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When I was 15, my best friend urged me to buy scuba diving equipment so we could dive the clear, deepwater lakes of Tennessee. His family had a boat. Mine didn't, and I did not want to be dependent on someone else for my hobbies. I bought golf clubs instead. It has been a love/hate relationship ever since then. (With golf, not my friend.)
I became a fairly good golfer after years of struggle. I completely quit for 12 years until about four years ago when my friend Ronnie sucked me back into the frustrating activity.
I am back to being a decent golfer. If I were not a very good putter, however, I would struggle to break 90. I will never hit a golf ball as well as Scottie Scheffler does, but I can putt almost as well as he does. I follow his same routine. I pick my line on putts and break the putt into several shorter pieces until I am confident. Knowing the difference between a four pace length putt from a five pace putt is everything. I expect to make every putt inside of three paces.
On every shot with a full swing I think about my foot placement (which establishes my alignment) and maintaining balance throughout the swing. Once I start the swing, the only thing I see is the one dimple on the ball I am focused on.
My expectations are always negotiable with the gods of golf, meaning I accept whatever the golf course chooses to give me. Sort of like fishing.
I am glad I don't have to eat what the golf course gives me, however.
Discussion (53)
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A gopher here, a bird there . . .
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I like your techniques and I am surprised it doesn't yield better results on your score. Is your course exceptionally difficult? Are you playing tees that require more length than you can produce? I was forced to give up the game because of physical injuries in my shoulders and back, but in the last 10 years of playing ( ages 65 through 75 ) I made adjustments by using closer tee boxes. My short game was respectable and the course was fairly short. You are lucky and I am jealous. I wish that I was still playing.
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A mother duck with about eight babies waddled across the fairway in front of Ronnie last week. I told him he could get a birdie if he wanted to but if his shot killed one of those ducks I would never play with him again. He promptly shanked it about fifty yards sideways.
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My course is long and very lush. I can only reach the greens in regulation on the par threes and par fives and I play from the senior tees. I tell Ronnie that if my driving distance continues to diminish, I will carry a pink skirt and transition to the women's tees.
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Dave Winfield you ain't.
In Canada, natch.
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