Tiger Woods must be stopped!

Over the weekend, Tiger Woods won the British Open (here seen on the 18th tee at St. Andrews enroute to a 5 stroke victory, Reuters) and I guess all the naysayers should now shutup. I was never a naysayer, though I wanted him to fail, but I assure you, my motives were noble. I wanted to see how bad things could get for him before he charged back to a dramatic comeback. Comebacks are the best thing in sports (Red Sox?) and a good one for Woods is just what I need. I'm a busy guy, my time is valuable, so when I sit down to watch some golf, I expect to be entertained. Since Bill Murray can't play in every tournament , someone, for Christ's sake has to put their foot down, and that foot is me! To that end, I have begun a campaign to force the PGA, USGA and the R&A to give strokes to the field when Woods is playing. Just think how much fun it would have been if he'd started the Open at 5+. Now that's a tournament! How else are these guys ever going to compete with him?

All right, back to something about golf.

Hello, my name is Sigmund Freud (pronounced ZIG-mund Froid you silly American cunnigets) and I vant to talk to you today about--YOUR MOTHER!

Vas she a strong voman? Did she tell you when you could or couldn't poop? Ja? Ist eine true?
Now answer me this--are you having trouble with your golf game, hmm? Can you not hit zee little vhite ball around the green golf course and into zee hole? No? Then come and sit on my sofa so that I might pick your brain.

That's it, relax. Breathe deeply. Let go.

Now, I am going to say a vord or phrase and you shout out vhat ever comes into your little filthy mind. Okay, mein cunniget? Here vee go:

Donkey...?

I'll say it again.

Donkey...?

Listen, you've got to say what ever comes into your crazy head. Ja? Vhitout your cooperation, I cannot free you from your neurosis. Trust me, I know you'll do fntastic, as my good friend Arnold Schwarzeneeger says.

Again. Donkey....?

Obviously, you don't want to cooperate. You say you want to talk about your lack of golfing skill? Fine, it's your dime.

Now, your mother vas a tyrant, was she not? A castrating tyrant? It's fine to say so, everyone's mother vas a tyrant. What you've got to do is free yourself from her controlling ways, which, through no fault of your own, you have internalized. Ja, your mommie is dead and in zee ground, but she still controls you.

Free yourself! Fly like the free bird that your are! Fly, damn you, fly!

Why don't you fly? What? You thought I was Dr. Coop?

You stupid little pooper! Do I look like a white guy? I'm Jewish you idiot--I don't GOLF! Get out of my office.
....and don't kid yourself, you're paying for this visit. I could have been scoring chicks with Jung down at the club instead of wasting time vit you. Here's how it works. I do the talking, Carl here--

has the body, and the come to us.

Dr. Wayne Dyer--A Charlatan for Our Time

Wayne Dyer, venerable self-help guru who gets major airtime on PBS during fund drives, should be avoided at all costs. If you really want to get to the bottom of his weltanshauung, or world view (isn't German the best?) take a look at his website.

Did you notice it? That's right, his website is a clearinghouse for the Wayne Dyer Product Line. He sells 20 different books on how to make yourself happy. Just look at the Power of Intention product line: there's the flip calendar, the cards, the hardcover, and lastly, the 4 cd set--all right there on the main page, just begging to be bought.

Head over to this religious organization, or maybe this one, or even here, and look at their front pages. See any difference? Yes, you got it: none of these organizations are hitting you up for cash from the get-go. Now I know Dr. Wayne doesn't claim to be a religious organization, but what he teaches, er, I mean sells, is religious (though he might object to the pedestrian term "religious", which he's grown beyond--he's spiritual). A good test for the authenticity of religious or spiritual teachings or organizations is at what point they ask you, the seeker, for money. All religious organizations need money to operate, but if they ask for cash during your first meeting at their church/synagogue/mosque/temple/website, you should turn and leave. And that's exactly what you should do with Dr. Wayne.


Look out for Dr. Wayne's next astounding book: How I Made Millions Spouting Quasi-Religious Drivel to a Depressed and Maleable Public, and How You Can Too!

US Open at Pinehurst.

You know what I'd like to see? I'd love to see Phil Mickelson and Vijay Sighn--or "Veej", as he's known to me and all his good buds--go at it mano-a-mano. Who do you think would win? They're both big guys, so it would be an epic fight. Veej might know some kind of special fighting technique from Fiji. In fact, that blue ball he's holding may be a war version of a coconut--a battle coconut. Veej probably learned the coconut fighting technique when he learned to defend himself from jocks in Fiji. Phil and the other hand went to college at Arizona State, so he probably knows how to throw his weight around in a bar amidst lots of drunk frat dudes. I'll give the edge to Philly.

Another good fight would be Tiger Woods and Fred Funk. Tiger thinks he's tough, but an old man like Funk would surprise him. Wouldn't that be great if Tiger tried to start shit with Fred and Fred popped him real quick in the nose, and Tiger's like, "Mother fucker--that hurt. Steve, drop the bag and kick his ass." "Duh, okay boss, okay. I'll hit him real good, I will make fall onto his back." Steve lunges at Fred, but he pulls a few moves this guy, and puts Stevie down for the count. C'mon, Tiger is such a pathetic show-off, that he's just begging for it. The universe is begging for it--balance must be restored!

In any event, here's how their fight might play out.
Anyway, if any of this came to pass, at least we'd have something to talk about other than a bunch of golf pros complaining about bowl-shaped greens and false fronts.

Disclaimer: Wounded Duck (c), its subsidiaries and corporate officers do not, nor ever shall, endorse violence in golf or any of the "stick and ball" sports, i.e., tennis, baseball, hockey, hai-alai, lacross, stickball, and toru-bungo (a game played in the Chimbu province of Papau New Guinea with whale rib bones and boiled chicken heads.) However, any sport classified as "foot and ball" is free to bathe in as much competitors blood as possible.

The joy of using used

Why do guys buy new clubs? The only clubs I've ever bought new were two Cleveland wedges. It was at least ten years ago, and I regretted the decision only after I discovered Roger Dunn Golf (this site links to Roger Dunn and a few other retailers in the Cal and the Southwest--sorry Mid-West and East Coasters.) Unlike cars, which truly depreciate after use, golf clubs, excpet for maybe softer forged blades, never actaully degrade. Sure, they depreciate because the brainwashed mass of golfers think this year's model is markedly superior to any other year's model, but that doesn't mean any year's model is less effective. You retirees and those with a little more disposable cash than me might ask, "Why should I buy clubs that have been de-flowered previously by a stranger?" Good point.

If you're in your twilight years and want to splurge on yourself, why not? I would. If you're rich and figure, "I've worked hard and earned these new, shiny clubs!" again I say, go for it. The only question worth asking is, "What will these new clubs get you?" I know single-digit handicappers who still play PING Eye 2s. Are you really going to play better with the newest of the new? To be honest, I have no idea. I can easily imagine that if and when I have enough extra income to buy new clubs I will. If you go to the PING website and ask the following:

Question: Which PING model is more forgiving?
Answer: The new G2 irons are the most forgiving PING iron ever made. Prior to the G2 Series, the ISI-K was most forgiving, followed closely by the Zing2. (Note from Wounded Duck: because PING says the Zing 2 is the result of asthetic improvements to the original Zing, you can also consider Zings are very forgiving.)

So, the real question to ask is: what do you really need to play your best? Not: what clubs do I need to feel good about myself or my retirement. Then again, you have to accept my contention that golf is played exclusively for the chance to improve, and not, for instance, companionship or comraderie. If you play golf in order to one-up your buddies with new equipment, then by all means, go buy whatever you want. Just remember, if you're playing for score, you don't have to buy the latest, greatest.

In conclusion, here is an artist's rendering of a supernova:

and Chevy's rendition:

Jobs, time, life, and golf--a winning combination!

Wounded Duck just got a new job--what a hap-hap-happy day! Good-bye temp jobs, hello benefits. Problem is, the new job is going to be a real time hole. It's in television production, and the hours will be longggggggg, which means golf is about to be de-prioitized. The loss of golf time is not a tragedy in and of itself (if I play three times a month I start feeling life a range rat, so my golf threshhold is low) but what is a tragedy is that I just re-re-re-figured out my swing. And, hold on to your butts, I found my swing while carpet swinging. I know, I know. But it does go to the meta-point of these writings that you have to be willing to realize that you never get to own your swing, you only rent it from time to time. Same goes for golf swing advice--sometimes it works and is brilliant, and sometimes it doesn't work and is brilliant


Image courtesy of rightbrain-leftbrain.com.

So I don't want to lose my re-re-re-discovered swing. How am I going to maintain it? Attention! That's right, I'm going to maintain attention on the progress I have made and hopefully whatever winning sensation I have of my swing will hang around for a while.

But if I do lose the winning sensation, there will be no worries because I know it'll be right around the corner--sometime, somewhere.

Vintage my ass.

Over the weekend I played golf as a single and got paired with a Chinese guy, Paul, who spoke little English. Trying to bridge the language gap, we managed to find common ground in the topic of my clubs, my PING Zings. Paul said he onced owned PINGs and that mine were a wonderful "vintage" set. Vintage? They're only 15 years old. I could buy the vintage status of my clubs if perhaps they had something like "Al Geiberger" or "Gene Sarazen" stamped into them or even if they were Eye 2s. Maybe I'm misunderstanding the whole thing, maybe Paul thought "vintage" meant not-so-old-but-I-respect-your-commitment-to-a-classic-set? Wait--did I just say "classic"? Oh, who am I kidding--he knew 10 words of English and probably went out of his way to include "vintage" in his vocabulary just to chide guys like me who never trade-in and trade-up. But I suppose it shouldn't be surprising he felt as he did, what with the way clubs are marketed. Golfers have somehow been convinced that a 3 year old driver is woefully obsolete when compared to this year's model. What's the difference between a 260 yard drive and a 270 yard drive?

Have I lost my mind? I need the extra 7.3 yards per drive of the Taylor Made R4. Cash in the college fund honey, papa needs a new club.

Ditch clubs, get thee to a theater.

Do yourself a huge favor--take next Saturday off from golf. Grab your significant other, and run to the nearest movie theater and watch Mad Hot Ballroom. The film is more entertaining than any 5 of Woody Allens' last movies, all 3 of the Star Wars prequels and all but 2 episodes of the last season of the Simpsons.

Outside the box? I don't need no stinking box!

Good golf, and for that matter , good life, good everything, comes in large part from losing your preconceptions, such as "Golf should be played like I see on T.V.," or "I as a golfer should make no bad shots," or "I as a person should be thus and such." Golf shouldn't be anything. Golf is simply the process of swinging the club. If you add anything more to the equation, you're doomed to disappoinment. Relax, I'm not preaching nihilism.

But, golf is hardly the only area of life where this approach applies. Take movies. The big studios in Hollywood make 99% of their films from a conventional preconception about what movies audiences want to see. Ergo, the Summer Blockbuster. To combat this, might I recommend an unconventional movie, The American Astronaut. I won't pontificate now on why I think this film is worthy of widespread viewing, since I don't want to fill your head with unnecessary--yes, that's right--preconceptions. However, you'll never look at sand the same way again.

Dear PING, tell me again--how forgiving?

Almost a year ago, venerable club geniuses PING released, as you undoubtedly have heard, a new iron called the G2. They say it's their most forgiving club ever. I'll make an off-hand observation, since I'm not an engineer (in fact, my math education stopped at the quadratic equation: F.O.I.L. (mnuemonically stated--First Outside Inside Last) which is used to calculate I-have-no-idea-what) and can't delve into M.O.I., C.G., torque, and what-not. Okay, I am qualified to comment on what-not, as during my last stint of unemployement I submitted a paper to the National Academy of Sciences on the typology and primogeniterology of what-not (not yet published) but I digress.

The G2 doesn't look like PING's previous line of irons, the bulbous Zing-ISI generations (herein referred to Z-I), which PING claimed were their most forgiving line of clubs. Firstly, the G2 looks nothing like the Z-I--no stainless steel tumors, now weird flanges, no Star Wars-esque rounded edges (can you picture Obi-Wan playing anything but PINGs?)

I am a long time player of Zings, so I just had to try the G2s for myself. So, I went down to my local Ping fitting center, a.k.a. the perpetually burnt/tanned/winded pro at the nearest driving range. Al is his name and he was a patient man. My wife and I (and no, we're a nerdly couple who have to play golf together or wear matching Ford windbreakers--for unknown reasons, she wanted to come along) spent over an hour with him. Naturally, I threw him a ten-spot as a tip when we finished, and he was so grateful, I feared he might asked us to be his son's godparents. So please remember to tip your service-industry professionals. When in doubt, tip--it's what separates us from the animals. I'd never been fitted before, and it was eye-opening. Firstly, and in contradiction to my long-held notions about myself as a golfer, I learned I'm not a black dot. I'm a green dot. Green! So, in the span of, oh, 12 seconds, I went from thinking black was cool, to thinking green is the color of victory. Easy enough transition. But the ball flight, my God, the ball flight! Straight, not too high, and did I say straight? Now, I'm not one to "work" the ball; in fact, it's usually me who's getting worked by it.

Hold on. I don't like the term "work." It implies a job, like working on an Excel spreadsheet. So from now on I'm going to call it... "playing" the ball? No, that sounds like I'm in a sandbox with the other kids burying my hand and then slowly freeing it from its sandy tomb, pretending it's a zombie hand. How about "curving"? No, that doesn't imply insider status--golf terminology should be esoteric. "Turning"? No. "Bending"?. Worse. "Deflect"? Horrible. "Arch"? Not bad. "Warp"? Getting closer. "Veer"? Not there yet. "Pervert"? Hold on. Again. "Pervert." That's it. Pervert the shot.

Now, as I was saying, I've never been one to try and pervert shots. Most times I'm happy to get the ball started in the correct general direction. But these G2s just made straight shot after straight shot. It's very gratifying. I know what you "players" out there are thinking. You're thinking "White or wheat with my eggs," because you sure as hell aren't reading this post. If you've never been a PING guy, and always thought their club's shape indicated their most likely use was to hoe weeds between rows of corn (or maize, if you will), the G2s look a lot more like what the resides in the collective psyche as "golf club." So give them a shot. Most courses or ranges that offer PING fitting allow you to apply the cost of the fitting towards purchase of clubs. These irons might one day make me confident enough to pervert shots at will.

Coming soon: Review of G2 woods and HL irons.

The Trouble of Man's Existence, Part II

I can add nothing more.

Golf club reviews make me feel yucky.

My wife got me a subscription to Golf Magazine for Christmas (she's always trying to make me happy, god bless her!) and the magazine is alone worth its price for the regular article of ubermensch David Feherty . But one thing that is just a little weird about the mag is its annual golf club review issue. Now, aside from the fact that a golf magazine which reviews the goods of companies that contribute a good chunk of said magazine's ad revenues seems like a conflict of interest (and could explain why they never even get within a hair's breadth of issuing a lukewarm review of any major manufacturer's clubs (or could be because the clubs are good, you decide (and I am NOT backtracking))) the reviews themselves are occasionally a little creepy.

Creepy how?

Well, there seems to be a smattering of... shall we say, orgasmic imagery. To wit, from the Golf Online site:

"This is an all-around quality club. It has an absolutely lovely feel--pucker up honey!"--Stephen Wills (14 [handicap])

"Oh, my. Does this feel heavenly."--Don Wilson (15[handicap])

"A stud from the rough."--Jeremy Ross (7[handicap])

And sometimes not so subtle: "Like kissing your cousin--pleasant and respectful but devoid of passion."--Kirk Fisher (8 [handicap])



What is going on here? Golf is fun, clubs are neat, but are my clubs studs? I think not. A person may be a stud, but not clubs.

Might there be a sociological phenomena occurring here? Group-think, anyone? These club testers have been chosen from among thousands of applicants, they spend every minute together eating, practicing, playing, smoking cigars, etc., etc. The more you look at it, the more it looks like a male bonding ritual, something akin to a sweat lodge. A-ha! Yes, it all makes sense. The testers, without the civilizing influence of women, revert to a simpler kind of man, a man more in touch with his primal urges. Hence, what better projection could there be for male virility than--c'mon, I know you're way ahead of me on this--the phallic golf club. And a DRIVER, no less. It's a return to nature, an embrace of our Paleolithic forebearers. Guys with big cigars, a graphite rod in their hands. Oh, this is too good--I'm not a doctor, but JAMA's got to publish this.

Now that I understand where these men are coming from, I no longer feel yucky reading those double entendres about kissing cousins and heavenly sensations. My fears are gone. Golfers are manly men, striving in an almost poetic way, for the life that seems to elude Modern Man. They are heroes reaching into our shared past, hoping to emerge with some kind of autheticity among the spider's web of compromise and homogenization which characterizes so much of our modern life. God I love golf!

Swing plane mania.

I know the world is going a little nuts over Jim Hardy's two-plane/one-plane swing theory, but damn, it and its variants seem to have some value. Here's another guy who, in a similar fashion to Jim Dunigan (who I mentioned in my first post which now has a fine layer of dust on it from having never been disturbed by human eyes) who has been extoling the virtues of a swing-plane-centric theory of golf, tries to simplify the swing so we don't have to think about the damn thing so much (trust me, the foregoing sentence is grammatically correct, if unweildy).

For myself, I realized I'm a one-planer (1P'er) and with a little work (and let me stress "little"--if I can't get this stuff right in a once-a-week practice session then screw it) I hope to straighten this whole golf thing out.

Who was that guy?

Ever go to the range and hit the ball like an absolute genius? The skill just comes out of nowhere and like BAM! you drill flush shot after flush shot. And you know a few dudes have been watching, thinking, "Damn, that's a good swing." It's like you've left your body because you're not even thinking about golf, or swinging, or anything. You're simply a force of nature.

Then, of course, a few days later you head to your fav course, thinking you've got the game licked. You tee the ball up, go to that place inside yourself where you think all good shots emanate from, take the club back and FWACK! The ball jumps off the toe of your driver, sputters to the right about 100 yards, takes out an innocent pigeon, disappears into the forest, rattles around for a few seconds before vanishing behind the event horizon of impenetrable brush. Behind you, you think you hear someone whisper, "Damn that guy's swing sucks."

What happened? Hell, I don't know. Maybe (_insert your deity of choice_) gave you a break and smiled on your from where ever he/she/it resides. Maybe you deluded yourself into thinking you were better than you really are.

"Hold on," you say, "I am that good. I have proof--remember me at the range, the jealous gawkers in the stalls next to me. They liked me, they really liked me!"

Yeah, I remember you at the range, but that was only one day. You didn't think that you would play like that forever, did you? Please, tell me you didn't. It's okay. You can trust me. C'mon, admit it--you thought you had conquered golf forever. Ah, you poor, poor, sad, hairless monkey. Why do the good have to die so young, why do they have to be deceived into thinking a day--one good day at the range--can last forever? (and no, those are not song lyrics from Air Supply.)

If it's any consolation, remeber that we've all done it. We've all been stupid enough--no, make that hopeful enough--to dream we'd finally climbed the mountain, that our flag, now firmly planted on the summit, would remain there day after day, weekend after weekend, 19th hole after 19th hole. If you had only turned back once as you descended the mountain, you would have seen that the flag was gone before you even put it up.

So just accept that sometimes, and unfortunately, at the range when no one is watching and there's nothing on the line, you play great. And sometimes you play lousy. That's why (_insert your deity of choice here_) invented beer.

Of course, I could be wrong.

Bloody rotten game!

As to be expected from a game that consists primarily of paradoxes, here's the most recent golf paradox.

Despite drastic technological improvements in clubs and balls, the score for the average golfer for 18 holes is still about 100 strokes. Check it out. (Thanks to for the heads-up.) Of course, the upside is that if you can break 100, you're better than average.

Why carpet swinging doesn't work

The scene: Ohio in the dead of winter. The setting: you, in your living room, 7 iron in hand, the Mercedes Championship on the tube. Your thought process: I'm going to fix my swing, here, in this room, with Joe Durant (and who doesn't know who Joe Durant is!) hitting his drive on #17 in the Mercedes, while all my golf opponents, nay, soon-to-be-embarrased golf buddies lay on their couches watching football like hibernating, drunken bears.

You make some swings with your trusty 7 iron, and damn it, it feels good. Maybe this is the swing, the one which could, after years and years of struggle, do some damage on the course, when, in the three months, the ice sheet that is Ohio in winter recedes, exposing the compacted earth of Spring.

Fast forward: the scene: the ice sheet has receded back to the Arctic Circle, and you're at your first golf outing. Birds fritter here and there, butterflies dance through the air and you are a golfing god. After talking shit to, at the very least, yourself (and hopefully not anyone else, especially the actual good players in your group) you mosey up to the tee, fully confident that the swing you worked on so hard in the living room over the past months is going to deliver not only a hell of a shot, but the shot of the group. And here's where you can guess the rest. The shot sucks, your wee-wee shrivels up into a fleshy ball of humiliation, and you crawl back to the cart, hoping not to disturb, or otherwise be noticed by your playing partners.

How did this happen? How did all your hard work turn into so much insubstantial fluff? It's very simple to answer that question, but it ain't pretty, and, in our world of egoism, not easy to accept, but it's all about the power of the mind to delude it's user.

And the cure is even harder to accept, but here goes: accept that you suck. That's right, you suck, and there isn't any getting around it. You can buy every swing aid in the world and use them in your winter training facility--the living room--until your head bursts with confidence. Once on the actual tee, the only place where you can really judge your skill, you will revert to whatever skill level you had before all the practice, and your mind will say, "Oh, right, this is how I play golf, and not how I kidded myself all winter long."

Instead of wasting time swinging that 7 iron in the living room, try this instead. "How can visualizing my swing be better than actually making a swing?" you ask, ever vigilant reader. The difference is that when you practice your swing in your head, as far as your head is concerned, you're really doing it. But when you swing away in the house, you're really making fake swings; that is, swings which aren't hitting a ball, and therefore give you no feedback as to what you're doing right or wrong. The visualized swing, however, hits the ball perfect every time, which, contrary to conventional thinking, is the best practice any of us could have. Here's a little experiment you can try. For one week, do your normal practice routine. Go to the range, pound your 50 or 100 balls as often as you normally do (and if you want to really test this out, go ahead and throw in a few extra sessions) and play your normal round that weekend. For the next week, ditch your normal routine, and instead try this: plunk down in a comfortable chair, close your eyes, and visualize 50 perfects shots. Take about 15 minutes to do all 50 shots, then open your eyes and go on about your business. Then go play your usual weekend round, and compare the results.

Now if your read this paragraph, you'll invalidate the results of the experiment because it suggests a possible outcome. The single blind will have been violated. Egads! But, if you don't play better after the second week than the first, I'll eat my

Post the First: The Problem of Man's existence

Firstly, this is primarily a golf blog, but as is often the case in sports' performance issues, lessons learned here often translate into other areas of life. And, oh, do not in any way confuse Wounded Duck (a golf term for a struggling shot) with Henrik Ibsen's "The Wild Duck" . Now, I know this first post is a lofty title for a golf post, I know, but it nonetheless points to the essential problem of golf. "How so?" you say, dear reader. I shall attempt to explain.
Since time immemorial, mankind has been confronted with the same fundamental Problem, which can be framed in the question, WHO AM I? Good question.

Luckily, mankind's great thinkers--Jesus, Buddha, Harvey Keitel, Johnny Miller--have pointed, in their various and sundry ways, to a solution to the Problem, which, stated bluntly, is: only when the ego is disengaged can the Self express itself. "Self-schmelf," you say? Check this out. This isn't bad either. Once the ego goes by-by, men do things like write Macbeth or the Moonlight Sonata, come up with e=mc2, etc., etc. We, as golfers, express this when we shoot a score out of our minds, a score we knew we were capable of but never could seem to achieve because our ego was in the way.

"Listen buddha-boy, you're starting to annoy me with all this esoteric crap. Golf isn't this complicated, dig?" Dig I do. The solution to the aforementioned Problem is what allows us, as golfers, to play our best. But don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to convert to (_insert your religion of choice here_). This is about using the best swing and equipment to bring that egoless golf state into existence. It's been said ad naseum (Latin for "I've heard this so many times from so many guys like Peter Kostis, Dave Pelz, and Hank Haney that if I hear it again I'm going to puke thick black bile all over myself"), that having a quiet mind during your golf shot is essential, but, and here's the rub, so is using the right clubs and right swing. Here's where I take a huge turn away from the above mind stuff and head crashing and screaming into the golf stuff, because what I'm going to achieve here on this blog is the separation of the wheat from the chaffe, the mice from the men, the men from the boys, the shit from the Shinola, the talk from the walk, the hype from the truth. In a word, I will find what clubs work, and which don't, which ones make golf easier for y'all, and which make you wish you could get your old set back from the guy you sold them to on Ebay.

Firstly, here's a great little lesson on how to
swing the club. This may not seem like much, but it's the same thing Tiger Woods has been working on, plus it's simple so simple to understand that if you video tape yourself you can tell if you're doing it right.

To summarize: Jesus, egoless, probably a good golfer; to not suck at golf, can't care about yourself during the act of swinging; good equipment can aid in egoless golf, i.e., Y.P.B. (Your Personal Best).

I'll post club playability results from PING, TaylorMade, Cleveland Golf, Wilson Staff, and others. Until then, take it easy on yourself and play great.