Snatching Failure from the jaws of Greatness...yet again

I'm still working on the "new swing" and while I am starting to feel more natural, I'm still struggling with consistancies.  I played 2 rounds over the weekend - Saturday out at South Riding Golfer's Club and Sunday at Army Navy Country Club (Fairfax Course).  While shot the same 99 on each course, I went about it in two very different ways.  

On Saturday I was all over the place.  3 Pars, 7 Bogies, 5 Double's, 2 Triple's, and a dreaded snowman.  I was on, then I was off.  I came back, only to lose it on the next hole.  My splits of 49 / 50 pretty much tell the story.  

Sunday was a different story.  I spent the morning reviewing some videos, both of my swing and several professionals (mainly just Tiger), and I found a couple of things to work on at the range before we teed off.  The video footage revealed a stiffness in my leg (thank you very much), and after working my swing at the range, I felt confident approaching the tee box.  The range worked paid off as I drove my 4-iron 230-yards to the center of the fairway.  I managed only one double bogie on the front nine, along with 2 Pars, and 6 bogies for a 44 - easily the most consistant 9 holes I've played.  I felt GREAT going off the 10th tee box, and eventhough my drive had a slight fade, I still managed to par the hole.  Then, on the 11th tee, I found the full on slice.  After crushing drive after drive down the middle of the fairway, I completely lost it.  Not only that, but I completely lost all touch and feel around the green.  The result was a far cry from my 44 on the front nine - 1 par, 2 bogies, 3 triple's and a snowman for the 55.  Attempt to break 90 - FAIL.

Swing Thoughts by Steve Boswell

Why does Lich suspend his club 4 inches above the ball at address?

Changing your swing

Easily the most frustrating aspect of playing "hacker" golf is inconsistency.  Sure, you'll stick your second shot six feet from the pin from 180 yards out, but then faced with the same shot on the next par 3, you hit it fat and put your tee shot 78 yards into the water.  You'll hit three picture perfect drives in a row, but then shank one and never see the fairway again.  Or maybe you'll spray the ball all over the first 16 holes only to par the final two - leaving yourself with the maddening thought "if I could have just played like this all day, I'd have shot an 88 rather than the 108!"

After inconsistencies such as these lead to several altercations between my clubs and the ground, I finally broke down and went to a swing coach - hoping to preserve my clubs and my sanity.   For those who have never been, swing doctors come in a variety of flavors.  Some want to break you down and build a swing from scratch, some will bring you around slowly while eliminating flaws, and some will merely sit there like Chubbs from "Happy Gilmore."  My hesitation for seeing a coach was that I'd be stuck with someone wanting to break my swing, and rebuild it from the ground up - thereby effectively taking me out of action for a year.  I'd heard mixed responses from friends who'd been to a swing swami, and while two of these guys swore their undying allegiance to their coach, another friend just swore a blue streak about his.  This guy's  experience (name rhymes with "Hos-fell") was exactly what I'd feared - He broke down the swing and tried building it from the ground up.  The result was 4 terrible rounds of golf during the '07 Myrtle Tournament.  His accounts, coupled with my preconceived opinions and fears, silenced any thoughts I had about seeing a swing coach that year.

A year later I was playing in a tournament for work - captian's choice / scramble format.  My job was to hit the ball as far as possible off the tee, and then maybe pitch in a couple of shots here and there.  Two of my playing partners, my step-dad and his buddy, were both shaking their heads at me all day.  I hit a couple of BIG drives (in the 300 yard territory), but spent a good portion of the day frustrated with the ever-present inconsistencies.  

They asked, "Why don't you want to get a lesson?"

"I can figure it out on my own," I replied.

"You should really see our guy, you'd really benefit."

"I know what I'm doing wrong, I just need to play more golf so I can iron out my swing."

"How long have you been playing?  You don't seem to have ironed it out yet...what makes you think you'll iron it out in the next decade?"

"Uhm.....hmmmm......."

"Wouldn't it feel good to hit those good shots everytime?"

"Uhm......yeah...I guess....I just don't want to have this guy break my swing, and then suck."

"Newsflash....you already suck."

"Uhm...."  (no comeback for that one)

...and there it was - my "ah-hah" moment - the moment when you check your ego at the door and become open to learning.  The simple truth was I consistently put up triple digit scores, and while there were certainly flashes of potential, the ever-prevalent inconsistencies prohibited me from having any chance of breaking into the 80s.  At this point I was ready and willing to have my swing broken; I was ready to suck - just so long as I'd get better in the end.  Well, here's the kicker - The swing doctor recommended to me by my step-dad and his buddy was the same guy who "broke" my friend's swing and reduced him to an angry / bitter man in Myrtle.  Not only that, but he was the same guy used by another buddy and fellow golf blogger, Brett.  How could the same guy produce such drastic results and opinions?

There are a couple of reasons.  Number one is that golf, like life, is all about perceptions.  Glass half empty; "that guy broke my swing."  Glass half full; "my swing is being corrected."  As a 20 handicap hacker, my game has more flaws then an Oliver Stone conspiricy - and while there is certainly a lot 'right' with my swing, the bad habits I'd formed over the years contributed directly to the inconsistencies and errant shots.  The second reason is not every coaching style is a good fit for the student.  Instructor X might really connect with Golfer A, but completely miss with Golfer B.  Of course, even with a 'glass half full' attitude, changing your swing is the MOST frustrating thing in golf.  It's one thing to know you have bad habits - but it's another to be cognizant of them.  It's like burning your hand on the oven- I know the oven is hot...I know I need an oven mitt...why the HELL did I just reach my hand in there.  This frustration is made even worse by the fact good shots aren't just 'better than before,' they're damn near perfect.  My swing can feel so smooth and effortless I find myself thinking "Holy $#&#...did I just do that?!?!"

At the end of the day, I suppose you just need to fight through the frustrations with the understanding things are going to get better.  It turns out there is more to golf than showing up to the course 15 mins before tee time, drinking eight beers, and cursing.  Tinkering with your swing only works if you put in the effort - beyond just extra range time, you really need to focus on every shot.  What went right; what went wrong; what did my man say do work on; what do I need to work on next.  With that said, it's always important to remember balance, and one should never let working on your game interfere with having a good time.  A wise man once said "don't think of it as work - the whole point is to enjoy yourself."  Sage advice indeed - and I for one, would listen.  After all, he was pre-law.  

~Saps

Swing Thoughts by Steve Boswell

Sometimes, when I stand over the ball and look down the fairway, I think to myself...

"Man! I'm really going to slice this drive."

Swing Thoughts by Steve Boswell

Why do I hold 5 clubs in my hand?

One shot away...

Every round, every week, year after year we're one shot from par, breaking 80, 90, 100, etc.  We've been there, lived it, and walk away knowing we were one shot away.

The day begins with a goal to win the British Open, break a golf barrier, or maybe without a thought.  Coffee, Advil, egg sandwich, two trips to the commode, and we're on our way.  One day we arrive early to warm up on the range, chip, putt, and spare a few minutes for toe touches.  The next we're running to the 1st tee with shoes in hand.  The result is equal.

Each round is unique but all the same.  Shot after shot we maneuver through the course.  Fairway ... green ... two putt, par.  Hook ... miraculous punch around one tree rising above the next, par.  Lost ball bogey.  30 footer to save par, bogey, or double.

Melt down after a birdie.  Recovery after a blow up.  In the end that last putt falls and our score is final.  73 ... 80 ... 90.  Once again we miss that elusive number.  How?  Why?  We shot great but just missed.  Nothing fell but a 79 lurked.

That one shot occurs on 18 when our friends inform us a triple bogey breaks 90.  The snap hook setting off a two penalty stroke hole resulting in a quad.  The duffed chip, missed two foot putt, or second sand shot.  It's often that shot tracking to the pin with a beautiful draw landing a foot short plunging into the greenside bunker.

We remember the great drive, 5 iron to a foot, and that one shot which kept us from glory.

The best-laid plans of mice and men...

...so the saying goes.

The Saturday plan was simple - a morning round of polar bear golf followed by an afternoon nap and the consumption of an extra-large meat lovers pizza. I was even going to spend some quality time catching up with my xbox. A simple plan - easy enough to achieve.

Wanting to wake up fresh for the early morning round, I opted to stay in Friday night. "I'll just have a couple of beers and play some Gears of War," I thought to myself. Well, a couple of beers turned into 6 or 7 as the Gears of War play went into the wee hours of the night. Breckenridge Brewery's 471 is a strong and hoppy beer - delicious, but it packs a bit of a wollop. I woke up at 7am with my clothes still on and my bedroom TV blaring. Confused, I frantically attempted to make sense of the situation. "What time is it? Do I have to go to work today? Why am I awake so early? Why does my head hurt? Why was I watching cartoons before I passed out?"

Slowly, I gathered my thoughts and composed myself to the point where I could get ready for golf. After adding several layers of clothing, and making repeated trips to the lavatory ( hoppy beer evacuation procedure in effect), I departed for Bos's pad, where it turns out his Friday evening plans took an unsuspected turn as well. Bos wasn't just hungover when I got to his place, he was still drunk (making my decision to jump in the car with him all the more wise) . It turns out after eating his dinner and opening a fresh brew, Bos settled into his couch and prepared for a quiet evening. He then recieved a text message from Brett calling him to Whitlows, and the quiet evening was dead before it ever really started. The two of them sat at Whitlows and drank Sierra Nevadas like it was their job - adding a couple of tequila shots to the mix.

Weaving in and out of traffic like Ricky Bobby at Talledaga, Bos tried his best to make me ill. My reslove was strong and despite a couple of dicey moments, no cookies were tossed. As we stepped out of the car at Old Hickory Golf Cub the temerature was a balmy 35 degrees. Polar Bear Golf in action. Bos threw the entire contents of his trunk into his golf bag while contiunig to talk drunken nonsense. "I think they are calling for rain," he slured as he pulled an umbrella from his car, "Yellow bunny, banana runs the eskimo balloon pants." At this point I decided Bos had not over-exaggerated the number of beers consumed. We met up with Brett (wearing his ski-pants) at the practice range, and while Bos appeared still drunk, Brett was in full hangover. "I threw up last night," he revealed painfully. "I had to dig the chunks out of the sink with my fingers." Yucky.

This is the second weekend of polar bear golf, and I'm becoming a fan. If you can get used to the cold (a pair of weather soft golf gloves are vital), polar bear golf is really worth the effort. We had the course completely to ourselves, so there was no worry about pace of play. If you want to hit 3 shots into the green for practice - go for it. If you want to tee up another ball because you topped your first shot 40 yards directly to the left - do it up. If you want to take 6 shots to hit out of the bunker - not only can you live that dream, but you don't even have to worry about offending anyone when you let fly a string of obscenities.

Of course you don't play golf in the winter to post record low scores, and this round was nothing to write home about. But a good time was had by all, and we even had some great Bos moments:
(leaving the practice range, before the round even starts) "I am going to suck today"
(after hitting his second bad drive despite out-driving Brett on his previous three) "I can't drive for $%#& today!"

Now, it is at this point in the story where our adventure takes a bit of a turn. With the girlfriend out of town for the weekend, my Saturday plan was similar to Friday - laying low, playing videogames and eating a goddamn pizza. We finished our round at 2PM, which was going to leave me plenty of time to order my pizza, eat half, nap, eat the other half, play videogames, then nap again - but then Brett threw a wrinkle into those plans. He decided to play a couple of more holes. Bos and I were both drained so we declined the additional holes, and instead opted to grab a beer while Brett finished up. We could have just gone into the clubhouse, grabed a couple of beers and watched golf - but then Brett mentioned seeing a Hooters on the way back to the highway. That was pretty much all she wrote.

To be fair, we were just going to grab a couple of beers while waiting for Brett to finish. Hooters of Woodbridge has some talent, and our lovely server managed to sweet talk us into a pitcher of Budwiser All American Ale. The beer was hardly anything special (very malty for an ale), but she was involved in a sales contest and being the good hearted guys we are, we wanted to help out.

We are also a bunch of suckers.

Brett showed up around 3:15 looking tired and disheveled. "I feel like crap. I'm so hot. Are any of you guys hot." He then looked up at the waitress, his eyes dejected and weak, "it's so hot in here. I'm so tired. We're going to need some curly fries...and another pitcher." 4 hours and several pitchers later, we pried ourselves from the seats and set sail for our next destination; the Paper Moon Gentleman's club (we can blame Sheabone for planting this mental seed). Somewhere along the way we lost Brett, who later called to say he was passing on the club - and to be honest he didn't miss out on much. Bos and I only stayed for a couple of beers (I didn't even break into my wad of singles), and much to my pleasure I was home in time to order my goddamn pizza. Of course, after eating half of the pizza I passed out on the couch (sometime around 10PM).

Good times, and a good cold weather warm up for Myrtle. 58 Days.