Sergio Gacia, "I just have to get better."

That was Garcia's response when asked what he needs to do to win a major. It's a reasonable answer, but totally evasive. For example, the rest of us, in order to shoot better scores, can and should get better--there's plenty of room for improvement when you're scores are above 80. However, when you're at Garcia's level of play, there isn't any technique you can improve to save strokes--he can hit a 2-iron 250 yards off the fairway, for Pete's sake. No, at his level, it's all about psychology.

So, let's ask Mr. Garcia the question again. "Mr. Garcia, why didn't you win the British Open?"

Mr. Garcia, "Well, that's complicated. You see, I'm young, and I've never really thought of myself as an equal to other players. Sure, I shoot the same scores, but deep down--and this is hard for me to admit--I feel like a little kid out there with the men. So at the crucial moment, I hit a bad shot."

OR

"You've seen the outfits I where, right? Colorful, tight-fitting, gregarious. You see, I think I wear that stuff because I have to feel special, and if I don't win a major, I'm the least special of all. That added pressure--that I'm playing not only to win a tournament, but to define myself as a human being--is too much. I think I sold myself a bill of goods, and I think by losing, I'm rebelling against my own incorrect assumptions of identity."

Of course, a player doesn't have to admit that kind of stuff to the press, but he does have to admit it to himself (and probably a shrink) in order to get what he's after, i.e., a major championship.

So if any of us continually fail at something we're trying to succeed at, you have to ask the question, "Why am I really failing?"

Ballesteros retires from golf

Though Seve looks a little depressed, in an odd way, it's refreshing to watch a man leave something he loves because it's time to go. We don't see this often because American society is pathologically cheery. Watch any golf broadcast (except for Johnny Miller, of course) and you'll see that when a player is playing badly, there's usually nothing more than silence from the commentators. Which is really silly, since we golfers have a lot more in common over our copious numbers of bad shots than our small number of good ones. Even when the towers fell on 9/11, we didn't have a national day of mourning, we had Bush getting fired up and promising to catch the evil-doers. We had heroic memorials for those killed, and very few moments when we just plain mourned. If Seve is bummed about leaving golf, maybe he's beginning to learn, painfully, that he's about more than golf, and he's got way more options before him than he ever imagined.

The Neurotic Golfer

Golf is a game our primate forebearers would have been only too happy to play. It has everything the tense primate could want--twitchy routines, long, stress-reducing walks, and the privacy to mumble to oneself at will. It's got lots of paraphernalia--tees, coins, lip balm, towels, and, of course, a bag full of clubs, which the discerning monkey can use to distract himself from whatever woes await him just outside the confines of the urban savanna. You see all kinds of people playing golf, from guys who think that with just a little more practice they could go pro, to players who not only don't know there are professional golfers, but don't have the foggiest notion how to hit a ball.

Which leads me to wonder if golf is good. Golf may be good for local economies and golf manufacturers, but are people better for having played golf? To hear Deepak Chopra tell it, the pursuit of golf is a mystical experience where a man has the opportunity to meet his "higher self." Sure. From my vantage point, with rare exception, golf is a game where most players hope to further entrench themselves in the notion that they are King and can do anything. Perhaps many golfers come to this errant conclusion because they are "somebodies" out in the non-golf world, COOs and the like, and assume that that supremacy should naturally translate to golf. Having watched countless playing partners flail at the ball, I can assure them that it doesn't. But even if they somehow managed to become a decent golfer (and there are plenty of Kings who are also good players) does that necessarily mean anything substantial about them as people? If Warren Buffet is also a +3 handicap, does that make him a better person? If Mother Theresa had been scratch, would the Catholic Church be rushing her to sainthood any faster? My guess is no and no. Of course, I'd be a complete liar if I said I didn't admit to feeling the prickly fingers of self-judgment creep up my neck as I hit a bad shot. We all want to be able to hold our heads high and say, "I can play better than most." Obviously it takes discipline to be a good player, and I don't want to belittle anyone's technical achievements, least of all my own. But discipline can bring skill to any activity and those activities aren't always good--just ask Charles Manson. No, any gratification you derive from pride-of-supremacy is foolish, and ultimately, damaging because if you fall into the trap of thinking because you're good at something you yourself are "good," then you have missed the forest for the trees. Maybe the USGA should distribute signs to courses across the country that read: "You are not golf, and golf is not you. Relax, keep up the pace, and have fun."

But if I don't hit a good tee shot off #1, all bets are off.

A prayer before swinging

From what I've heard, God is huge. He's, like, the biggest thing ever.

Sports, on the other hand, are relatively small. If my team made it to the championship and I had a sick family member at home who needed me, my team would just have to play without me. Which is why I can't understand when athletes pray before participating in their sports events. At the recent U.S. Open (best ever, by the way) the NBC golfcasters noted that before a tee shot, Aaron Baddeley was seen with his eyes closed. I thought he was visualizing a shot, but the commentators said he was praying. What could he have been saying to God? Make me win? Let me play with grace? To not be injured? World peace?

Or do these praying athletes know something that non-prayers don't? Does God answer sports-related queries? With what God has on his to-do list--helping me with my Lotto picks, preventing contrails, keeping the Blimp aloft--I certainly hope he doesn't.

On the other hand, if He is answering, then I'd like to make a request: Would You allow me play as good as I think I am?

I forgot to not try to not remember

A funny thing happened to me on the way to a golf shot--I forgot my SWING THOUGHTS! Like greased pigs, they slipped through my fingers. Without them, I I felt naked, exposed, and vulnerable (dangling, if you know what I mean) as I stood over my ball and failed to latch onto any of the litany of swing thoughts whizzing through my mind like children swirling by on a teacup ride, "Kick knee in, keep arms close, hands low, rotate torso..." I couldn't focus on any of them, so decided to screw it and swing away. Hit an 8 iron to 5 feet. A few shots later, went through the same process (or lack of) on a wedge--chunked it half as far as I should have. Bloody confusing business. However, I think I'm going to stick with this. It's much easier to let the annoying, cloying, desperate swing thoughts go somewhere else while I play golf.

Golf is improv

Many golfers are misled by watching the pros, who tend to make golf look robotically simple. But it isn't. Each shot is an event unto itself, so golf is actually complete improvisation. Not shot is set in stone, but must be thought out and felt on a moment-to-moment basis. Instead of hoping your round will conform to anything approaching a pro's round, it instead is a shot-by-shot experience, where each shot is a completely original and not-to-be-repeated event.













"Who does this guy think he is?"
"I don't know Danny, but I do know this: no one has ever played better than me in a button down shirt."

Living without a net

I was watching the Golf Channel the other night and their resident psychologist took a question from a viewer. The viewer wanted to know if, since he had lowered his handicap from 18 to 8 in a year, he was justified in wanting to turn pro. My first instinct was to wonder, "Are you NUTS? At least get to scratch and play some competitive golf and see if you like it." The psychologist decided he had no right to tell anyone what to do with their life--which is true--but for the would-be pro to be cautious.
I then went on to consider my own life, and the risks I've taken on as a would-be pro writer in Los Angeles. I guess I could also apply the "Are you NUTS" comment to my own life. I'm probably about an 8 handicap writer--better than 99 percent of the public, but still with lower handicap writers ahead of me, and a few more hard-knock lessons to learn. I think Ray Bradbury said it best:
If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business, because we'd be cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.

I guess that means if you're an 8 handicap golfer or writer, it's time to jump.

Flowers for Algernon: The Golf Edition

My golf game can be defined as consisting largely of the vast valleys between Algernonaic heights of golf enlightenment. You know what I mean--those rare times when your swing seems to take over on its own and hitting the ball perfectly and with great command seems like the easiest thing you've ever performed. You can't WAIT to hit the next shot because it's so damned easy.
But then, inevitably, the magic evaporates. You're left holding the husk of understanding, trying to pump life back into that husk, trying to get back the magic, but it's gone.
I've learned that you have to take what understanding you can from those inspired moments, and then forget them. Magic will take care of itself--since it comes and goes at its own whim--and there's no point in trying to bring it back. If you can remember what you were doing in your swing that made it work better than what you had been doing before, then study it. But don't cry for the lost magic--it will return again at a time of its choosing. Be happy when it does, but also be happy when you're grinding away in the valleys, trying to figure out how your swing works. Your handicap won't go down by waiting for magic, but it will while you dig that swing out of the valley's dirt.

Expectations, the scourge of western civilization

Okay, the G.I.R. thingy didn't work out (or rather, my ability to hit more than three G.I.R.s didn't work out). I only hit three, but kept it under 90, but only by two measly strokes. Granted, I was playing for the first time at De Bell in Burbank, so I was scuttled somewhat by lack of local knowledge. I'm going to play there again next weekend, so I won't have my lack of local knowledge to blame.
Here's a question I'd like you readers to answer: when playing with different clubs, say, a buddy's borrowed set while on a trip, do you usually play better or worse? I recently played with a buddies Cobra SS irons and I hit them pretty good. They had regular shafts, where my Ping Zings have stiff, which begs a question: are my Ping shafts too stiff for my swing? I've never been professionally fitted, and at around $250 to have it done, it isn't going to happen anytime soon (I suppose when my ship comes in, I'll get fit and buy a Sky Caddie on the same day. Of course, after buying my wife an exquisite piece of jewelry. Or at least, I'll let her think I bought her the jewelry first.)
So from a shaft fitting perspective, it's equally likely that I'm playing overly stiff shafts. Oy, I thought I'd put all this club buying shit behind me. I've got much too many things to obsess about--spec scripts I need to write, job to find, self to convince myself doesn't exist, which Fender or Gibson knock-off electric guitar to buy (I'm leaning heavily towards an Agile Les Paul knock off, they've gotten great reviews on Harmony Central. Plus, there's no way I'm going to Guitar Center or Sam Ash to play one. Firstly, they don't carry Agiles, and secondly, I CANNOT STAND when the guitar salesguys hover over you as you play. I feel naked, and since my playing is at the novice level, it's just too frustrating to play in front of them. I know, I know, you're saying, "Get over yourself little man." But it's just human nature to feel castrated in that situation, and since I spend most of my mental effort trying not to be castrated by the actual competitive world, I don't feel like going to the guitar shop and coming so close to castration when the guitar is supposed to be fun.)
So, back to shafts, I think my Ping shafts may be too stiff. So you know what I did? I went and swung my wife's clubs, which have Senior flex shafts (known as "A" flex: interesting sidetrack. Back in the day, "A" flex stood for amateur, and no one in the golf industry has felt like changing it.) The swings felt great. Fast, easy, little effort. So, tomorrow, I'm going to do a head-to-head comparison at the ole' range. If the Gramps shafts win out, it could be curtains for the Pings, though I am LOATHE to part with them. I'm attached, you know? They've suffered right along with me, but then again, they may have been responsible for a lot of that suffering. So DAMN them to HELL.
Which brings me to another subject and another question for you, the reader. Why is it that people become attached to things? Like the shirt that Uncle Bob gave you during that summer on the Cape? The recipe Mom gave you before she died? A Christmas ornament Grams and you painted when you were five? What does all this stuff MEAN? Mom is dead, and making that recipe in her honor isn't going to change that? Right? This is a tough question I've struggled with ever since my Mom died 20 years ago, but it applies to any kind of regret or sentimentality. After all, the recipe, or the shirt, or the ornament are just a symbol for something in us that we can't let go of, but was is it? I suppose if I could answer that question, I'd probably be on the road to... well, I'd be on the road, which is a something.

Ciao.

Playing versus practice

I had an enlightening experience the other day. I went to my favorite practice course (Scholl Canyon in Glendale, CA) with my usual intention to play 9 holes and try all kinds of different shots on the course, i.e., practice. I wasn't going to worry about my score, but then I decided to chuck the idea of practice and really try to get a score. Now, I'm not here to say to say I shot the lights out; no, I did what I usually do--hit it loose on the front, tighten it up on the back. But what did happen was that I was able to concentrate on each shot and not worry about my score or technique or any of the little niggling things that distract and keep me from playing well. I also experienced that strange yet common golf experience of remembering the correct techniques for certain shots--you know, you figure out a technique and say to yourself, "Wait a minute, I taught myself this last summer. Man, get with the program!" I think most golfers remain "average" because they can't improve their skills--or even maintain--due to lack of practice time. Ever notice how really good golfers always seem to have come from country-club- member parents? The club provided the young golfer the hours-upon-hours of practice time needed to learn and re-learn skills--a process we average Joes string out over decades.

One way to optimize practice is to make sure you're relaxed while you're doing it. Unexpectedly, I learned something from my ongoing guitar learning experience that applies to golf. I found a guitar teacher on the web whose system of practice applies perfectly to golf. Check out this here. I'm sure this guy's lessons (or girl--is "Jaime" male of female?) can be applied to everything from guitar to golf to painting to yoga.

[Note: there's a link the guitar man's site to the left]

Okay, golf, you win. Just stop punching me in the nads.

Woods and his caddy having
trouble connecting their High-5. Confidence issues?

I don't know how much longer I can take this. Went out and played a round with my brother, and I was hitting the same stupid hooks that I never, ever hit on the range. What the hell is that about? How can I degrade from my great range swing to an almost unusable swing on the course? Well, let's see. Of late, I've had a hard time of it, what with trying to write some spec screenwriting material (which isn't going so well), and all the year-end self-evaluation, I'd say my self-image is not at peak form. So I guess it's not surprising that I'd go out and not hit the most confident shots--I'm probably a little too much in my head. But jeez, not "The Hook." I thought I'd seen the last of the shot which is this blog's namesake. It's kind of like getting up to sing before an audience, opening your mouth, and only French comes out. You stop, regroup, say to yourself, "Sing in ENGLISH! ENGLISH! ENGLISH!" Take a deep breath, open your mouth, and out comes French again. Oy vey, to be a man on the golf course is to suffer. To top it off, every joint associated with the golf swing--shoulder, wrists, neck--is perpetually sore, so I may have seen my last golf for awhile if my doctor tells me to let my ligaments and tendons take a rest.

Maybe the point of a bad swing is to just stop caring? Just let it do its thing, I'll do mine, and go with the flow. Of course, practice is required, but once on the course, maybe you're supposed to make due with what you got, and leave the beautiful shots to the land of dreams from whence they came? I know that sounds a little high-fallutin', but what other options do I--or any of us--actually have? Sure, it would be nice if I could get a set of teaching pro's eyes to look at my Wounded Swing, but since I don't have a pro on retainer to help me out when things go badly, what's a guy to do but accept it and move on? I was able to shoot an 86, which, while not stellar, isn't miserable, either. So I guess I'll have to accept it until something better comes along.


A Bold Experiment update: Since, as you've just read, my swing left me utterly, it didn't make a difference what club I would have used from 200 yards (the yardage for which I have no specific club) be it an iron, hybrid, or wood. I will say this: When I'm swinging well, I could use a hockey stick from 200 yards and hit it within 15 feet, so my Bold Experiment just might be a non-issue (the real issue being working on my on-course performance, not set make-up.)