Bobby Jones on Smoking

There is nothing like a good smoke--especially on the golf course. I still smoke; having given it up for 25 years, I went back to it after a personal calamity, and have never really wanted to quit since. It's easy to quit if you actually want to.  If, in your heart, you don't truly want to quit, then spark one up, Johnny!  Trying to quit when you really don't want to is a waste of time.  And the cure is probably worse than the illness, with all the suffering you go through torturing yourself.  

Bobby Jones talked about smoking in his book, Down the Fairway.  He wrote:

  "I remember Perry (Adair) had a birthday at Ekwanok and got a pipe for a birthday present and smoked it; the first time he ever had smoked.  Gosh--he was sick!  And when I say sick, I mean sick as our British cousins mean sick, if you get what I mean.  We were rooming at a little cottage, and Mr. Scott and I thought Perry was awfully funny.  We jumped him from one bed to another, trying to make him snap out of it.... I wasn't smoking then.  I smoke a good deal now, and once in a while some golf writer takes a crack at me about it.  When Walter Hagen was giving me that beautiful lacing in Florida, one scribe said he went around the course with 71 strokes and I with 75 cigarettes.  Some people seem to think that's a bad idea.  I don't know.  I didn't smoke 75 cigarettes, of course.  But I do light a good many, in a hard round.  Light them, smoke them a bit, and throw them away.  It's something to do, and seems to release a little of the tension... It's easy to say cigarettes are bad for you.  But what about that stretching and stretching and stretching, inside your head?  It's easy to prove cigarettes are all wrong for you, physically.  But championship golf is played mainly between the ears.  If you don't smoke, I suppose you are better off--maybe.  If you do smoke, I'd say you were better off smoking, in a hard round.  I noticed Ted Ray is never without his pipe; and old Harry Vardon smokes pretty continuously."

My wife has pretty much accepted that I am probably not going to quit, but has made me smoke a pipe if I must smoke.  She can tolerate the smell of pipe tobacco.  I excuse myself by telling her I have the smoking gene.  I got it from my father, who was never happier than when he was having a smoke.  So, I say, hate the sin, not the sinner.  If it was good enough for Bobby Jones, my father, Ted Ray, and Harry Vardon, it's good enough for me.  

When I find myself up against it, playing Carl the Grinder for two bucks, I'll probably be smoking like I'm going to the chair.  That's just how it must be--at least for now.

Bobby Jones on Throwing Clubs

There was a time when I would let myself get mad as hell on the golf course.  Unfortunately, I have a temper.  It isn't easily roused, but once it is, look out.  Time, life, and golf have pretty much beaten me down to where I rarely permit myself to get angry on the golf course, or anywhere else for that matter.  I figure, at the end of the day, I'm not really good enough to get angry on the golf course anyway.

Occasionally, I must confess, I toss the odd club when playing alone, or with my long-suffering wife who inevitably gives me "the look," and says, "If you can't have fun, stop playing."  She just doesn't get it.

Bobby Jones had a temper.  When he went to compete in his first national open championship as a fresh-faced fourteen year old, that temper was on display, and he received some criticism about it.  I was reading Down the Fairway, and I couldn't resist sharing Bobby's writing about his "bad boy" days.  He wrote:

  "It's sort of hard to explain, unless you play golf yourself, and have a temper.  You see, I never lost my temper with an opponent.  I was angry only with myself.  It always seemed, and it seems today, such an utterly useless and idiotic thing to stand up to a perfectly simple shot, one that I know I can make a hundred times running without a miss--and then mess up the blamed thing, the one time I want to make it!  And it's gone forever--an irrevocable crime, that stroke.... I think it was Stevenson that said that bad men and fools eventually got what was coming to them, but fools first.  And when you feel so extremely a fool, and a bad golfer to boot, what the deuce can you do, except throw the club away?....

Well, well--Chick Evans, writing years later, said I had conquered my temper not wisely but too well; that a flare now and then would help me.  I liked that of Chick.  But I could have told him I get just as mad today.  I stopped club-throwing in public, but the lectures didn't stop coincidentally.  A bad name sticks...

  Well, well--I don't throw clubs any more, in public, though once in a while I let one fly, in a little friendly round with Dad and Chick Ridley, and Tess Bradshaw--and get a great deal of relief from it, too, if you want the truth."

He was some character, that Bobby Jones.  If you get a chance, read Down the Fairway.  It's a gem.

Bobby Jones Learns the Virtue of Playing Against Something not Someone

I know I persist in writing about Bobby Jones, and sharing his writing.  Of course, I never saw the man play.  I've seen some old video reels; but that's it.  And yet Bobby Jones is my golfing hero.  I have always loved Jack Nicklaus, who is the best player I've ever seen.  But, since reading his books, Bobby Jones is, for me, the greatest of them all.  Through his wonderful writing, I have come to feel like I almost know him; and I love him, just like the people of St. Andrews loved him.

Tonight, I was reading Down the Fairway, by Bobby Jones and O.B. Keeler, his friend and confidante who followed, and chronicled, Bobby's phenomenal career.  Bobby wrote of learning the importance of playing "something," rather than "someone"; that something being Old Man Par.  As usual, it gives us a glimpse of the greatness of the man, and the incredible understanding he had of the game.  

 

He wrote:

"It was in 1913, the year before the old course was changed, when I was 11 years old, that two things happened to me that seem worthy of note, as influencing my association with golf.  Up to that time, as suggested, golf was rather an incidental matter along with tennis and fishing and baseball; it was just another game , and if I could beat somebody at it I felt I had achieved something, just as when I managed to defeat someone at tennis, or when our side won at baseball.  I suppose I never had the least notion that golf offered more than merely personal competition, as a game.  Even when we had a medal round, I was trying to beat Perry or whoever seemed the most dangerous competitor.  I kept my scores in every round of golf as a matter of course; and naturally I liked to get under 90.  But the scoring, of itself, was relatively a detached part of the affair, which, to my way of thinking, was a contest with somebody--not with something.

  It may not be out of place here to say that I never won a major championship until I learned to play golf against something, and not somebody.  And that something was par... It took me many years to learn that, and a deal of heartache."

Bobby first started to understand about playing against something, instead of someone, when he watched the exhibition match between Harry Vardon and long-hitting Ted Ray against Stewart Maiden and Willie Mann.  Vardon and Ray had come over to play the US Open at Brookline, where Francis Ouimet secured his improbable victory that essentially put American golf on the map.  The match was 36 holes at East Lake, followed by 36 more at Brookhaven the next day.

The match at East Lake, in which young Bobby followed every hole, was won by Ray and Vardon 1up, after Ray managed to sink an eight-foot birdie on the last hole to get a half and the win.  Describing the match, Bobby wrote:

  "This was the first big match I had ever watched and I followed every step of the 36 holes.  Ray's tremendous driving impressed me more than Vardon's beautiful, smooth style, though I couldn't get away from the fact that Harry was scoring more consistently.  Par--par--par, and then another par, Harry's card was progressing.  They played 36 holes at East Lake and 36 more at Brookhaven next day, and I remember Vardon's scores: 72-72-73-71; a total of 288, or an exact average of 4's all the way.  I remember thinking at this time, and it would be difficult to find a better illustration, that 4's seemed to be good enough to win almost anything.  Today I would not qualify the estimate.  I'll take 4's anywhere, at any time."

Bobby went on to describe seeing Ray hit the greatest shot he has ever seen during that match, a seemingly impossible shot over a huge tree that found the green.  Bobby wrote:

"The gallery was in paroxysms.  I remember how men pounded each other on the back, and crowed and cackled and shouted and clapped their hands.  As for me, I didn't really believe it.  A sort of wonder persists in my memory to this day.  It was the greatest shot I ever saw.

  Yet, when it was all over, there was old Harry, shooting par all that day and the next.  And I couldn't forget that, either.  Harry seemed to be playing something beside Stewart and Willie; something I couldn't see, which kept him serious and sort of far way from the gallery and his opponents and even from his big partner; he seemed to be playing against something or someone not in the match at all... I couldn't understand it; but it seemed that way."

Later that year, however, Bobby came to understand what he was witnessing in the play of Harry Vardon when he, for the first time, shot 80.  He described the experience as follows:

"And that year, a bit later, I shot an 80 for the first time on the old course at East Lake.  I remember it with a peculiar distinctness.  I was playing with Perry, and for once I wasn't bothering about what Perry was doing or if I was beating him or he was beating me.  I was scoring better than I ever had scored before and I couldn't think about anything else.  And when I got down a four-foot putt on the last green for an even 80, which I had never done before, I made Perry sign my card and then I set off at a trot to find Dad.  I knew he was on the course, and I ran clear across it, to the fourteenth green, and found him there.  I had sense enough to wait until he was through putting; Dad was impatient of interruptions when he was putting.  Then I walked up to him and held out the card... I remember my hand was trembling a good deal... Dad took it and looked at it and then he looked at me.  I don't remember what he said.  But suddenly he put his arms around me and hugged me--hard.  And I do remember that his eyes looked sort of queer.  I think now they must have been wet.  (As I type this, I find tears rolling down my cheeks; appreciating how special a moment this must have been for father and son, and remembering my father with whom I played so many rounds; fathers and sons, and golf.)

  I suppose that is the first round I ever played against the invisible opponent whose tangible form is the card and pencil; the toughest opponent of them all--Old Man Par."

"Golf is Played by Striking the Ball with the Head of the Club"

My buddy Spiros was a good soccer player.  He took up golf late in life after his soccer playing days were over.  His swing is definitely not textbook.  In fact, from a purist standpoint, it probably leaves something to be desired.  But Spiros can hit some shots when he's in the mood.  He loves to hit cut shots, and hooks, and he even plays the old Philly-Mick-flopper whenever he can.  He loves to try to bend it like Beckham, or maybe Bubba.

While soccer and golf are perhaps only similar in the fact that both involve a ball, Spiros has put some of his soccer knowledge to good effect when playing golf.  He understands that the golf ball, when struck with the club, reacts much the same way the soccer ball does when kicked.  From his soccer experience he intuitively understands how the ball needs to be struck to make it bend.

Someone who has played tennis, or table tennis, will likely have a similar understanding of how to strike the golf ball to make it curve.  Striking the ball in the correct manner to produce the shot you desire is really what this game is all about, and experience playing any game involving a round ball will certainly help.

Bobby Jones, the great player who I constantly find myself referring to, in part because he was the best, and in part because, for me at least, he said it best, recognized how important understanding the strike was to playing good golf.  I am amazed, when I play with high handicappers how little they seem to understand about the strike.  Their mind is generally full of swing thoughts, but ask them how the ball needs to be struck, and you generally receive a blank stare.

In Golf is my Game, Bobby Jones wrote: "Golf is played by striking the ball with the head of the club.  The objective of 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 many 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."

I have covered the information from Bobby Jones on how the ball must be struck in an article entitled "The Wisdom of Bobby Jones: Striking the Ball."  Bobby asserted that it was the "most useful learning you will ever acquire as a golfer...This knowledge can make you a better golfer overnight."  For those who have played soccer at a high level, like Spiros, this information might be relatively easy to grasp--even simple.  But for many of us, it takes a long time to learn and is all-too-often forgotten.  Bobby Jones felt that a careful review of the information he provided on striking the ball could literally make you a better player overnight.  

If you haven't checked it out, I would invite you to have a read of chapter two of Golf is my Game, by Bobby Jones.  If you haven't got the book, check out my article: The Wisdom of Bobby Jones: Striking the Ball.  For those of us who are presently snowbound, Bobby gives us something we can do to improve our game while inside, in the warm, without having to even swing a club.

Bobby Jones and Old Man Par

Bobby Jones is often remembered for having said he never learned anything from matches and tournaments he won.  To me, that seems a bit of an exaggeration, because I'm sure Bobby Jones was always learning whether he won or lost.  As is often the case, some of these quotes are best considered in context, just like Ben Hogan having said he wished he had three right hands.  

In Golf is my Game, Bobby explains this famous quote, and while doing so offers up some sage advice about the optimimum golfer's mindset when playing competitively.  He wrote:

"I have often said that I never learned anything from matches or tournaments I won, because of the inclination--natural I suppose--to accept successes as altogether fitting and proper.  Whenever I lost, I would analyze the play and try to figure out if I had made any mistakes that might have been avoided.  Mechanical misplays were not considered, because a certain number were to be expected.  Keeler and I agreed that in most of these lost matches there were identifiable instances when different tactics, usually more conservative, might have produced better results.  But I think we agreed, too, that the main trouble was to be found in the fact that I simply did not play match golf so uniformly close to my capability as I played medal.  Keeler, at least, figured that if I played as well as I could, I should not lose many matches.

  To Keeler, this meant that at match play I should play the card, or against 'Old Man Par' as he put it, so that I should occupy myself only with getting the figures, and let my opponent do what he would.  I cannot deny that on occasions I had been guilty of playing a slack shot when my opponent had played one, and then watched him make a recovery I could not match, or had unwisely attempted a daring shot when the risk was too great.  I accepted Keeler's prescription, but the following of it seemed to require a bit more.

  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.

  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 affectively 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."

Once again, arguably the greatest player of all time, and certainly the greatest of his day--which is all that really counts--provides us with an honest picture of how he felt and thought when competing.  We learn that he wasn't so different from the rest of us.  He admitted to always being anxious, apprehensive, cautious, and even fearful, before a medal play event.  He had that same hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that I have always felt before an important round.  He was just like me--only more talented, more intelligent, and perhaps better looking.  

Bobby Jones on the Grand Slam

Bobby Jones will always be regarded as one of the greatest, if not the greatest, players ever to play the game.  In winning the Grand Slam, Jones did, as an amateur, something we will surely never see again, winning the British and US amateur championships and the British and US Opens in the same season.  

We will surely never see this again because, Bobby's brilliance as a golfer notwithstanding, surely no amateur of that sort of stature and ability could resist turning professional with the money now on offer.  We have since witnessed the Tiger Slam, which probably deserves more credit than it receives.  We also saw Ben Hogan win three of the four Majors, perhaps only missing the professional Slam because he couldn't make it home in time to play the PGA championship.  So we have witnessed great seasons from other great players.  Jordan Spieth's performance in the Majors in 2015 as a relative youngster has to rank up there as one of the greatest seasons we've ever witnessed.

But Bobby Jones will be the first, and surely the last, to have the Grand Slam.  Bobby also quit while he was ahead.  He went out on top.  I was reading what he had to say about the Grand Slam in his book, Golf is my Game.  Amazingly enough, Bobby managed to find a lesson for all of us who compete in this game when describing his experience.  He wrote:

"In my mind today the accomplishment of the Grand Slam assumes more importance as an example of the value of perseverance in the abstract than as a monument to skill in the playing of a game.  I am certain that in those moments when the success of the project was most in doubt, the decisive factor in each case had been my ability, summoned from somewhere, to keep trying as hard as I could, even when there was no clear indication of the direction in which hope of victory might lie.

  In at least two matches, those with Tolley and Voight at St. Andrews, I had been outplayed throughout; and in the final round of each of the two Open Championships I had made mistakes of grievous proportions.  On several occasions I had lost control of my game.  But having once found myself in these dire predicaments, I had managed, from the point of realization, to drive myself to the end, when it would have been easy, even pleasant, to play the 'give-up' shot.

  Everyone recognizes that form in golf runs in cycles.  It can be seen even today if one watches the results of the weekly tournaments.  No one player can hold to top form for a run of more than two or three weeks.  During such a period he is operating under a formula which he has played himself into that enables him to play well, thinking of two or three moves in the stroke that he can consciously control.  Ultimately he will begin to overdo one of these or something will go wrong in another place and he will have to work out another pattern.

  The only tournament of 1930 I was able to hit in top form was the one in Augusta that didn't count.  The campaign extended from May to September, and it was not to be expected that the whole route could be smooth.

  In winning both the British and American Open Championships as one-half of the Grand Slam, I returned the lowest score of the field in only one of the eight rounds played.  Obviously then, I was not winning because of the overpowering excellence of my play.  I could have won only because, despite some very disastrous and unaccountable lapses, I did manage to keep up some sort of organized effort to the end, and so prevented major setbacks from developing into utter rout.

  The margin of victory in each tournament was a bare two strokes.  These might well have been those saved by a sort of desperate hanging on in the closing holes.

  The one most important thing for a tournament golfer to learn is that golf championships are not won merely by having greater mechanical skill than the other players.  It is not rewarding, of course, to harbour a real weakness on the mechanical side.  But in most tournaments including players of the first rank there is little difference in shot-making ability among the top echelon.  Some may be able to keep it up longer than others, but in the main, the decisive factor will be found in the relative abilities of the various players to perform under the strain which all must feel.

  The toughest and most conclusive test in golf is the Open Championship.  Match play can be a pretty  game and exciting, but it can never exert the relentless pressure of the card and pencil.  In match play you can lose only one hole at a time, and that only to an opponent you can see.  In stroke play you can blow a comfortable lead with one careless or misplayed shot; and the most phlegmatic player is always plagued by rumours or imaginings of what others are doing.

  You learn very soon, I think, in tournament golf, that your most formidable adversary is yourself.  You win or lose according to your own ability to withstand pressure.  You must learn to keep on playing your game despite all the disturbing thoughts that may keep crowding in upon your consciousness, and above all, you must keep fighting the awful pressure, no matter how much you would like to give in to it.  In a well-played tournament round you will play at the rate of a little more than three minutes for every stroke, including the shortest putts.  That gives you a lot of time to think.  Too much, I am sure you will find."

So, there you have it, from the man himself.  Bobby Jones won the Grand Slam because he refused to give up when surely almost anyone else would have.  He won the Grand Slam, to use a Tigerism, without his "A game."  He wasn't in the zone, cruising to victory with a feeling of peace and serenity, in some Zen-like state.  He suffered, struggled, persevered, and refused to quit.  I think perhaps that makes the accomplishment all the more impressive.

Bobby also spoke about his decision to quit, and the one regret he felt.  He wrote:

"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 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."

Bobby Jones, with thirteen Major Championships won by the age of twenty eight, topped off by the Grand Slam, felt he could have, or should have, been a better closer.  That may be so.  But, regardless of how he might have felt about it, the thing that so impresses me, above and beyond the greatness of the man as a player, is the honesty and intelligence of the man as displayed in his writing.  These are his thoughts, and his words; not the words of some co-author.  His writing is a real gift to those who love the game.  In his words we catch a rare and honest glimpse into the mind of a champion.  

Golf is my Game by Bobby Jones

I'm sure I must sometimes must sound like a broken record.  Most of my golf references or discussions either begin with, or at some point include, the phrase, "Bobby Jones said..."  While I hope this isn't too annoying to those who bother to listen to me, or read my blogs, I simply find it necessary to give credit where credit is due.  

Bobby Jones--see, I'm referencing him again--wrote what I consider to be a rather important introduction to his book Golf is my Game.  I think it provides a glimpse into the mind of this great champion, and brilliant man.  Golf has produced many great champions and fascinating characters.  Most of them have contributed to the betterment of the game in many different ways, and especially by sharing their insights on how to best play the game.  But, for me, Bobby Jones was the greatest of them all.

I thought I might quote from Bobby's introduction to his book as a way to hopefully interest others in finding a copy for themselves.  For me, Golf is my Game and Bobby Jones on Golf, have become my golf Bibles.  Golf is my Game was written by Bobby well after his playing days were over and he had had time to reflect and observe the next generation of champions.  

Although the game might have changed to certain degree, with better agronomy and improved equipment, I think Bobby was satisfied with the fact that his ideas about how to play the game did not have to be modified, changed, or updated to any significant degree.  His original writings were as sound as ever, and were in fact being repeated, or paraphrased, by new teachers.

In introducing Golf is my Game Bobby wrote:

"I have written this book because I thought I could help golfers of all classes to play better and to get more enjoyment from their play.  I have never tried to teach golf, having always been on the receiving end of any such exchange, but I have spent many years trying to learn something about the game.  At times I have thought that I had learned pretty well, but I always found more to learn.

Teaching anything requires a great deal more than knowledge of the subject.  It is quite on thing to possess knowledge or the ability to perform-- quite another to be able to impart that knowledge or skill.  I am sure that I do not even know all the qualities needed by a teacher, although I have read several treatises on the subject.  It is enough for me to know I have no right to pretend to be one.

On the other hand, in golf at least, I can claim to have been a fairly successful learner, and I more than half suspect that any golfer may rightfully attribute more of whatever skill he may possess to his own ability to learn than to the ability of someone else to teach.  At any rate, I have written my book as a learner, rather than as a teacher.  I am not ambitious to teach teachers to teach, but if I can help learners to learn, I shall consider my reward sufficient...

Just now, I do not intend to try to produce a guide for real study of the game.  I may attempt such a thing later on, but even if I do, I shall be ever mindful that this sort of development takes a lot of time and is best done under the supervision of a competent instructor.

What I have attempted in this book, although less ambitious, I believe will appeal to the vast majority of people who play golf.  I have suggested ways of making a mental approach to the game, of thinking through the playing of shots and of managing one's resources so as more often to enable the player to approximate the highest level of performance to which he has a right to aspire..."

Golf is my Game is a wonderful book.  It reveals the mind of a great, and thoughtful, champion.  It makes no promises of instant added yardage, or immediate reductions in your scores.  It simply invites you to think about the game in much the way Bobby Jones did and, by so doing, become the best player you can be, given your physical ability, and the time and energy you have available to devote to learning the game.  

Get a copy if you can.  You'll be glad you did.  If not, you'll still find me quoting liberally from the master.  

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.

Bobby Jones on Addressing the Ball

Today, I was thinking about how often shots are made or missed before the club has even been swung.  When you think about it, how often have you seen someone addressing the ball and just known they were going to miss the shot?  In fact, how often have you stood over a shot yourself and just known you were going to miss it?  On the other hand, how often have you watched a good player step into the shot and just known he, or she, was going to hit it dead solid perfect?  Addressing the ball with the correct attitude, physically and mentally, is vital to playing good golf. 

I was reviewing the book, Golf is my Game, where Bobby Jones deals, surely about as well as anyone possibly could, with the subject of addressing the golf ball.  In Golf is my Game, after having first dealt with the concept of learning by playing, then how the ball must be struck, and then how the club should be gripped, Bobby turned his attention to how to approach actually playing a golf shot.  It was written before the popularization of the idea of a "pre-shot routine," but it essentially deals with this as well.  Bobby wrote:

"The act of beginning to play a golf shot is called addressing the ball.  We already know that at this point there must be in the player's mind a very clear picture of the manner and direction in which he intends to hit.  As he approaches the ball and places himself before it preparing to strike, he must, of course, arrange his posture so that he feels capable of delivering a blow along the desired path.  He must become aware of this capability before the swinging of the club can have any purpose.  But the striving for this awareness of proper positioning can be far more effective than any effort to fit the stance to a prescribed diagram.

The keynote of the address position should be ease, comfort, and relaxation.  Above all else, the first posture must be one from which the movement of the swing may be started smoothly without having to break down successive barriers of tension set up by taut or strained muscles.  To go a bit further, the player should feel himself alert, sensitive to impulses, and ready to move in either direction.

It is always better at this point to be one's own natural self than to make an effort to look like someone else.  Any posture that feels uncomfortable is certain to produce a strain somewhere that will cause the ensuing movement to be jerky.  It is well to remember that there are no forces outside the player's own body that have to be resisted or balanced.  There is no need for him to set or brace himself, for there is nothing to brace against.  If one can conceive that he is standing naturally with a golf club in his hands, and that he bends over enough to ground the club behind a ball not too far distant, the resulting posture will be quite good."

Contrast this advice from Bobby Jones with the sort of prescribed, or standardized, address positions we are taught by many golfing experts.  Bobby's emphasis is on comfort and relaxation, rather than trying to make your body conform to some prescribed position.  Once you have picked your shot, and understand how the ball must be struck to produce that shot, Bobby tells us to set ourselves in the manner that feels most natural and comfortable in order to execute the required strike.

Bobby liked Abe Mitchell's golfing phrase: "A golfer must always move freely beneath himself."  Bobby liked this phrase, as it helped the golfer appreciate that he needn't root himself firmly to the ground, as if preparing to lift a heavy object, and that he must move his body, not just swing his arms.  Bobby wrote:

"My conception of the correct golf swing is built entirely around the one thought of assuring a full backward turn or wind-up of the trunk during the backswing.  This must be accomplished by the legs; and since the trunk must be turned around the spine as an axis under a motionless head, I think the player must truly 'move freely beneath himself.'"

It is here that Bobby deals with the idea that has become popularized under the name "pre-shot routine."  Bobby writes:

"This much is about enough for the beginner; but for others, and for him after he has played a bit, I want to make the suggestion of a further preliminary which I have found to be very helpful.  It is essentially to standardize the approach to every shot, beginning even before taking the address position. 

It is far easier to maintain a complete relaxation if one keeps continually in motion, never becoming still and set.  This sounds far-fetched, I know, but I have had a few players tell me that after taking great pains in addressing the ball, they have reached the point where they simply could not take the club back. It is a manner of freezing, and is well known to tournament players as a form of the 'yips'.

Long ago, and with no remembered intention, I standardized my approach in the following way:

Having decided upon the club to use and the shot to play, I could see no reason for taking any more time than was necessary to measure my distance from the ball and to line up the shot.  The more I fiddled around arranging the position, the more I was beset by doubts which produced tension and strain.

I began then to approach every shot from behind the ball looking towards the hole.  It was easier to get a picture of the shot and to line it up properly from this angle than from any other.  Ordinarily, coming up from behind, I would stop a little short of what my final position would be, just near enough to the ball to reach it comfortably.  From there, the club was grounded, and I took one look towards the objective.  The club gave me a sense of my distance from the ball; looking down the fairway gave me the line while my left foot swung into position.  One waggle was begun while the right foot moved back to its place.  When the club returned to the ground behind the ball, there was a little forward twist of the hips, and the backswing began.  I felt most comfortable and played better golf when the entire movement was continuous.  Whenever I hesitated or took a second waggle, I could look for trouble.

The little twist of the hips I have mentioned is a valuable aid in starting the swing smoothly, because it assists in breaking up any tension which may have crept in.  Often referred to as the 'forward press,' it has been regarded by many as the result of a movement of the hands.  In actual fact, the hands have nothing to do with it.  The movement is in the legs, and its chief function is to assure a smooth start of the swing by setting the hip turn in motion.  Without it, the inclination is strong to pick the club up with the hands and arms without bringing the trunk into use.

I do not think it wise to prescribe any definite number of waggles.  This depends too much upon how long is required for the player to settle into a comfortable position and obtain a proper alignment.  But it is important to make the movement easy, smooth, and comfortable and to form the habit of getting the thing done without too much fussing and worrying."

Imagine how pleasurable it must have been to watch Bobby Jones approach his ball and let it fly; with a minimum of fussing and fidgeting.  He did not suggest we imitate his exact routine.  He suggested we instead be ourselves.  Nevertheless, as you watch the top players play, I can't think of one who doesn't approach the ball from behind, looking down the target line.  If you aren't doing that, you are making it more difficult to aim the club.

Imagine the comfort of picking your target and your shot shape, moving without undo fuss to the ball, and then letting it go.  No time to worry, or get tense; just a smooth unbroken rhythm.  No need to imitate anyone else.  No need to develop affectations, like tugging on your shirt sleeve, or opening and closing the flap of your glove; you just step up and confidently and comfortably hit the damned ball.  You might still miss it, but at least you'll have missed it quick.  Besides, most shots are missed before the swing has even started.  Don't I know it.

"I'm Going to Swing Like Nick Price"

Golf is a game that is deceptively simple, and endlessly complicated.  While it surely shouldn't be, golf, as Bobby Jones said, is the one game that gets more difficult the longer you play it.  He said that the longer he played the game, the more ways he found to miss shots.  

Steve and I played what might just be our last round of the season at the Loyalist Golf Club in Bath, Ontario.  It was the final day for green fee players at Loyalist.  The tee blocks were conspicuous by their absence, the rakes for the bunkers were gone, but the flagsticks were in, the greens were still good, and it was about seven degrees Celsius, which, I figure, is about 50 degrees Fahrenheit.  For November in this neck of the woods that was pretty good.  

We teed off behind two young guys who had obviously been watching lots of golf on the tube and, thanks to elaborate pre-shot routines and crooked tee shots, kept us waiting most of the day.  In fact, we ended up being joined after a few holes by Danny who was from Belleville and was playing as a single.  Even with the addition of Danny, we still found ourselves waiting on those two flat-bellies.

Despite the cool and the wind, thanks to chipping in for birdie on one, and holing some nice putts, I was able to go out in 35.  On the first few holes, as is my wont, I was fiddling around with my swing.  But, after a couple of wonky shots, I settled in to my "natural swing;" the swing I make when I close my eyes and just swing the club.  That's the swing that tends to produce a draw, and the swing I keep tinkering with because I have a tough time fading the ball with it.  

Steve was struggling, but Danny was playing like a man possessed.  On the first hole he played with us, which was a par three, Danny thinned his tee shot and watched it scamper onto the green to about four feet.  He made the birdie and then promptly holed out from about 155 yards on the next hole for eagle, causing me to inquire as to just who the hell he was.

In any event, we both tended to lose the plot a bit coming home, and I settled quite happily for a two over 74.  Danny had a few dreaded others and didn't indicate, or seem to care, what his final tally was.  I think he was really just happy to be out there, like I was.  Steve, on the other hand, struggled to a 93.  He was not all that happy a camper.

After the round we stood in the parking lot by the car and Steve seemed reluctant to put the clubs away.  He said he wanted to hit a couple of shots and have me take a look at his swing.  Why he wanted me to look at his swing is a good question.  But, if you are feeling desperate, I suppose any port in a storm will do.  So we went to the range and he threw down a scruffy ball.  He took a practice swing, brushing the grass nicely, and looked at me.

"What did you see?" Steve asked.

I just shrugged.  It looked like just another swing to me.  That's the problem with trying to help someone with their swing.  As Bobby Jones pointed out, often what matters more is what a golfer feels he is doing than what he is actually doing.  Golf is a feel game.

Steve likes to talk about a buddy of his who used to stand on the range and say, "Now I'm going to swing like Nick Price."

His buddy would then tee another one up and say, "Now I'm going to swing like Freddie Couples."

The funny thing was, according to Steve, every swing looked just the same.

I suggested to Steve that he just hit one concentrating on making the club-face strike the ball going straight down the target line.  He hit it and produced what for him was a dead-straight, perfect seven iron.  He looked at me and shook his head.  

That's one of the problems with golf.  We worry about our swing when it's the strike that really matters.  I know I keep harping on about Bobby Jones, but that's because he was so brilliant.  He said that, when he was competing, he focussed intently on the strike and left his swing to take care of itself.  I try to do the same thing, but my powers of concentration are sadly lacking.  Eventually, I get back to thinking about my swing just long enough to screw things up.  

What Should You Concentrate On?

Concentration, or the ability to concentrate, is vital in playing good golf.  We know this to be true.  But the question is, what do we concentrate on?  Bobby Jones devoted a chapter of his book, Bobby Jones on Golf, to the subject.  What he wrote concerning concentration is, I think, quite enlightening.

Bobby was once asked whether there was any one thing that he thought about that enabled him to keep hitting the ball well.  He wrote:

"I replied that when I was hitting the ball well, there was always one or two things I made certain of doing, and the doing of them would assure success for awhile.  But they were not always the same things.  One conception was good for only a limited time, and when the charm wore off, I would begin looking for something else...This is something the theorists and analysts overlook when they are not themselves reasonably capable players.  It is of great value to have a clear understanding of the successive movements making up a correct golf swing; this much is needed in order to enable one to recognize and correct faults as they appear.  But no human is able to think through and at the same time execute the entire sequence of correct movements.  The player himself must seek for a conception, or fix upon one or two movements concentration upon will enable him to hit the ball.  Then when this wears out, because perhaps he begins to exaggerate or overemphasize it to the detriment of something else, the search must begin anew for another idea that will work.  In this process, there inevitably are alterations in the swing, not in fundamentals of course, nor of radical proportions, but more than can be accounted for in any series of diagrams."

So, Bobby Jones helps dispel the notion that all good players can simply stand up to the ball, take aim and fire, without the need to think about their swing.  All swings can, and sometimes do go awry.  There is no one conception that, once discovered, works all the time.  Faults creep in from time to time and we have to search for them and find a way to correct them.  There are times when the swing is in the proper groove and the game can become almost easy.  But those happy times are invariably followed by a period of searching.

Bobby continues by saying:

"If the expert player, possessing a swing that is sound in fundamentals, has to be continually jockeying about to find the means of making it produce fine golf shots, what of the average golfer who has never developed such a swing?  Still groping for some sort of method that will give him a measure of reliability, it is only natural that he should try almost anything; and he must."

So, while it would be great to play the game with no swing thoughts; with a mind uncluttered by mechanical thoughts; the reality is that we will always have to do some tinkering in order to get better, or to maintain what we have.  That is the nature of the game, and part of its fascination.  

But when talking about what to tinker with, and what to leave alone, Bobby advised against any tinkering with the grip.  He wrote that once you have learned a proper grip, you should resist any urge to change it in an effort to correct a temporary hooking or slicing problem.  He concluded: "If the grip is wrong, change it by all means, but let the change be a permanent one."

All golfers, it seems, are in the same boat. Bobby wrote:

"To say that any round of golf offers a magnificent gamble in the way of form is to add nothing new.  We all realize that we can never know in advance how the shots will go on a particular afternoon.  To go even farther, we can have no assurance, after hitting seventeen fine tee shots, that the eighteenth will not be disgraceful.  These are the uncertainties the golfer accepts as parts of the game, and indeed loves it all the more because of them... To play any golf shot correctly requires an unwavering concentration.  The most perfect swing in the world needs direction, and plenty of it, and when its possessor begins to do a little mental daisy picking, something always goes wrong.  A perfect attunement of every faculty is a thing even the finest players attain only very rarely, but by constantly keeping a vigilant watch over themselves they are able to shut out major vices over a comparatively long period of time.  Their concentration is not occasional, but extends to every single shot, no matter how simple it may appear."

There's a wide gulf separating the champions from the average golfer, both in skill, and in the ability to concentrate.  But, as Bobby concludes his chapter, he points out that in one way, at least, we are in the same boat.  He wrote:

"But proper concentration during a round of golf is intended to accomplish something different from the perfect execution of each stroke.  Powers of concentration alone cannot make up for any vast deficiency of skill and bring a mediocre player up to the level of one who possesses more real ability.  But while on their respective form and ability to make shots and keep on making them, a wide gulf separates the champion from the average golfer, still, in one respect, their problems are the same when they start upon a round of golf.  What each wants is a good round for him, and this leaves a comparison of their expectations entirely out of the issue."

If we want to play our best, whether we are champions, duffers, or somewhere in between, we must concentrate on every shot.  The problem is, what do we concentrate on?  Unfortunately, as Bobby points out, the answer is not always the same.  That's why golf will never become boring.  It is, indeed, a "magnificent gamble."  We just never know how each shot will go.  All we can do is keep on hitting it, no matter what happens, and try to concentrate on every shot.  One shot at a time. That's all we can do.  

Carl the Grinder

It seems to me that every round of golf offers you the opportunity to learn something.  In many cases what you learn is something you already knew, but perhaps had forgotten, or neglected.  It seems, in golf, we need to learn, or be reminded of, the same things over and over again.  Or, perhaps it's just me, but I don't think so. I also see many of my playing partners making the same mistakes every time we play.  We're a bunch of slow learners.

I played today with Radar, Billy, and Carl.  I have called him "Carl the Grumbler," but I've been told that perhaps Carl needs a new nickname since he's taken to breaking his age these days.  Radar and I played Carl and Billy in a match in which you get a point for low man on a hole and a point for low team total.  

I went out today feeling pretty good after having found something in my last few holes yesterday.  I realized that I had been getting quick from the top, or in my change of direction.  When I slowed it down and took it a little easier from the top I was hitting it really well.  

After a par on the first hole, I birdied the second, and then managed to push-fade a tee shot on number three with a strong left to right wind.  The ensuing lost ball, and three putts, ended in a triple bogey.  I then took too much club on the par 3 fourth and struck a perfect shot over the pin and over the green, making a bogey.  In two holes, I'd gone from one under to three over.  

On the fifth tee, I push-faded another drive with a right to left wind and, after being forced to gouge the ball out of the fescue, made another bogey.  On number 6, our signature par 5, I made an eagle, and followed that with three pars to go out in two over.  

On the back nine I made two birdies, a double bogey and three bogeys, including a three putt on the last hole after a perfect tee shot to about twenty feet.  I actually scuffed the green with my putter, getting the first putt about half way to the hole.  I was watching the putter head go back again.  So, to sum it all up, I shot 77 with a triple, a double, five bogeys, three birdies, and an eagle.  If you read my scorecard, it could have been mistaken for a series of phone numbers instead of golf scores.  I was up and down like a proverbial toilet seat.

Meanwhile, Carl played his usual game; hitting some good shots, some pretty lousy shots, and lots of perfectly acceptable shots. He missed several very makeable putts, but also got it up and down on several occasions when you might have bet against him.  He managed to shoot 75.  

Radar and I won the match, but Carl had the bragging rights for the low round.  What did I learn?  The same lessons I keep having to learn.  Don't watch the putter head go back.  Don't miss it long on number four. Don't miss it right on three, or five.  

I also learned, once again, that Carl won't hesitate to beat you if you give him an opening.  Despite all his missed putts--to hear him, he never makes anything--Carl never made worse than bogey and shot 75.  Not bad for a 72 year old who, if you saw him swing, you would swear he couldn't break ninety.  Carl readily admits that his swing is unothodox.  He knows that he flips and scoops at his chips, and he aims left and pushes his putts back on line.  But he gets the ball in the hole. 

As Carl will tell you, that's what he's always been good at; getting the ball in the hole.  Looking pretty doing so has never been an issue to him. There's a big lesson in that.  Perhaps, if I concentrated more on getting the ball in the hole, rather than how I am swinging the club, I might actually play better. 

As Radar and I watched Carl today, we commented several times on how hard he was grinding it out on every shot.  He wants to get the ball in the hole on every putt.  He wants to beat you.  He never gives up. Carl grumbles when he misses putts he thinks he should have made--which, for Carl, is every putt--but he really isn't Carl the Grumbler, he's actually Carl the Grinder.  He plays better than you think he should be able to play because he tries hard.  Bobby Jones said he thought he won so many championships because he was willing to take more punishment, and he tried harder, than everyone else.  That's the biggest lesson I learned again today.  If you want to play your best, you've got to be a grinder.  I learned again today that you've got to give every shot your best effort. 

The real benefit of being a grinder is that, even if you don't play better, you have the satisfaction of knowing you played the best you could with what you had to work with on the day.  Bobby Jones believed that this was the way to play.  He didn't believe you should go out and just relax and have fun.  He felt the way to really enjoy the game was to really throw yourself into the game and try to hit every shot as well as you possibly can.  Grinding may seem like hard work, but totally immersing yourself in the game, and giving it your all, is the way to derive the most benefit from the game.  I suppose it's like living every day as though it might be your last is the way to really live.  Every shot you make where you didn't try your best is a shot wasted; just like every day taken for granted is a day wasted.

I think, next time out, I'm going to try to really grind it out.  It may seem a bit like work, but if I can do it, I won't have any regrets.  Besides, I'm getting kind of tired of having that old guy, Carl the Grinder, beat my sorry ass.

To Waggle or Not to Waggle

I played with Steve, Brian, and Tim again today at one of our favourite "away courses," Shelter Valley Pines near Grafton, Ontario.  A fun day was had by all.

Tim is an aspiring comedian who is something to behold on the golf course. His game is somewhat erratic, with the occasional birdie, followed by the inevitable sevens and eights.  We were saying afterwards that some of his antics on the course would be great for his act.  He is a great guy, but he's sometimes awfully hard to watch, particularly if you are having a bad day and just want to get on with it.  

Tim, after finally deciding on a weapon and the shot to play, sets up to the ball with murderous intent.  He takes a few waggles, eyeing up his target, digs himself in like a batter in baseball, and then freezes over the ball, staring it down like it's a venomous snake.  He's a lefty, and likes to set up right next to the tee marker on the left side of the tee box, likely in an effort to accommodate his fade, which is really more of a slice.  After this ritual, he sets his club behind the ball and takes a vicous swing.  It is only after the dust settles that you realize this was, in fact, a practice swing.  Your first thought is, "he missed it!"  The process then repeats itself, this time with the ball being struck.  The results are not very predictable, but his full finish is; even if the shot fails to get past the ladies tee, as it did on several occasions today.  You can pretty much count on Tim holding that finish.  He holds the finish like a champ.

At first, being one who likes to play quickly, I would find myself being faked out by Tim's routine, starting to move to my next shot, only to realize that this first, deliberately vicious, swipe was, in fact, only his practice swing. I've pretty much got it now, but tend to try not to watch this routine as much as possible in case some of it wears off.  If there is a real positive, in discussing Tim's pre-shot routine, it's that his practice swing certainly matches his regular swing.  Both swings are identical, and they are all business.  There's no patty-caking it where Tim is concerned.

This, eventually predictable, pre-shot routine by Tim got me thinking about all the ways in which players set up and prepare to hit the ball.  I must admit that I find it quite fascinating to watch the varied contortions and rituals most players will go through just to hit a ball with a stick.

One thing that was perhaps made popular by Ben Hogan was the waggle.  His book Five Lessons contributed to a generation of wagglers, but he was certainly not the father of the waggle as I discovered by reading Bobby Jones on Golf.  Tim's definitely a waggler.  But, come to think of it, we don't see as many waggles on the PGA tour these days, other than perhaps Jason Dufner.

The question is, therefore, should we waggle?  Is there any virtue in it, or is it simply an affectation that contributes very little to the success of the shot?  Bobby Jones saw some real virtue, not necessarily in the waggle alone, but in staying in motion prior to starting the swing.  In a chapter entitled Staying in Motion, Bobby wrote:

"The function of the waggle and the movement of the body preceding the actual beginning of the backswing is to avoid or destroy tension in the position from which the swing is to make its start.  Smoothness is an essential quality of the correct golf stroke, and since a smooth start cannot be made if the muscles are tense or the posture strained, it is of the utmost importance that the player should be completely relaxed and comfortable as he addresses the ball.  Provided the waggle and the player's manner of falling into his first position accomplish this, it matters little what form the movement takes.  Practice among first-class players varies from one waggle of the club to Sandy Herd's famous seventeen. (I once counted them.)

My own preference is for a manner of addressing the ball that wastes little time.  Having decided upon the club to use and the shot to play before stepping up to the ball, I can see no reason for taking any more time in the address than is necessary to measure one's distance from the ball and to line up the shot.  The more one fiddles around arranging the position, the more likely one is to be beset by doubts that produce tension and strain.

It is far easier to maintain perfect relaxation if one keeps continuously in motion, never becoming still and set.  It sounds farfetched, I know, bit I have have had a few players tell me that after forming the habit of taking great pains in addressing the ball, they reached a point where they simply could not take the club back...

I do not think it wise to prescribe any definite number of waggles. (Bobby wrote that, when he took more than one, he could expect trouble.)  That depends too much upon how long is required for the player to settle into a comfortable position; but it is important to make the movement easy, smooth, and comfortable, and to form the habit of getting the thing done without too much fussing and worry.  In many cases, it will help to determine for awhile to just step up to the ball and hit it."

I don't really think about my pre-shot routine.  I know I always step in from behind the ball, first aiming my club face.  I know I also tend to start every swing with a forward press, but I'm never really conscious of whether I waggle or not.  I don't really think Bobby would recommend some of the deliberately elaborate pre-shot routines we see these days.  Whether we choose to waggle or not, I think he would definitely prefer that everyone, especially amateurs, be resolved just to "miss it quick."  All I can say is, "Amen to that."

In the picture, below, Tim is on the left, Brian is on the right, and I stand, like a rose between two thorns, in the middle of the seventeenth tee at the Sanctuary Club on Cat Island, near Beaufort, South Carolina. 

Bobby Jones on Taking the Breaks in Stride

Our golf course is actually quite difficult.  It is not long, playing only 6300 yards from the back tees, but it is designed in such a way that, on many of the shorter holes, including the par fives, the long hitter must hit driver at his peril.  There is enough trouble, in the form of deep rough, fescue, and water to force you to use course management, or face the inevitable consequences.

The rough this year is about as tough as you can imagine, and a fairly good drive can end up in a nasty spot by being just a yard or two off line.  It can be tough, but it's the same for everyone.  Sometimes good shots, or at least fairly reasonable shots, can and will end up in some nasty spots.  So, it is incumbent on anyone playing our course to be resolved to expect, and accept, some bad breaks.  Of course, this is not just limited to our course.  In every round, on every course, you are going to get some bad breaks.

Bad breaks are just a part of the game.  Perhaps the problem is that we tend to be more infuriated by the bad breaks, than we are grateful for the good ones.  Perhaps we aren't all that way, but I certainly have been guilty of thinking nothing of a poor shot that just stopped short of a hazard when it might just as easily have gone in, but getting mad as hell when a good drive found a divot in the fairway.  I'd like to think I'm more balanced in my thinking now, but I am still occasionally guilty of moaning about my luck, or lack thereof.

Bobby Jones offered some wonderful advice in his book, Bobby Jones on Golf, in a chapter called TAKING THE BREAKS IN STRIDE.  He wrote:

"Incidentally, by cultivating the habit of accepting difficult lies as part of the game, we can derive for ourselves more pleasure from the playing of it.  It will help us to remember that we tire of banging balls on a practice tee, where for each successive shot the lie of the ball and the problem is the same as for the preceding stroke.  We must have a change of scenery, but when we get too much of it, we curse our luck.

One of the reasons Walter Hagen was such a great competitor was his habit of accepting readily any problem the breaks of the game may have tossed his way.  Once a spectator, standing by Walter's ball after it had taken a wicked kick into long grass, remarked to him as he came up that he had had bad luck.  "Well," said Walter with a smile, "here it is and from here I have to play it."

The continual striving to improve our score, although entirely natural, nevertheless does detract to some extent from our ability to enjoy golf.  When we become slaves to the card and pencil, we become inclined to regard as total losses those rounds in which our score mounts beyond our reasonable expectancy.  When we take pleasure in the game only according to the scorecard, a bad start is likely to put entirely away the possibility of an enjoyable afternoon.

The real way to enjoy playing golf is to take pleasure not in the score, but in the execution of the strokes.  A brassie shot to a green can be just as interesting when played after a recovery from trouble as when it follows a perfect drive.  By cultivating this attitude, one finally comes to welcome unusual situations, in which there is the possibility of pulling off something a little out of the ordinary.  And again, such an attitude in itself brings better results because it sustains interest and keeps one trying to the end."

Fred Shoemaker expressed this same idea in his book Extraordinary Golf, talking about viewing every shot as an opportunity to hit a great shot.  Your attitude really means everything.  Imagine, the next time your ball finds a crummy lie in a bunker, saying to yourself, "Here's an opportunity to hit a really tough shot well," rather than cursing your luck.  Your chances of recovering are much better in the first instance.  And, should you fail to recover, the shot will still be more fun if you embrace the challenge, seeing it as an opportunity rather than punishment from the golfing gods.

I have actually tried to adopt this approach.  Golf really is more fun when you finally accept bad breaks as being part of the game and an opportunity to maybe do something special or different, to pull off a shot you've perhaps never hit before.  Anyone can hit a shot from a good lie, but a ball in a divot, or in a heel print in a bunker, now that's where we get the chance be creative, and to see what we're really capable of.  It might fizzle and fail, but the fun is in the trying.  That Bobby Jones was one very wise man.  

Bobby Jones on Golf: The Ultimate Object

The first chapter of Bobby Jones on Golf offers some very valuable information that golfers, including myself--perhaps especially myself--are inclined sometimes to forget.  The ultimate object of the game of golf is to get the ball from the teeing ground into the hole in the fewest number of strokes possible.

Of course, golfers know that this is what golf is about, but their actions often suggest that, while they know it, they don't necessarily understand it.  Unfortunately, unscrupulous teachers and club manufacturers take advantage of this general lack of understanding on the part of golfers in general when they advertise the latest and greatest driver, guaranteed to give you ten more yards.  Or offer gadgets, gizmos, and lessons guaranteed to give you more length, when what you really need is some understanding of how to score better.

If they really understood the game, most average players would never even use a driver, let alone buy the new, latest and greatest model, until they could hit the fairway nine times out of ten with their three or five wood.  In fact, most higher handicappers would actually hit it farther, as well as straighter, with a three wood.  But drivers continue to sell like hot cakes, even though they often do more harm to an average player's score than good.

While playing, you see golfers taking practice swings, and checking their takeaway over and over, obviously totally preoccupied with swing mechanics, when they should be thinking of nothing more than where they want to place the next shot in order to get the ball in the hole faster.  Once you take to the course, all that matters is the score.  How stylish or pretty your swing looks means very little.  As the saying goes, "There are no pictures on the scorecard."

In his chapter, The Ultimate Object, Bobby describes a shot he remembered fondly from the 1926 US Open.  He found himself in a bunker on the thirteenth hole and, after considering all the possibilities, and the dangers, he chose to scoot the ball through the bunker and up the bank onto the green using a four iron.  This was one of his most memorable shots in a fantastic career that included thirteen Major championships by the age of twenty seven, and all four in his final season to secure the Grand Slam.

Bobby wrote, concerning this shot:

"The general tendency, I think, is to overlook the possibilities in a shot of this nature.  I admit that it does appear unworkmanlike and amateurish to run a shot through sand and out of a bunker, but it sometimes becomes necessary to disregard appearances.  A few disasters resulting from a desire to display brilliant technique are enough to harden even the most sensitive nature.  To approach the hole remains the ultimate object in the game.  Once the round is under way, the business in hand becomes that of getting results.  Nothing else matters."

This is wonderful advice from arguably the finest player the game has ever known.  If we want to play our best, we have to leave our ego in the parking lot.  If it is our score we care about, perhaps we need to leave our driver in the trunk as well.  If we are honest in appraising our game, and identifying where shots are lost or gained, we might just approach the game a bit differently and actually find our scores improving.

The other day I played with a young man who has serious game.  He hits it a mile, and was one under after nine holes, without really making any putts.  I was struggling, and he had me by four or five shots at the turn.  From the blues, where we were playing, our course is only 6300 yards.  It's a tight course, with lots of fescue rough, tight fairways, and water designed to catch the unwary, or over-ambitious player.  But, for this young lad, every hole is a driver and a wedge; provided the drive finds terra firma.  After nine, I was saying to myself, this is why you need to consider playing from the whites and opting out of any future club championships. 

On ten, he hit a wayward drive, tried a miraculous recovery, hit a tree, and lost his ball.  On the next hole, he hit another huge tee shot into the trees and made bogey.  He did it again on thirteen, trying a huge carry over water and pulling it instead into the trees, making another bogey.  

On seventeen, a fairly short dogleg par four, he hit a massive drive he intended to draw round the corner which ended up through the fairway and out of bounds.  This is a kid who already hits it like a pro.  I couldn't resist suggesting at this point that, given his prodigious length, he could just as easily have hit a hybrid, or even a four iron, to the hundred yard marker.  He responded by saying, "I always hit driver here, and that's the first time I've hit it OB."  What he also said, however, when I pointed out the line he really needed to take if he was going to hit his driver, was that he had lost several balls taking that route. Obviously, driver is not the club for him on seventeen.

He's a great kid.  But, on this day he went home tired and disgusted.  I'm certain he will become a fine player.  In fact, he already is a terrific ball-striker.  I'd give my right arm to be able to hit it like he does.  But, until he learns the ultimate object of the game, old, fat, short-knockers like me will still be able to occasionally beat him.  That's golf: no pictures on the scorecard.

Bobby Jones on Golf: Relieving Tension

One of the things you notice about most top players is how relaxed they appear as they prepare to strike the ball, and how smooth and effortless their swings are. When you watch Fred Couples, or Ernie Els hit the ball so far, with such little effort, you appreciate that golf is not about brute force. The absence of tension in their setup and their swing is obvious with all good players, regardless of how quick their tempo might be. 

Bobby Jones set out a set of rules that can help any golfer, regardless of their ability, to relieve the one thing that ruins more golf shots than anything else; and that is tension. In his book Bobby Jones on Golf, Bobby wrote:

"Because tension is the golfer's worst enemy, and the problem of remaining completely relaxed in order to complete a rhythmic swing his most difficult task, I am going to set out a few simple rules that will be of help in loosening up, regardless of the mechanical precision of the swing. We all want to develop a swing free of imperfections, but even the most perfect swing must have rhythm, and the most imperfect one may be made fairly effective by the addition only of a sense of timing.

Here are the rules:

1.  Grip the club lightly. Hold it mainly in the fingers, so that it can at all times be controlled and kept from turning in the hands without tautening the forearm muscles. But don't squeeze it. If you begin by gripping lightly, the hands will automatically tighten their hold as the progress of the swing makes this necessary. Make certain that you can feel the club head.

2.  In addressing the ball, arrange the posture as naturally and as comfortably as possible. Avoid strain in the position as much as you can. Don't bend over too far, don't reach for the ball, don't stiffen the legs, and don't spread the feet. These seem to be a lot of "don'ts," but in reality they are merely saying, "Stand erect, let the arms hang naturally from the shoulders, and bring the ball close enough to reach comfortably."

3.  Use the legs and hips in beginning the backswing. Don't begin by picking the club up with the hands and arms. Swing the club back and give the hips a full windup. If an ample use of the important muscles in the waist and back is not made, the effort will be too great and the swing will lose its smoothness.

4.  Be sure that the backswing is long enough. This gives the downswing plenty of time to get up speed before impact. A backswing that is too short inevitably leads to hurry and tension.

5.  Start the downswing in leisurely fashion. Don't hit from the top of the swing. If the backswing has been of ample length there is no need to be in too much hurry coming down. Let the acceleration be smooth and gradual.

6.  When it comes time to hit, don't leap at the ball. Let the club head do some of the work. Think of giving it speed and then let it float against and through the ball. Remember Newton's law that a body in motion tends to continue its motion in a straight line until acted upon by outside forces. Be careful of what "outside forces" you set up in trying at the last moment for that extra distance. Keep on swinging until the ball has had a good start down the fairway.

I have seen any number of players with terrible swings who obtained good results from a sense of rhythm and timing and nothing more; it is truly amazing how far one can go if he can only keep from tightening up. The effort to hit hard, instead of increasing the power of the swing, usually finishes in a sort of shove as what should have been the propelling force is expended too soon. The more leisurely swing, conserving this energy and discharging it where it will do the most good, yields more yards with considerably less effort."

We may never be able to learn to swing the club like the Big Easy, or Freddie, but we can all learn to relax our grip, take it a little easier, and let the club do some of the work. My old father always said, "Swing easy and accept the extra distance." He must have read Bobby's book.

Bobby Jones on Golf: Consistency

Every golfer wishes he or she could play consistently well. And yet, the most consistent thing about golf is its inconsistency. There are any number of teachers out there making a living, or a quick buck, by promising a swing, or a secret that, once learned, will take five to ten strokes off our game, or make us hit it thirty yards further, and make us play consistently well. Yet, even if we've tried their books, videos, gadgets, or even gone to them for lessons, all of us continue to struggle at one time or another; and often we find ourselves struggling more often than not. 

Bobby Jones, in his book Bobby Jones on Golf, offered some interesting insight into the problems encountered by anyone trying to play consistently well. It seems the pros are just like us when it comes to consistency. 

The following is an excerpt from Bobby Jones on Golf:

"Everyone who has played golf, however well or badly, has found how impossible it is to hold his best form, or anything like it, for any length of time. A chart of a player's golfing fortunes over an extended period would exhibit a series of peaks and depressions, with the peaks very sharp, the downward curves precipitate, and the up slopes long and arduous. There is always a long struggle, painfully won, from the bottom of each valley to the top of the hill, and then, after a brief travel along the crest, the touch or feel that was so hard to find vanishes in an instant and back we go to the bottom.

There are two real reasons why absolute consistency is so rare in golf, and an appreciation of them will show something of what the golfer's problem is and will give him a chance to tackle it with his eyes open. The only two things that will ever enable him to smooth out the curve of his game chart are, first, a thorough understanding of the fundamentals of the swing, and, second, an intimate and unprejudiced acquaintance with his own faults and tendencies to fault.

A golfer must play by feel, and I know that I am not the only person who has found that no feel, or conception, or idea, will work perfectly for very long. In other words, there is no one movement, or sequence of movements amenable to control, that being controlled, will continue indefinitely to produce satisfactory results. It is not possible to think through the entire swing when playing each shot. Sometimes by remembering to start the downstroke by shifting and turning the hips, highly satisfactory  results may be obtained. While this continues, we are enjoying one of the peaks of our chart. But soon, either because we begin to exaggerate this one thing, or forget entirely about something else, the whole thing goes wrong and we have to begin over again. Again, we set out to find another thought that will set things right. This is the time when we need our understanding of the swing, for without this we shall be groping in absolute darkness.

The other reason why it is so hard to hold form arises from the insidious nature of some of the faults that can creep into a golf swing without the player himself becoming aware of them. It has never been possible for me to think of more than two or three details of the swing and still hit the ball correctly. If more than that number have to be handled, I simply must play badly until by patient work and practice I can reduce the parts that have to be controlled. The two or three are not always the same; sometimes a man's swing will be functioning so well that he need worry about nothing; then, of course, on those rare occasions, the game is a simple thing.

But because we have not the capacity to think of everything while attention is directed elsewhere, a hundred little things can go wrong. Every year I played golf, I discovered more and more ways to miss shots, obscure and yet important mistakes I had never dreamed of making."

So, if you have been struggling with being consistently inconsistent, remember that everyone struggles with this game from time to time. Furthermore, when you see the advertisements for a secret, or a swing that will make you a consistent player; that, once learned, will work all the time; don't eat that, Arthur! Nothing works all the time. The only thing consistent about golf is its inconsistency. That's what makes it so damned fascinating. You can never totally figure it out.

The best we can hope to do is learn the fundamentals of the swing, come to understand our own swing and our tendencies to err, and, if we're lucky, find a good instructor, or unprejudiced and knowledgeable mentor, who can be another set of eyes when we are groping in the darkness.