In One Ear... Out The Other

There he is.. the all seeing, all knowing, the utterly invincible figure standing before you. The sun draping over his shoulders, almost heavenly in his appearance.. who is this man?

He is your PGA Certified Instructor

The man that knows how to turn your shanks into birdies, your hooks into heavenly draws and your slice into a power fade you had once only heard of on TV.

So the question begs asking... Why, why in the name of Old Tom Morris wont you LISTEN TO HIM!?!?

I mean really, you're paying this man to stare at your disheveled swing and try to turn it into something that even slightly resembles what the touring pros do on television (Basically asking him to try an carve Michelangelo's David out of a wad of string cheese) and You're. Not. Listening.

I digress.

You do listen, but only while he's standing there. While he is standing there you are the spitting image of the 2000 Tiger Woods, a young Jack Nicklaus even. You can hit draws, fades, stingers (which.. no you cant because Tiger is the only person on this earth who can hit a stinger and we're not even sure he knows how he does it) with ferocious accuracy.

But then a strange phenomenon occurs.

As you're writing your check, or pulling bills out of your wallet, you are doing something else.. Unconsciously, amongst those bills or that check, you are returning all of your learned knowledge to your teacher. Once that money exchanges hands, the last hour of your life is wiped blank from your memory as if Will Smith from MIB is standing in front of you with that memory-erasing-flasher-thingy (yes that's the technical term).

You go home with the utmost confidence only to have it shattered upon your return to the range. Your thoughts fall from "this is great I cant do anything wrong!" to "what in gods name happened, this feels nothing like my lesson and I feel even worse now than before!"

So we start to go insane (which is defined as repeating the same action over and over and expecting a different result....... sound familiar? Yeah I thought so).

This is the part where I would love to give you a magic answer as to how to fix this frustrating phenomenon. But.. like you.. I cant remember a darn thing my instructor told me. Instead I am left with a vague memory of the swing that once was.

There is, however, a light at the end of the tunnel.

If we combine all the useless information we knew before the lesson, and the tiny, tiny, tiny tidbits that we retained, and hack balls for hours (..or days or weeks) we can eventually mend the two into a harmony. No, we wont be 2000 Tiger or even an older Jack but we'll be a slightly better version of ourselves (that was the point anyway was it not?)

Even though we choose to ignore our instructor, we will go back, seeking that feeling of all-powerful-ness we achieved during our last lesson and they will ruin us once more only so we can rise again and become stronger, better players than we were before.

I leave you with my personal definition of Golf:

Golf: Perpetual insanity fueled by brief plateaus of faux knowledge.

Hopefully this explains why "Golf" is a four letter word, why every time we swing the club we get/have a "stroke" and why we are all.. just a little bit.. Insane.

Until next time,
Hit 'em straight.

Its Spring! And.. It's Raining

Just last Sunday we all witnessed a South African named Charl Schwartzel win the Masters. This event reminded all of us that, hey, golf can be fun! So what did we do? We strolled out to the garage, dusted off the old clubs and had visions of ourselves taking a step on the course (for, lets be honest, the first time since last September) and shooting in the 60's with smiles on our faces!

Well isn't that just a pleasant dream.

Matter of fact is we need to hit the range first... hard. Take a stroll out to Westminster Island Green (yes, yes, shameless promotion) on a bright and sunny day and shake off all the old rust.

Easier said than done.. am I right?

So we start swinging.. and swinging.. and swinging, and eventually you start to fall from cloud 9 back to reality. The reality that isn't filled with birdies, eagles, and albatrosses (for all of you seriously delusional people out there), but rather with pulls, pushes, that pull hook that almost broke a window off the 18th last fall, and well.. everything else imaginable.

Thank you Murphy's Law

But this is a good thing.

The constant twinging on your face every time you skull a worm burner out there and the laughter when one actually goes straight (completely by accident of course). Then, when you're just about to quit and sell your clubs to a smelting company, the last ball in the bucket turns out to be the best shot you've hit all afternoon.

Curse you "come back tomorrow" ball...

But its still April.. and it's still raining (which consequently is the best excuse you're conscience can find to skip practicing) and there is still plenty of golf ahead of us. Now is the time to be frustrated, curse the game you know you love, put your nose to the grindstone and get to work. Then when we have finally had enough, the Players Championship will remind us that yes, golf is fun again. As we watch the winner walk down 18 we'll repeat this process all over again. But this time.. because you've been practicing (right?...right?) you'll be better, and maybe this time you'll start seeing those birdies.. eagles.. and albatrosses.

Ok so I'm kidding about the albatrosses.. but I mean the rest.

Until next time,
Hit 'em straight.