My Usual Game: Disrespect the Easy Putt and Lose The Match

Yesterday: Dormie, with a three foot sidehill uphill putt to win the 17th hole and continue the semi-finals match of our Club Match Play Championship, I did the unthinkable: I half-heartedly tried to guide the ball to the cup and hit it so weakly that the break took over and let the ball slide by. Match over, handshakes, and the empty feeling of ultimately beating myself when it mattered the most.

That's golf. It takes a strong mind in order to win. Not only that, a singular constancy of purpose that might best be described as Zen on the green. And on that 17th green, I blinked, plain and simple.

I thought I knew better. So much for that theory!

Now then, I might have lost the next hole, or merely tied it and still lost the match. My opponent, Jerry, was more than capable of beating me, and I won't denigrate his well deserved win in our club's match play by claiming that I merely beat myself. That would be inaccurate and disrespectful. The guy's a solid golfer he played solid golf and took me to the limits of my capabilities and then beyond them. In other words, Jerry beat me, fair and square, and well done for him. Let me be 100% clear about that. And not only that, he is a gentleman and a guy that's fun to play with, not only for the golfing challenge, but also because he's damned pleasant to be around. I like to laugh and Jerry will make you laugh if you ever play 18 with him.

But it is the way that I lost in this tournament that eats at me, and it will serve as a lesson for me in the future. Instead of putting the deciding putt when my mind was ready, I took it for granted and gave an effort I don't think was my best. It was so easy that I made it impossibly hard because I wasn't committed. There's a fine line between thinking too much and thinking too little and in the case of a three footer that I would make 98 out of 100 times, I didn't think enough. Even little three footers deserve your respect, especially when the match is on the line. By doing that, I took away the possibility of continuing the match to the 18th, where anything could happen.

The experience gave me new respect for the old Bobby Jones aphorism about the toughest part of a golf course being the five inches between the ears. I may never have the magical powers of concentration of Ben Hogan or Tiger Woods, but next time I have a critical putt, you can bet I will remember this, and then clear out my head before the putter blade moves back a millimeter.

I also found another level of respect for the men and women who play tournament golf for a living. For them, the stakes are many magnitudes higher, with more people watching and way more people asking questions. I miss a putt in a club event and we go to the 19th hole for a cold beer. They miss a putt with a tournament on the line, especially a major, and their career can careen in a different direction. Not many folks remember who finished second in a major more than a few months later. No one remembers who finished second in the 2003 Quad Cities Open. But the folks who did certainly do. And they probably rue the key miss more than I do.

Ah well, even an old dog can learn a new lesson.

Finally, an open message: Jerry, best of luck in the Finals. I will be rooting for you and will buy you your first drink when you hoist the Champion's Trophy. Or not, either way. Hit 'em well, sir.

You Won't Get a Good Swing From A Poor Posture

80% of what goes wrong with a bad golf swing happens before the club even moves.

That may sound counter-intuitive, because all too often we get caught up in swing mechanics -- swing plane, release, follow-through and the like. These are important, but as it with all things, you really need to start with a sound base in order to make all of the swing elements come together and get a good result.

This I know in spades, as I have recently entered into a small mini-slump from a ball-striking standpoint, one in which I find I am pushing the ball to the weakly to the right and either not getting long draws off of the tee box or hitting targets on my approaches. That in turn has led to too much defensive golf, which makes a day out with the regular foursome a little less fun (and profitable) that it normally is.

Like most amateurs, I have tried this drill and that adjustment, hoping to get the club back into "the groove" -- that seemingly effortless swing where the golf club almost finds its own way back and through, sending the ball on the right way towards the target at impact. None of it worked. These adjustments weren't going to ever work either, because I have discovered that the problem lay in the foundation. I took a lesson last week and the second I saw the first video of my swing, I knew exactly where the problem lay: I was slumping over the ball with a poor stance, and that gave the club little chance to rotate through correctly. So now I have something to work on -- redeveloping the habit of a proper stance.

Here's a video from professional Bryan Pemberton, the Director of Instruction at the Reserve at Spanos Park in Stockton, California. Pemberton is a former NCAA All-American, and in this video, he describes in precision a problem many golfers have but never realize:

My Usual Game: Sidelined By Yard Work (?!)

But Mrs. Old Man Par plays Pinehurst anyway...
I thought that I would get some long-neglected domestic duties out of the way on Saturday morning, starting with getting some yard work done that I have been putting off all summer. Saturday was one of those gifts-from-the-gods sort of days, an early summer day that was neither humid nor hot, and it presented a last-chance opportunity to do some manual labor before the temperatures in North Carolina are set to "Purgatory" for the next three months.

I weeded the gardens, trimmed the edges of the grass, planted some seedlings, among other things, and finally came to the last chore. It was to clean up a couple of bushes in the front yard that had been marked for removal by my wife's pruning shears. She'd cut them off to the ground, as they looked like they'd died, but in fact, she simply stimulated them to start growing with renewed vigor -- and they looked awful, almost as though someone had cut their hair with a Flowbee and then just let it grow back unkempt. They had to go.

Easy enough, I thought, as I yanked the two of them out of the ground that's been softened by a week solid of rain. Then, before putting them in the mountain of yard waste that'd been built through the morning. While I did it, I was thinking that I might head off to the golf course a couple of hours later, and get in 18 holes, and then play again Sunday morning on dew-sweeping duties with my friends. And that's when my troubles began: I shook one of the newly pulled bushes so the soil clinging to the roots could refill the hole in the ground left behind... and when I did, I stabbed my right hand with a root sharpened by chopping out the bush a couple minutes before. Ouch! Frak!

I was immediately in some serious pain, as though it was a deep stab wound (it wasn't, maybe a quarter of an inch) or had hit a nerve (didn't happen.) Throbbing, deep, real pain. Huh? WTF?

I'm not a wimp, and I have hurt myself in small ways and large in my time. This little bitty inconsequential wound hurt on the level of a broken thumb or foot. Odd, I thought to myself. I washed it out best I could, put on a Band-Aid, took an aspirin and manned up and finished up my chores.

End of story, or so I thought.

Wrong-o!!! A half hour later the back of my hand started itching with the kind of an itch that scratching won't cure. Then the itch slowly travelled up my arm. Again, no big deal, it was as if the bush was poison ivy, which I am not even allergic to. I thought that the itching would go away in a few minutes. It didn't. It only got worse and my arm from my elbow down turned a bright red, as though it was badly suburned.

Then came swelling in my hand and forearm...to almost twice their normal size. I could barely close my fingers and instead of itching I got throbbing pain instead.

Yikes! Rather than waiting for hours in a Doc-In-The-Box (an urgent care center) I took some Benadryls and the requisite nap that goes with the sleepy-time side effects of that drug. A little help, but not much.

Overnight Saturday, the swelling didn't subside and the pain held steady. I seriously was considering going to the Emergency Room in the morning when I remembered I had some Prednisone in the cabinet, which is about as potent an anti-inflammatory medication as one can get this side of a shot in the keester from a doctor. Coupled with some more Benadryls, I took that just after I called my buddy Leo and cancelled out of our Sunday foursome -- to which he teased me that I was just afraid he'd beat me and came up with any excuse I could think of. Then he told me to get better after I told him to drop by and have a look for himself. There was just no way I could hold a golf club, much less take the pounding of impact through the course of a round.

Thankfully, the swelling started going down today, taking with it the headaches and itching. All caused by yardwork! So now, we come to the Moral of the story: keep your priorities straight and never do yardwork. It is hazardous to your health and will harm your golf game. Keep in mind what's important in life, and it ain't Yard of the Month.

Meanwhile, my lovely wife headed out to play at Pinehurst's fabulous #8 course, a Tom Fazio creation that's among the top 10 in the country in terms of being friendly to women. She had a blast while I glowered out of the living room window at players coming and going to our 17th green, cursing my bad luck all the while.

On the other hand, I did get to watch the entire final round of The Memorial, where I got to see Tiger Woods finally unveil his post-knee-reconstruction A-game.

Tiger literally didn't miss a fairway all afternoon and pretty much put on a clinic with a seven-under 65 to come back from four down and take the win. The finish on 18 was incredibly Tiger-esque -- a ~180 yard shot to fourteen inches on a pin tucked tight to the right edge of the green and behind a bunker, the kind of flag that's labeled "sucker" on the pin-sheet and one that a sensible player stays the heck away from. Well, sensible players not named Tiger Woods. The win was impressive, sure, but the most impressive thing to me was the demeanor of Woods out on the course through the back-and-forth final round. All day, Tiger was as patient as a cat staring out of a window. And when the time came, on 15, 17 and 18, he pounced, scoring birdies on some of the harder holes on the Tour. The other players, Jim Furyk included, wilted under the pressure of needing birdies on tough holes with 14.5-speed greens, but Tiger held steady and had his best round of the year. While seeing that unfold was fun, it was only a consolation prize for missing golfing with my pals.

Finally, wouldn't you know it...when I woke up to come in for another week of work here in the office, the swelling and pain are all but gone and the only reminder of the weekend is a raw looking wound on the pad of my right hand. Isn't it funny how bad luck goes like that?

My Usual Game: Goal Accomplished, Sort Of

I went out yesterday for a sunset round after work with no expectations and no pressure. Since there was a foursome in front of me as I took to the first hole, I decided to play the two golf balls in my pocket: a Bridgestone Tour and Pro V1X, and gather two scores at the same time.

The first hole was rough because I didn't head to the range to warm up and as a result my drives were...awful, and I took a beating. After a deep sigh and a moment's relaxation, I dropped the second pair onto the smooth carpet and started playing better.

Finally, on the eighth, I noticed a nice scorecard was under construction. Not thinking too much about it, I finished up as the sun touched the rim of the horizon and added up my scores in the gloaming. This is the uncorrected version - the 40 is actually a 39, and I fixed it before entering them, but breaking 80 with my "new" swing has happened.

Now it is time to make it happen again. And after that, nearly every time I hit the links.

Golf is an easy games some day. I bet a throw a 95 out this afternoon now that expectations will creep in once again.

My Usual Game: Old Man Par Was Kindly But Stingy This Weekend

Tournament golf in a typical club here in America are events where the ego is on the line, and suddenly the little three-foot rake-ins that are gimmes in a casual round become testers. It is the members' rare taste of a higher level of golf, something I like to call "real golf" that contrasts greatly from our usual Sunday foursomes. Someone once said that there is golf and then there is tournament golf, and to me at least, the latter can be far more enjoyable. Especially when you win, which is what we did this weekend.

It was our annual Spring Member-Member here, and while I cannot boast winning the gross or the net prizes, my partner and I did win our Calcutta (2nd place the first day, 1st the second) as well as second in the club's prize pool the first day as well. In other words, we doubled our entry money in the two prize pools, and for that, we were both happy. It's always good to roll to the house with a few crisp new portraits of Ben Franklin.

You may ask why we were pleased, given a relatively mediocre showing. After all, we didn't win outright, which was our goal (and ending a three tournament winning streak) and there was money left on the table. The answer is simple: we played below our handicaps, which are true handicaps and not bags of sand. We both buckled down, played great partner golf and we made nearly all of the shots and the putts we needed to make to get us into the money. Getting beaten by someone else who played a little better doesn't bother me, all I can do is golf my ball and let the chips fall where they may. You're just not going to beat a 53-55 nets for a dazzling -34 total.

That, and being a good sportsman and a gracious competitor means I slept very well last night and had some thoughts and ideas about how to play even better next time. There's always a stroke or three left somewhere out on the course, and something to work on no matter what kind of golfer you are.

For example: sitting 126 out from the green on "Home" -- the hole I live on -- I pulled a seven iron to make sure I got aboard safely to an island of short grass surrounded by a churning sea of death. That club is normally a 155 yard club for me, but this shot was in a four club wind. I hit a piercing draw that bit into the wind, the kind of ball that feels like butter as it comes off of the center of the club face. The ball flew true, turning left, and then a gust of wind turned the ball around, ballooned it skyward then slammed it one yard to the right of the putting surface and down towards a watery grave. But it didn't go into the coffin. It stopped one foot short and I was able to save par with a nifty up and down.

Now then, why tell you about a bad shot that fell shy of its target? Well, if you have read the early entries from this blog, you may remember that the wind is no friend of mine out of the golf course. I've let the wind get in between my ears and inside that empty chamber there, it has caused some of the poorest games I have had in years.

In the case of this particular shot (and it was critical in the standings,) with a difficult carry facing me and a strong wind challenging my nerves, I hit precisely the shot I visualized beforehand, executed it calmly and got the result that I wanted. At least until the breeze turned a three clubber into a four clubber for the wrong three seconds. That the breeze stiffened and gave me less than I hoped for was a rub of the green that no one can account for and that's just golf.

I did let out a John McEnroe-ish "you have GOT to be kidding me!" when I saw it come up short, but I collected myself and took the next shot that was given to me, and pulled it off. I also made a good shot in a difficult position just before that and didn't let any tension ruin my thoughts or my swing. And the tee after that, I hit my best drive of the day and that also showed me something.

That's a great case of sometimes even when you lose you still win, and that calm before and after is what I plan to carry into the next tournament. All too often we beat ourselves in this game, but this was not a weekend where I let that happen, and that's a win no matter what the final score.

I'd Be a Great Golfer If I Only Played My Usual Game, Part 2

Another chapter in my endless chase of Old Man Par.

Thank goodness a friend talked me into playing yesterday afternoon. After a demoralizing slog in the mud and wind on Sunday, my clubs found their orientation in the proper direction yesterday in the calm air of a cool early spring day, and I managed to shoot a 42 on the front nine of a more difficult course than my home track as the sun set over central North Carolina.

As it always is with this game, the score should have been a 38, tops, but my putting was distracted by hairy and sandy greens that were recently aerated. Ah well, on another day I will make it so.

My Usual Game, Part 1: "Why Do I Play This Game, Again?"

Spring golf can be the greatest experience, or it can be something that makes you wonder why you ever chose to pick up a crooked stick and chase a white ball through the fields.

I played yesterday on the home course after three days of heavy rains. 90% of the fairways were casual water, and that's no exaggeration.

Add to that a cold front came through overnight, and we left the first tee in steady 20 MPH winds with gusts reaching towards 40 MPH.

And finally, there's something about Eagle Ridge that makes the winds blow in your face no matter what hole you are on, save for the opening three.

Sounds like a bunch of excuses, right? Well, no, I should be able to handle a breeze and I should be able to work my golf ball the way I like. I know how and I know better...but somehow that escaped me for most of the day yesterday.

It's my fault I almost threw up my first triple digit score in nearly forever and it's certainly my fault that I chose to swing too hard, to give the club death grips and to not rotate my body back and through. And it's my fault that I was so far away from the hole on most greens that I wasn't able to save my own keester with the flatstick.

That's the bad news. The good news is that I have changed my short game technique and I chipped in and saved par on two other holes with my new swing. Plus, I finally replaced Larry Mizuno, my old trusty 60 degree wedge with Andy Taylor-Made, and Andy earned his pay with the par save chip into the hole.

All in all a very frustrating day on the links. Then again, a bad day on the links is always better than a good day at work, and I got home in time to watch the full round of the final pair from Bay Hill. Tiger's back and it was a pleasure to sip my Fat Tire, lick my wounds and watch golf being played the way it ought to.

There's plenty of blank scorecards in the clubhouse and my game is on the come, even if it took three steps backwards yesterday. A blank scorecard is hope renewed, and a good round is faith found once more.