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002618 Visit since
| Learning
the game - Part 3 | by Peter Gray
October
14, 2002. | If you have been keeping up with
me, you are now equipped to make your first move on a golf-course. First, place
your ball on one of the wooden tees you managed to scrounge while out on the practice
range. Then, remember to perform your personal "routine " before striking
the ball in the direction of the hole. If you can't see the hole from where you
are standing, let someone else hit first and then try to copy them. You will be
expecting to see your ball sail off into the distance. Do not be put off, however,
if it bounces lamely in front of you and comes to rest short of the ladies' tee. When
that happens, two rules apply. In "friendly play," it is generally accepted
that you can shout "Mulligan!" in a loud voice, put down another ball
and try to do better. Sometimes this is only allowed on the first hole. More generously,
another "Mulligan" may be granted during the second half of the game.
Either way, etiquette demands that the "Mulligan" rules be clearly established
before the game starts. Nevertheless, even a fifth or sixth "Mulligan"
can sometimes be negotiated during the course of play. For instance, if your fellow-players
get tired of having to move their golf-cart from right beside the tee, just so
you can play your second shot. The second rule states
that a male player whose ball fails to clear the women's tee shall remove his
trousers and proceed in that fashion for the remainder of that hole. This is not
a rule sanctioned by the U.S.G.A. Thus, since it falls under the rules of "golf
etiquette," whether you comply with it -or not- is entirely up to your personal
degree of exhibitionism. Your fellow-players will of course egg you on and jeer
at you if you fail to comply. You may want to practice some crushing retorts in
front of your bathroom mirror so that you are prepared in advance to deal with
this situation… Let us assume, however, that you
have managed to advance your ball a respectable distance down the fairway. You
are now faced with the problem of which club to use for your second shot. Fifty
years ago, this was an easy matter. Apart from a driver and a putter, golfers
had only about two or three clubs to choose from. They had names splendidly redolent
of the past glories of the game. Oh, that the "niblick" and the "mashie"
would return once more! To me, there is a world of difference psychologically,
between commanding a caddie: " Hand me my mashie!" - rather than just
asking him timidly: "Would you use a number seven or a number eight here?" But
somewhere along the line - fostered doubtlessly by the commercial interests of
the golf club manufacturers - it was decreed that golfers might take fourteen
clubs out on the course with them. Note the word "might." Nobody said
you had to have fourteen clubs. But you will find that, like sheep to the slaughter,
virtually every golfer not only staggers from his car to the club-house bearing
the full weight of all these clubs, but he also bemoans the fact - once out on
the course - that he has not got even more. "Oh, God," he wails, surveying
his next shot. "I am between clubs! I should have my lob-wedge out here."
He is trying to make excuses ahead of time, of course. The truth is that the difference
between his clubs is minimal relative to his ability to use them with such pinpoint
accuracy. However, saying this before making the shot allows him to announce -
after his ball has sailed forty feet over the green - "Well, just as I thought!
You need the right club for the right shot!" Thus absolved from blame, he
strides righteously away towards the next tee. I calculate
that most golfers make at least ninety per cent of their shots with no more than
the four or five clubs they feel most comfortable with. In my case, I carry around
a seven wood that cost me hundreds of dollars. The pristine appearance of its
natty woolen cover attests to the fact that it is never taken out of the bag.
Whereas the nicks and blemishes that are scored all over the face of my five iron
(and the fact that the bindings that provide for a firm grip are hanging off like
wrinkled panty-hose) show that this is the club I rely on for virtually any occasion. Why
then, you may ask, do I lug an unnecessary club about with me? Well, I experimented
with leaving a club out of my bag. Every time, the caddie, while kindly cleaning
my clubs at the end of a game, would exclaim "Oye! Your nine iron is missing.
You must have left it somewhere on the course!" In the end it was easier
to obey the fourteen club "rule" than appear to be some kind of weirdo.
Thinking about it, I wonder if the manufacturers' reps put the caddies up to this
kind of harassment… In deciding which club to pull
out of your bag, try to remember that the further you have to go to reach the
green, the lower the number of the club you should select. If the distance is
very great you may have to choose between using a fairway wood or a long iron.
If these terms are confusing, I will be pleased to explain them. "Woods"
used to be wooden, but now are metal. "Irons" used to be iron but now
are anything from titanium to non-metal graphite or space-age plastic. But you
can still recognize a "wood" because, whatever it is made of, it still
has a big head on it, like your driver. A "long iron" is a number two
or three, designed to belt the ball just about as far as a fairway wood - if you
hit it right. Before selecting your club for a specific
shot, there are several things to take into consideration. Is your ball sitting
up nice and high or is it half-buried in the large hole some misbegotten player
before you selfishly left unrepaired in the middle of the fairway? What is the
wind doing? Will it add yards to your shot or blow the ball straight back in your
face? Will you clear that bunker that yawns like the mouth of hell directly in
your path? Most elegantly of all - where do you want to place the ball for the
shot after this? You may not have thought that golf had
any similarity with chess. But like chess, you are supposed to be thinking two
or three moves ahead. This is called having the "right strategy" to
play the hole well. Since my strategy boils down to reaching anywhere near the
green as painlessly as possible, I confess that I only go through the motions
of pretending to agonize over this. "Should I lay up or go for the green?"
Boy, is that a no-brainer! I am still so far from the green I can barely make
out the flag-stick. My companion muses aloud: "Should I fade the ball around
those trees or fly the ball over the top of them?" My solution to this conundrum
will be to pay a visit to the adjoining fairway. From there, it seems to me, those
damn trees will not be in my way any more. As you can
see, there are many calculations to be made before you prepare to take your second
shot. It is well-known that even the sorriest golfer can perform at least adequately
on the practice range. As soon as he takes to the course, the deterioration in
his stroke-making is pitiful to behold. The reason is that, on the practice range,
all he had to do was hit the ball. Now, out on the first fairway, he is already
suffering a nervous breakdown from trying to wrestle with all the questions raised
in real play. Take, if you will, a very simple example
of this phenomenon. At the first hole of the Marina course, there is a small lake
just in front of the tee. An old lady of ninety-three recovering from hip replacement
surgery could pat the ball far enough to clear the water on the other side. So
why do the young kids who earn a few pesos collecting balls out of the numerous
lakes on the course dredge hundreds of balls out of that one? Because
golf is a mental game, my friends! "Don't even think about the water, Peter,"
my friends beg of me. "Pretend it is not there!" I honestly do my best.
I fix my gaze on a spot comfortably within reach yet well beyond the edge of the
lake. "All you have to do is hit the ball just as you have been doing for
the last half an hour on the practice range," I tell myself. I
swear I hit the ball with that clear objective at the forefront of my mind. Exactly
what neurological trauma then ensues I am at a loss to explain. All I know is
that my ball skips along the surface of the lake just the way I used to skip flat
stones over water as a kid, until it sinks inexorably into the black depths beyond
the reach of my ball-retriever. Now there is only one thing I can do. "Mulligan,"
I bawl out - and promptly send a second ball to join the first. Archives
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