin and I were enjoying a really good round--for us. On number eight, I was either even par, or one under, and Justin was about the same. Levi was struggling a bit to keep up, but he was only a few shots back. Levi, as has been happening too often on eight this year for him, pulled his tee shot through the tree guarding the left off the tee, and narrowly missed going in the pond.

Finding himself safe, but in pretty thick rough, Levi hauled out a hybrid and took an almighty swipe at the ball. He almost missed it altogether and duffed it straight left into the hazard. He was disgusted. He had narrowly escaped going in the pond off the tee; but then, by being overly ambitious, ended up there anyway. We talked about it afterwards and he admitted that, from that thick lie, he wasn't getting anywhere near the green anyway. He agreed that he should have just taken his medecine and hit a "Sammy." 

I had read a book by Sam Snead where he recommended the eight iron as the ideal club to use to extricate yourself from the rough. And we've tried it this year with great success. That's why we call it a "Sammy." The eight iron seems to give you enough loft to get out of thick rough and still gives you some good distance. An eight iron, in this case, would have easily got Levi within 120 yards of the green on this par five, had he elected to use it. Instead, he made double or worse.

Levi's is just the first example that came to mind to highlight what Bobby Jones was talking about. I've got many similar stories where I was the one trying for too much when I found myself jn trouble. We see this same scenario played out every time we play; and too often in our own game. A little less ambition, when getting out of trouble, is probably one of the best recommendations that could ever be made to help the average player. And it's something that was key in helping Bobby Jones get to the next level and finally begin winning the big ones. 

Down and Through

All you have to do is watch a professional golf tournament to know that there are many effective ways to swing a golf club. I keep saying it because it's true. You may see it more when watching the Champions Tour players, but even on the main tour when you watch Sergio, Jon Rahm, DJ, and Spieth--to name but four--swing the club, it is painfully obvious that there are more than just one way to get the job done properly. 

Bobby Jones asserted that most players of his day probably never even considered their swing, or if indeed there was a "golf swing" at all, until after they had become very good at the game. They thought of the game of golf as hitting a golf ball, not swinging a golf club. And, quite frankly, I think most of us would be much better off if we looked at the game the same way. After all, the golf ball couldn't give a hoot about what your swing looked like. The ball only cares about how it's struck.

That being said, there is one thing about the golf swing that was once considered very important but seems to be often over-looked in modern teaching. My favourite teacher, though he never called himself a teacher, Bobby Jones, wrote about it in his book Down the Fairway. He wrote:

    "Whenever I could get the feel that I was pulling the club down and through the stroke with the left arm--indeed, as if I were hitting the shot with the left hand--it seemed impossible to get much off line. Curious thing. The older school of professionals always insisted the golf stroke was a left-hand strike, you know."

The only lesson I ever had, as a boy in England, amounted to the pro having me hit shots with just my left hand. He never bothered to explain why this was important, and I quickly forgot it. Later, when I got tendonitis in my right elbow and could barely hold the club with my right hand, I was forced to play this way, essentially hitting shots using my left hand and arm. I played some of my best golf that way. It's a lesson I keep having to remind myself of.

The old teachers knew that, for right-handed golfers, the golf swing was a left-handed strike. It may not be the the secret to the golf swing. But it is one of the secrets to the golf swing. If you haven't tried it, why not try hitting shots with just your left hand. And try to feel you are pulling the club "down and through" with your left hand and arm. It worked for Bobby Jones, Sam Snead, Byron Nelson, Moe Norman, Jack Nicklaus...

What Are You Working On?

One great player--I think it was Henry Cotton--said that all you had to do was watch any top group of golfers tee off to understand that there is no "correct" golf swing. All the top players have individualized swings. Their swings are as unique to them as their signature. 

I was watching the top contenders in the FedEx playoff this past week and it really struck home. You had Leishman's upright swing. Then there was Rickie Fowler's flatter, but not as flat as it used to be, swing. And then you had Jason Day's swing. All very different; and all very effective. So which of those swings would you teach? The answer is probably none of them; or maybe all of them. 

Now there are some players out there with "cookie-cutter" swings that show that the player was likely well-coached in his or her formative years. And those swings are sound, and generally pleasing to the eye. But since the top players all seem to have easily identifiable swings, unique to them, it begs the question why so much time and energy is spent by teachers trying to teach people how to swing a golf club. 

There is, according to Bobby Jones, virtue in a sound swing from a mechanical standpoint. A player with a mechanically sound swing will play more consistently. But Bobby Jones understood that it was the strike that really mattered. The only thing the golf ball reacts to is the speed, angle and path of the clubface at impact. The golf ball is no respecter of swings. It doesn't care if your swing is short or long. It doesn't favour a slow, smooth swing over a quick one. It doesn't prefer a flat swing over an upright one. It only cares about how it is struck.

So why do we all worry so much about our swing? There are no points given for looking good in golf. All that matters is that we learn to strike the ball in such a way as to make it bend to our wishes. Now, we can start the game as kids and learn by trial and error how to strike the ball correctly; or we can learn how to properly strike a golf ball to produce the various shots by watching better players or teachers. Bobby Jones said that he learned different shots by watching other players strike the ball. He said he didn't watch their swing. He zoomed in on the strike.

Try watching the way the good players strike the ball next time, instead of watching their swing. It's really quite instructive. Bobby Jones said he never once heard his teacher, Stewart Maiden, discuss the golf swing. He said Maiden just helped a student develop a good grip, helped them get in a good position to hit the ball; and then he just told them to go ahead and hit it. 

Stewart Maiden was all business. He believed that golf was not about swinging a club. He believed it was about striking a ball from the tee towards the hole. When Bobby was worrying about his backswing, Maiden told him, "You donnae hit the ball wi' yer backswing, laddie." 

I'm amazed at how often I see people on the range, or even on the golf course, fussing over their takeaway, or their backswing. Bobby Jones aptly pointed out that the whole purpose of the backswing was to get us in a position where we feel most capable of striking the ball in the intended manner. It always boiled down to the strike for Bobby.

So, if you are tired of "working" on your swing and not seeing the improvement you are hoping for, why not try learning to strike the ball more effectively. The single most important lesson Bobby Jones ever gave was on that subject. He believed that the material he provided in that chapter could literally transform your game overnight. I've covered it in my featured article, entitled "The Wisdom of Bobby Jones: Striking the Ball."

Bobby Jones on the Grip

I wrote yesterday about how important Henry Cotton felt the hands were to playing good golf. Bobby Jones also felt this way. I was just reading Golf is my Game, where Bobby talks about the grip and provides some interesting insight. He wrote:

    "I like to think of a golf club as a mass attached to my hands by a weightless but rigid connector, and I like to feel that I am throwing the clubhead at the ball with much the same motion I should use in cracking a whip. By this simile I mean to convey the idea of a supple, lightning-quick action of the hands.

     Stiff or wooden wrists shorten the backswing and otherwise destroy the feel of the clubhead. Without the supple connection of relaxed and active wrist joints and a delicate, sensitive grip, the golf club, which has been so carefully weighted and balanced, might just as well be a broom handle with nothing on the end. The clubhead cannot be swung unless it can be felt on the end of the shaft.

     I have seen numbers of players who take hold of the club as though it was a venomous snake and they were in imminent peril of being bitten. A tight grip necessarily tenses all the muscles and tendons of the wrists and forearm so that any degree of flexibility is impossible.

     The only way I know of achieving a relaxed grip which will at the same time retain adequate control of the club is to actuate the club and hold it mainly by the three smaller fingers of the left hand. If the control is at this point, the club can be restrained against considerable force, and yet the wrist joints retain complete flexibility.

     The great fault in the average golfer's conception of his stroke is that he considers the shaft of the club as a means of transmitting actual physical force to the ball, whereas it is in reality merely the means of imparting velocity to the clubhead. We would all do better if we could only realize that the length of the drive depends not upon brute force applied, but upon the speed of the clubhead. It is a matter of well-timed acceleration rather than physical effort of the kind that bends crow-bars and lifts heavy weights.

     My prescription is, therefore, only that the club be held mainly in the three smaller fingers of the left hand, and that the shaft should be laid across the middle joint of the index finger of this hand. The remainder of the gripping should be done as lightly as possible, exerting pressure upon the shaft only as this becomes necessary in order to move or restrain the club.

     Let it be known right here that many acceptable golf shots and drives of good length can be produced by players who have nothing more than active hands and a good sense of timing. These players will never achieve the consistency nor the extremes in length attainable by the expert with good form, but they will, nevertheless, be able to get a lot of fun out playing golf."

There are some really valuable ideas presented here by Bobby Jones. The idea of gripping the club in such a way as to be able to feel the clubhead is something so many of us miss as we put a deathgrip on the club. This, followed by the importance of understanding that the shaft of the club is the means by which we provide speed to the clubhead, rather than the means to transmit force to the ball, can't help but improve our ballstriking. How many times haven't I been guilty as charged of trying to use the shaft of the club to apply force to the ball. It's really the caveman approach to golf. Swinging the club as Lee Trevino once said, "like a caveman killing his lunch."

I remember playing with Bob on the seventeenth hole and asking him whether he could feel the clubhead when he was swinging. His answer was an emphatic "Nope." Watch a good player hold the club. Notice how relaxed his hands are, and how loose and supple his hands and wrists are. A grip like that allows them to swing that clubhead and really crack the whip. We have well-designed and weighted golf clubs. But weighting and design mean very little if we don't make use of the clubhead; if we continue to swing the shaft at the ball instead of the clubhead.

I know, as I search for ways to overcome the difficulties imposed by my back issues, that I am going to be more conscious of my hands. With nothing more than good use of my hands, I think I might just be able to still play a respectable enough game to enjoy it. And that's all most of us want to do. We want to play a reasonably good game for us, commensurate with our experience and our abilities. Most of us aren't playing for our supper. And that is probably a very good thing.

The Obvious Way to Play

Bobby Jones believed that there was an obvious and uncomplicated way to play golf. Unlike many teachers of the game who espouse finespun theories about how to swing a golf club, Bobby felt that the uncomplicated way to play was to focus on the strike instead of the swing.

The best swing in the world is of little use if it doesn't produce a proper strike. I know I've quoted this information from Bobby Jones before, but I think it bears repeating in view of the fact that there are so many golfers out there who could save themselves a great deal of work, and no small amount of heartache, if they could only convince themselves of its truthfulness. Bobby, in his book Golf is my Game, wrote:

    "Golf is played by striking the ball with the head of the club. The objective if the player is not to swing the club in a specified manner, nor to execute a series of complicated movements in a prescribed sequence, nor to look pretty while he is doing it, but primarily and essentially to strike the ball with the head of the club so that the ball will perform according to his wishes.

     No one can play golf until he knows the ways in which a golf ball can be expected to respond when it is struck in different ways. If you think this should be obvious, please believe me when I assure you that I have seen many really good players attempt shots they should have known were impossible."

The simple fact is, a golf ball only reacts to the way it is struck. The golf ball cares nothing about your backswing or your follow-through. In his book, Bobby provided diagrams to illustrate how the ball must be struck to produce a straight shot, a hook, a slice, a push, and a pull. 

Too many golfers are fooled in to thinking that it's their swing that produces the hooks or slices that ruin their scores. But it isn't their swing. It's the strike that causes the slice or the hook. I think, and, more importantly, Bobby Jones thought, that golfers would immediately improve if they learned to think a whole lot less about their swing, and a whole lot more about the strike. 

If you don't know what causes a straight shot, a hook, a slice, a push, or a pull, I suggest you read Bobby Jones' book, Golf is my Game. If you don't have the book, I have covered that information in my featured article, entitled The Wisdom of Bobby Jones: Striking the Ball.

Bobby Jones on Recovery Shots

I'm up at almost three in the morning because of my damned back. So, as I am wont to do, I decided to open a Bobby Jones book and see what I could learn. I opened the book to a short article by Bobby regarding recovery shots.

Bobby wrote that the secret to playing good golf was the ability to turn three shots into two. Sooner or later we are going to miss a shot; and it is often sooner rather than later. When we do miss one, how good a player we are is really determined by our ability to recover--to essentially minimize the damage. 

Consider what Bobby had to say about recovery shots in his book, Bobby Jones on Golf:

    "I think it is safe to say that the man who scores between 95 and 100 usually loses about ten strokes per round because of failure to recover as well as he ought to, even in proportion to his limited ability. Tension, uncertainty, and fear take from him a heavier toll than they have any right to exact.

     The tightening-up process as the player enters a bunker or long grass shortens his backswing considerably; usually, too, he feels the need of exerting some extra force in order to get the ball out. Thus he produces a short, hurried, ill-timed stroke that fails because of its inaccuracy. Brilliant recoveries to the edge of the hole are not for this man, but, under the conditions met in nine cases out of ten, there is no reason why a moderately successful recovery should not be within the reach of anyone. Most failures from bunkers, or rough, result from topping, and this is so because tension has upset the stroke.

     I have said before that too much ambition is a bad thing to have in a bunker; the same holds true when playing from long grass. It is always difficult to resist the temptation to attempt to make up immediately for any mistake. When there is a long shot to be made, the average lerson will invariably try his luck with a club that he knows is unsafe. The one idea in playing from rough is to be certain of getting the ball up quickly enough to escape the grass. If this will not reach the green, it will be better to be a few yards short than to be still in the rough.

     That a ball played from long grass will roll an abnormal distance, unless the turf be sodden, is a fact not often enough accounted for. Playing on fast ground, I have seen distances made with a five-iron or four-iron out of rough that would have required a two- iron or one-iron if played in a normal way from the fairway--and the shot could be played with assurance that it would clear the grass."

So, we have two valuable bits of advice from Bobby Jones. First, when faced with a bunker shot, or a shot from long rough, we must resist the temptation to try to do something heroic, or overly ambitious, to try to immediately make up for the shot that landed us in trouble. We want to make sure we get ourselves out of the rough, or the bunker, as the first order of business. And we don't want to let tension ruin the shot. We want to take our time, finish our backswing, and not hurry, or force, our downswing. Most trouble shots are missed by allowing tension to ruin our swing and, therefore, ruin our strike.

We need to try not to, as my father used to say, let one bad shot beget another. Just get the ball back in play and see if we can't recover instead by making a long putt, or a good chip. Sometimes, the best recovery shots are the shots played after the recovery shot. 

Golf's Greatest Economist

Levi and I played our playoff two ball match with Peter and Paul, and once again, it was a tight match neither of us going more than one up in the match until fifteen. It was then that Peter hit a slick bump and run up a bank from under a tree on the left side of the green to about eight feet. Paul drained the putt and they went one up.

On the next hole I hit a stinker with my recalcitrant 54 degree Callaway wedge from about 80 yards. It finished fifteen yards short of the green. I was thoroughly disgusted, because I was in a perfect position to possibly get it close and win the hole. But, when you can't hit a green with a wedge you might want to consider playing horseshoes instead. That 54 degree wedge has cost me money in the past and will now be relegated to the trunk of my car where I will hopefully have enough sense to leave it. I don't know whether it's the 12 degrees of bounce, or if it's just in my head, but that wedge needs to be gone from my arsenal. If you don't trust a club, it's best not to hit it.

Peter and Paul won that hole, went up dormie with two to play, and finished us off on the next hole when Paul hit a brilliant second shot from about 150 yards to about four feet from the pin. As is almost always the case, however, it really boiled down to the short game to decide the match despite Paul's tremendous iron play on the back nine. That up and down on fifteen was brilliant. On sixteen, it was followed by another brilliant chip by Peter that was nearly holed and ultimately was good enough for them to win the hole.

Bobby Jones called the wedge "the greatest economist in golf." And, especially in the hands of Peter, it really was in this match. It's more often than not a wedge that turns three shots into two. Over the long haul, give me the guy who can chip and putt over the ballstriker any day. 

Bobby Jones on Attitude and Putting

Bobby Jones was obviously a heckuva putter. He did, however, recognize that where golfers had most improved years after he had retired was on the greens. Now, whether this was because of the fact that they were simply putting on better greens, or that they were more skilled in the art of putting is probably a subject for debate. Certainly, Bobby never saw greens the like of which tour players putt on weekly. But he was in awe of top players' ability to manage themselves on the greens nevertheless.

Bobby was more of the view that putting was an art, rather than a science. Even on the billiard table-like greens the pros are now putting, luck continues to play a role. And so does attitude. Consider what Bobby had to say about the latter in his book, Bobby Jones on Golf:

    "When you see a man obviously trying to guide the short putt, or hitting quickly with a short, stabbing stroke, even though he may hole a few, it will not be long before he meets trouble. A short putt, even as a long one, must be struck with a smooth, unhurried, and confident stroke. The best way to accomplish this is to decide upon a line to the hole and to determine to hit the ball on that line and let it go hang if it wants to. I have never had any better advice in golf, from tee to green, than was contained in a telegram sent me by Stewart Maiden in 1919. It read: 'Hit 'em hard. They'll land somewhere.' You must not apply this advice literally to putting, but its application is obvious. Hit the putt as well as you can, and do not allow worry over the outcome to spoil the stroke... 

     We would all profit greatly if we could cultivate this attitude toward putts of all lengths; it ought to be easy, too, for we all know, or should know by this time, that worry does very little good. If we must be wrong, we may as well make our mistakes gracefully by choosing the wrong line as by allowing a nervous, overcareful stroke to pull the ball off direction."

Bobby goes on to speak about something else that should cause any worrier, or perfectionist, on the putting green to think twice:

    "Let me say here that I do not believe any man can be so accurate in striking a golf ball, or so uncannily precise in his judgement of speed, borrow, roll, and all other things that go to make a perfect putt, that he can propel a ball over ten yards of uneven turf with such unerring certainty that it will find a spot the size of the hole. There are so many factors to be taken into account that the skill required is simply beyond me.

     I wonder how many putts that are holed follow exactly the path laid out for them in the player's mind. I should say that as many of those that go down deviate from that path as follow it. It appears to me that the good putter is simply the man who can keep coming close--who gets more times within a one-foot radius--and that such a man holes more putts because of the greater number that come close, a greater number more likely will go in."

I doubt anyone has worried, or fretted, about their putting any more than I have over the years. I have always felt that I should be making more putts. But perhaps the answer lies, not in a new Scotty Cameron, or a new grip, or stroke; perhaps the answer lies in a better and more realistic attitude. In putting, like just about everything else, attitude means a lot.

Bobby Jones, Fate, and the Grand Slam

Did you know that fate almost intervened to stop Bobby Jones from winning the Grand Slam? Bobby Jones had two close brushes with death between July and September of his Grand Slam year. It might have looked as though the golfing gods had other ideas.

At East Lake, Bobby got caught in a thunder storm. A lightning bolt crashed into the tenth fairway as Bobby was on the twelfth hole, some forty yards away. Bobby felt a tingle in his golf spikes and he and his companions, along with their caddies, decided it was time to leave. As they were leaving the green, another lightning bolt hit a tree at the back of the thirteenth tee. Bobby wrote in his book Golf is my Game: "It struck exactly where we should have been, had we been a minute or so earlier." 

As they were now rushing for the clubhouse, Bobby described what happened next:

    "As we hurried across the driveway in front of the club on our way to the locker-room entrance, we were dazed by a monstrous explosion, as a heavy bolt hit a big double chimney immediately above our heads. I did not feel a thing, except somehow my umbrella had suddenly collapsed and draped around my head. When I got into the clubhouse, someone discovered that the back of my shirt had been ripped down to my waist and I had received on my shoulder a scratch some six inches in length and just deep enough to break the skin.

     After the storm we found the spot where we had been hit littered with masses of brick and mortar, any one of which could have killed a man had it struck him on the head. Fragments of the chimney had been blasted as far as the eighteenth green, which, upon pacing off the distance, I found to be more than three hundred feet away."

Bobby's second close brush with death came a few weeks later. Bobby was walking from his lawyer's office to a luncheon engagement. He was proceeding along the sidewalk on Carnegie Way when he later wrote:

    "I must have been thinking about something far removed from the scene, because I was aware of nothing until, having reached a point about midway between the corner and the club entrance, I heard a voice behind me call, 'Look out, Mister.' Startled, I turned quickly and saw an automobile actually mounting the kerb headed directly towards me. I made a broad jump that would have done credit to Jesse Owens, and the automobile crashed into the wall of the clubhouse, having passed exactly over the spot from which I had jumped. There was no doubt that I would have been crushed between the automobile and the building had not the lone pedestrian warned me.

     There was no one in the car. Apparently, it had been carelessly parked near the top of the hill some one and a half blocks away."

By now, Bobby was feeling a bit concerned as he had one more mountain to climb, in the form of the U.S. Amateur championship, to win the Grand Slam. He wrote:

    "By this time I was beginning to see that there might be many things other than missed putts to interfere with the completion of the Grand Slam. I began to wonder what other things might happen and how I might protect myself against them. I could think of only two against which any sort of safeguard might be erected.

     I had heard of one prominent golfer, I believe it was Craig Wood, who had been forced to withdraw from a golf tournament because he had impulsively snatched out of the air a bare razor blade he had dropped in the act of shaving. I resolved to still my normal reflexes during the morning session in the bathroom, so that if I dropped a razor blade, I should be prepared to let the blamed thing fall.

    I thought, too, of seeing a photograph of myself leaping across the Swilcan Burn on the first hole at St Andrews during the play of the British Open Championship of 1927. At this point, I thought, I can deny myself the privilege of inviting a sprained ankle by any such childish carelessness. This was not going to be just one more Amateur Championship. At this point I had made no decision that it would be the last one in which I would compete. Nevertheless, I knew that there would never be another which would present the same opportunity, and it could not be postponed if I happened to be unable to compete on the dates upon which it had been scheduled."

We now know that Bobby arrived at Merion in one piece and won the last leg of his Grand Slam. How did he feel, upon winning it? He wrote:

    "When Gene Homans stroked that last putt on Saturday afternoon on the eleventh green and, before the ball had stopped rolling, came with a big smile to shake my hand, all at once I felt the wonderful feeling of release from tension and relaxation that I had wanted so badly for so long a time. I wasn't quite certain what had happened or what I had done. I only knew that I had completed a period of most strenuous effort, and at that at this point, nothing more remained to be done, and that on this particular project, at least, there could never at any time in the future be anything else to do. I am certain that many others have enjoyed this feeling--that the project, no matter what its importance, has been finished, and ahead, at least for a time, lies nothing but rest and cessation of worry."

So, fate did not prevent Bobby from completing the Grand Slam. And, in Bobby's eloquent words, we are helped to understand just how he felt about it. What an amazing story. And this one is true.

Bobby Jones Really Got It

I know, I keep going on and on about Bobby Jones. But, let's face it, he was an exceptional golfer and human being. 

While winning thirteen Major championships, including the Grand Slam, he found time to also earn a degree in Mechanical Engineering, a degree in English Literature from Harvard, and passed the Georgia State Bar to become a lawyer like his father. He was clearly not your average duffer. 

His golfing prowess opened many doors for him. He was the toast of the golfing world, and much loved. But, through it all, he seemed to remain humbled by his success. Consider just two examples I was thinking about.

The guy who won the Grand Slam wrote that the most exciting match he ever played was against Chick Evans. In that match it all came down to the last hole where Bobby's putt lipped out and he lost. Consider that for a minute. This is a guy who won who-knows-how-many matches, and the one he remembers as being the most exciting was one that he lost. Bobby said that he really never learned anything from a match he won. He really got it. He understood that golf and life are about the journey, and that winning isn't everything.

Bobby Jones rubbed shoulders with the very cream of society. And yet, he wrote about the fact that the greatest compliment he ever received was from a local St Andrews caddie whose name he had forgotten. It came in the final round Bobby played at the Old Course when virtually the entire town turned out to watch him play what was supposed to be a casual round. No doubt Bobby had received gushing compliments from great and powerful people over the years. But the one he cherished most was the simple expression of admiration from a young caddie.

Bobby Jones really "got it." Just imagine how proud his parents--and the black cook, her brother, and her Beau who helped raise him, and were his first friends--must have been. He did pretty well for a sickly child with knobby knees, who didn't eat solid food until he was five years old. You can't make this stuff up.

Golf Can Make You a Better Person

Arguably the greatest golfer who ever lived, Bobby Jones, said that golf could be a moulder and developer of character. The game of golf very clearly made him a better person. It reinforced the need to be honest and display integrity. It taught him how to handle success and failure. And it taught him the importance of never giving up.

Those lessons, learned on the golf course, were transferable to his life. When struck with a crippling disease from which there was no hope of a cure, Bobby met with his family and told them of his diagnosis. He then told them that they should not speak of it again because, as he had learned on the links, "we must play the ball as it lies." 

It is a travesty when anyone is struck with an incurable, crippling disease. But somehow it seems even more so when the victim was the greatest golfer of his era, and so loved internationally. But Bobby Jones suffered with dignity. He simply refused to complain or allow his misfortune to sour his outlook on life.

Golf can, if we allow it to, make us better people. That is not, of course, to say that we don't have poor sports, cheaters, quitters, and complainers on our golf courses. But those people are not truly golfers. Real golfers embrace honesty and integrity, and the virtue of never giving up and playing the ball as it lies. 

And those are lessons that many other sports, where winning is so important, sometimes fail to teach us. In golf, regardless of what Tiger was taught to believe as a youngster, second place does not suck. In fact, it's a shame that Tiger was taught to think that way. In golf, it really isn't whether you win or lose that counts. In golf it really is all about how you play the game. That's why there are many stories of great, and not-so-great, players who chose to call penalties on themselves, even when to do so might have cost them fame or fortune. Golf is that kind of game. And Bobby Jones is the finest example we have ever had of a true golfer.

It Feels Good to Grind

Bobby Jones had great respect for his golfing opponents. He understood that, without great opponents, golf would not be as enthralling a game as it is, and you would never find out just how good you can be. Good opponents bring out your best as well.

I played a match with Paul today for our club's "A" flight match play championship. With all due respect to Paul, I had considered myself a better player until last year. Paul has really upped his game. And setting out today I knew that only my very best would suffice if I was going to have a chance to beat him.

Paul won the first hole with a solid par, after a terrific second shot to about ten feet. I had duffed my second shot and, after a pretty good third to about eight feet, missed my par putt. I then won the next three holes to go two up. But Paul fought back and we were all square after nine.

Paul then made a terrific par on ten, our toughest hole, to go one up. We halved eleven when I three-putted from twenty feet after Paul had hit his second shot in the fescue, but was able to hack the ball out and make bogey. Paul then won twelve with a birdie, and easily won thirteen with a par after I yanked my tee shot into the fescue and eventually made a double. Suddenly, after feeling pretty good, I was three down.

It was then that I became really determined to try to make a match out of it. I won fifteen and sixteen and Paul was one up playing seventeen. I hit a perfect drive, while Paul hooked his behind a tree, and I thought, "Game on." However, I pulled my eight iron approach, leaving myself short-sided, about fifteen feet from the pin. 

I wasn't happy, but I figured that I had a fair chance of getting it up and down and I figured that Paul was in jail, having to hit a great shot just to hit the green. Paul, meanwhile, must have been feeling the heat, because the momentum had clearly swung in my direction. He took a fair bit of time sizing up his options and finally decided to go for it, having to get the ball up very quickly to clear the tree, and then stop it on the green. Paul hit a tremendous shot to about twenty feet, easily two-putted for par and won the match when I failed to get it up and down.

I wasn't happy to have lost the match, but I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed it. Paul forced me to really dig deep and grind just in order to stay in the match and keep things respectable. His second shot on seventeen was nothing short of incredible. I really thought he was in jail, but he dug deep and pulled it off. 

I had to run after seventeen because I was late for dinner with my daughter in Kingston, so I didn't have a chance to discuss the match with Paul; though we did briefly discuss his great shot on seventeen. I just hope he enjoyed the match as much as I did. There is nothing like match play; especially if you have a congenial opponent who forces you to really dig deep and play your best. And I had that today in Paul. He was the better man today, and forced me to grind like crazy coming in. It feels really good to have to dig deep and grind it out. That's when you learn what you're capable of.

Thanks for the memories, Paul. It was a terrific match.

Do You Need to Change Your Perspective?

Bobby Jones talked about how he initially learned to swing the club like Stewart Maiden when he was a kid. He imitated Maiden, as kids are wont to do, because Maiden was the best player at his club. For a kid, it was only natural to imitate; and it was only natural to imitate the best example he had.

As a kid, I first imitated my father's swing. He was a pretty good player, so I was lucky in that respect. Then, as I started watching Jack, I think I naturally imitated his swing. He was, after all, the best player around. As a kid, it was only natural. Kid's are great imitators. But when we imitated swings, we didn't imitate parts of a swing. We imitated the whole motion. We didn't break the swing down into parts. 

As we get older, our ability to mimic, or imitate, sometimes diminishes. Or at least it's been suggested that it does. That's why some people believe it is easier to learn golf, or any other sport for that matter, as a kid. And that is probably true. On the other hand, learning golf might be easier when started young simply because, as a youngster, you are less inhibited and have more time to learn the game than the person who picks the game up as an adult; simple as that.

What I have noticed is that most of the best players had good models. They learned the game from playing with, and watching, good players. And that is a luxury not everyone has. So, if we didn't grow up playing with good players, and having good golfing role models, are were essentially out of luck? I don't think so, even if we might be at something of a disadvantage. A slightly different perspective might be all that is required to help those of us who are trying to figure things out.

Here's something really interesting--to me at least--that Bobby Jones wrote about learning to hit shots. Bobby Jones said that when he saw other players hitting shots that he admired, he learned to hit those shots by watching how the player struck the ball. He didn't focus on their backswing, or their follow through. He watched how the club struck the ball and tried to imitate that strike. I think there's something really important about this. Now, I admit that what I think isn't really important. Who am I when I'm at home? But what is important is that this was what Bobby Jones thought. 

Golfers are prone to getting all caught up in swing mechanics. We seem to have a tough time appreciating that the ball couldn't give two hoots about our swing. It only cares about how it is struck. So, maybe the next time we get to play with a better player, or to watch better players, we might want to change our perspective. Why not try to focus on how they strike the ball, instead of how they swing the club. Don't worry about their backswing, or what their body might be doing. Just look at the ball and try to see how the club is moving through the strike zone. It may change your game by changing your perspective. And, if it doesn't, it probably won't do you any harm.

Remember, as Bobby Jones taught, golf is about striking the ball with the clubhead. You don't hit the ball with your backswing, Laddie.

Clover

Even the great Bobby Jones admitted that, if you find your golf ball nestled in clover, you are essentially in the lap of the golfing gods. Clover, according to Bobby, provides the ultimate lubricant between the clubface and the ball. And, lubrication is nice for your golf swing, but very bad for your clubface.

I find that I almost never hit a good shot from clover. Generally I hit some sort of knuckle ball from that nasty stuff. I like clover in my lawn. It attracts bees. The rabbits who live under one of my hedges seem to like it. It's all good. But if you have clover on your golf course, you have trouble. Simple as that.

Yesterday, on fifteen where there is plenty of clover in the rough, I found myself in a thick patch. Somehow, I saw that in this instance I could probably get my clubface on the back of the ball without the interference of too many clover leaves and tried to take advantage of the situation by going for the green. 

I managed to hit a, almost perfect, fade right at the pin. The ball finished just short of the green in the thick rough that has been allowed to grow almost right up to the fringe. I really felt lucky to escape the clover. From the thick rough I hit a nice pitch to about three feet. Then, I missed the damned putt.

If you have clover on your course, you really should be able to ask your superintendent to mark it ground under repair, so you can drop away from it. The song says, "Roll me over in the clover..." But, trust me, rolling the golf ball over in the clover likely won't help you at all. Like all other trouble you find yourself in on the golf course, I think the best bet when you find yourself in that sweet, soft clover is not to try to hit the perfect shot. Just get it safely out.

Clover is good. But it shouldn't be allowed to flourish on the golf course.

Bobby Jones Reflects

Bobby Jones quit competitive golf at the ripe old age of twenty eight. He had pretty much established himself as the greatest golfer of all time by then, finishing it off with an exclamation point by winning the Grand Slam. At 28, he'd won 13 Majors. 

Never having considered turning professional, it was time for Bobby to settle down and earn himself a living. But, not surprisingly, Bobby did reflect on his decision to retire so young. He spoke of this subject in his book, Golf is my Game:

    "There is a school of Oriental philosophy, I am told, which holds that the aim of life should be the perfection of personality or character, and that sufferings, joys, and achievements mean nothing except as they influence the development of this personality or character. I hope the analogy will not appear too ridiculous, but it has been thinking along such a line that has uncovered the only real regret I have ever had about quitting competitive golf when I was only twenty-eight years of age.

     I have never been sorry that I did not try for a fifth Open or a sixth Amateur, for after adding one of either, there would always be the question of another. What I have regretted at times was that I did not keep on until I might have achieved, in my own estimation at least, the status of 'Compleat Golfer', to use Isaak Walton's spelling.

     Whatever lack others may have seen in me, the one I felt most was the absolute inability to continue smoothly and with authority to wrap up a championship after I had won command of it. The failing cost me the eventual winning of more than one, and made several others look a lot more fortuitous than they should have... I have no means of accounting for this sort of thing. It was not, as some have said, the result of over-confidence or of a desire for 'coasting'. Both explanations would appear reasonable, but I think either is more charitable than I deserve.

     As nearly as I can analyze my own state of mind, up to the point of becoming aware that I was the was the winner I had been possessed of a singleness of purpose driven by an intense desire to win, which had of itself focused my concentration upon playing golf. Up to that point there had only been the determination to wring the best figures possible out of my game.

     Having reached a stage where I suddenly knew that I should certainly win with any sort of ordinary finish, I became fearful of making myself look ridiculous by kicking the thing away. At this point I think I began to be conscious of my swing and began trying to make certain of avoiding a disastrous mistake. I was no longer playing the shots for definite objectives, but was rather trying to keep away from the hazardous places...

     I have often wondered whether or not I could have overcome this weakness had I played longer in competitive golf. I think perhaps I could have, had I learned to play safe by merely choosing a safe objective and playing as definitely for it as I had for the flag in driving into the lead. 

     I like to think that I could have done this, because then I would have scored within reasonable distance of some of our modern geniuses."

So, besides gaining more insight into the honesty and humility of Bobby Jones, by reading this we are reminded that it is all relative. The greatest player of his generation--if not all time--recognized that he had weaknesses. And, he wasn't afraid to admit to them. Furthermore, he reminds us that, no matter how good a shotmaker you become, the most important thing in golf is what is going on between your ears. Golf is, as Carl the Grinder likes to say, the ultimate mind game. 

Eventually, the time comes to quit worrying about your damned backswing and start worrying about how well you are thinking. And this is why I love reading Bobby Jones books. No one has been able to describe the complexities of playing the game better. NO ONE!