Getting to the Next Level

Some years back I played in the Michelob Championship at the Kingsmill Resort, the PGA Tour stop in Williamsburg, Virginia, where I shot 68-74, even par, and missed the cut by one stroke. My intent as I thought about the subject for this article was to recount my second round in detail, and I will get to that in a bit. But as I thought about the lessons learned from my experience I saw a larger theme that runs through all of my day to day dealings with the game as well as those of the people who take lessons from me, the idea that we all want to reach the next level of ability, to graduate to a game that produces better scores when we want them the most. Of course, in order to accomplish that we have to improve. Finding ways to encourage and elicit that improvement is the job of both the player and the teacher, and it is the driving force of the entire golf industry.
 
If we are honest with ourselves we can all assess and establish our present level of play. Tiger Woods is the number one player in the world, but he’s not yet the greatest of all time. He has majors still to win, and if he suddenly lost his game or suffered some tragic injury he would not have reached the level he aspires to. He would have many legitimate excuses and reasons for failing, but he would have failed nonetheless. That is the very reason you will find him practicing almost every day, tinkering, experimenting, grinding out the repetitions that he feels will get him where he wants to go. Phil Mickelson wanted more than anything to win a major championship. That was his “next level”, and much of his practice was geared to playing the majors more successfully.
 
The “next level” for Dr. Sylvan Feldman, soon to be President of Woodholme Country Club where I taught, was, a few years ago, a matter of just “being decent”. Doc was a 25 handicap, having come to the game later in life, and was by anyone’s account a true “chop”. He knew that he wasn’t any good and wasn’t getting any better so he decided to get some help. He’s now a 14 and can drive the ball 50 yards further than he used to, but he knew he had reached his “next level” when he participated in the club’s Labor Day Calcutta. Dealing with the pressure of playing in competition, especially with team members counting on his performance, had been unthinkable; but he entered, and he did fine. He knew he had become what he considered to be a “decent” player.
 
As I mentioned, everyone who plays has a level of expertise and thus has a “next level” to strive for. A beginner wants to be anything but a beginner. As part of the incredible volume of knowledge encompassed by the game is learned and committed to memory, and the ability to execute the movements necessary to hit the ball are incorporated, the beginner graduates to merely being bad. Most people are repulsed by their own poor results, and within this horrific incompetence there is born the requisite desire to practice the things that will make them improve. Since the game is incredibly difficult, most golfers need help, and they will look for it anywhere. Books, magazines, television, lessons, equipment, gizmos, fitness programs, shrinks: you name it, and if it promises to help, people will try it, and they will most certainly pay for it.
 
Throughout my career in the game I have stubbornly attempted to find my way to my own next level without much help from others. My father gave me my first instructions when I got started at age 9, and through my days as a junior golfer he would stick with the basic thoughts he had instilled in me from the beginning: turn your left shoulder under your chin and behind the ball, turn against the inside of your right foot, then keep your head behind the ball as you hit it. I was one of the lucky ones. I was good nearly from the day I picked up a club, or at least I always had the “knack” of hitting the ball close to where I was aiming it. I started to compete at age 12, and I found I had an affinity for match play. I played better in tournaments than I did when I was just goofing around. I never practiced a whole lot; at least I never remember thinking that hitting golf balls on the range would make me better. I played way more than I practiced, and I had almost no thought of swing technique.
 
Like I said, I was one of the lucky ones, one of the “freaks” who seem to be able to excel at the game without knowing exactly why. At 17 I qualified for the U.S. Amateur and made it to the fourth round, two wins away from (at that time) playing in the Masters. I came up against Bob Byman, then an All-American at Wake Forest. I had just agreed with Wake’s coach, the legendary Jesse Haddock, to attend Wake, and with each match play win I was missing more orientation, as school was starting that week. I gave Bob a decent match, but I can remember feeling that I was definitely outclassed. Wake’s team that year has been called the “greatest college golf team of all time”, consisting of among others Curtis Strange and Jay Haas. Scott Hoch was a sophomore and didn’t even play on the first team. I was overwhelmed by the gap between my abilities and those of Jesse’s “boys”, the four All-Americans that made up the backbone of the team. At first I didn’t know how to react or what to do, since I had never been devoted to practicing in order to get better. It took a while, almost a year, before Coach Haddock’s admonishments about dedication took hold, but I finally figured out that if I wanted to be as good as his favorites I was going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than I ever had.
 
Coach left Wake before my sophomore year, and then returned the following year. Unfortunately, by that time I had transferred to LSU, where I had to sit out a year before I could play for the team. That year of off-time was mostly uneventful, and half of it was spent unable to play with the first of a long litany of injuries that would plague me through my career. When I did get a chance to play the following year it was as though something magical had happened. Suddenly I was good: very good, in fact. I placed well in the fall, although I didn’t win anything, but in the Spring I won 3 times and finished 3rd in the NCAA Championship. Where did this come from? I have no real clue. When I practiced, and even when I warmed up before tournaments, I didn’t hit the ball particularly well. It was a different story when I got out onto the course, however. I made few mistakes, and putted extremely well, and my scoring average was close to 70. I was a first team All-American, and it seemed as though I had reached a new level from which I could only move up to the very top. I had no way of knowing that this would be the best I would perform over the next 21 years.
 
A final round 80 in the 1979 NCAA Championship, even though I still finished 3rd, convinced me that I needed to make some changes to get better. I tried to do this on my own, and with my limited knowledge of the golf swing I succeeded in screwing myself up completely. By the time my senior year rolled around I could barely make the traveling squad. The year was a disaster and by the time the NCAA rolled around I didn’t even qualify for it. I was burned out on bad golf so I just quit. I had designs on a new career, perhaps in politics or journalism, but the only job I could come up with was selling golf clubs at a local retail store. One year later I was back playing again, qualifying for the US Open at Merion and winning the DC Amateur. I decided to turn pro and headed to Florida to play the mini-tours with the eventual goal of qualifying for the PGA Tour.
 
I hacked it around in Florida for 5 years, searching for that next level, practicing every day and going through lots of my Dad’s and other people’s money trying in vain to elevate my game, but I couldn’t so much as win a mini-tour event. I played in Asia, where I finished 50th on the Order of Merit, and finally in 1985 it seemed that I had made a breakthrough. I won a Space Coast event at Disney World, and made it through to the finals of Qualifying School. I felt that all my hard work on retooling my swing to alleviate my back problems was paying off, and I was ready for the big time. Alas, all the practicing before Tour School took a severe toll on my spine, and 3 days before the finals were to begin I ended up in the hospital in traction. By the time I got to Greenleafe I was in no shape to play well, and I didn’t. When I got home from that debacle my wife at that time decided to inform me that she wanted a divorce. Once again I decided that golf on the highest level was not in the cards, and I moved to Atlanta where I took up a position as a bartender at a local frozen drink emporium.
 
I stayed out of golf for another year and a half, but when faced with the prospect of making a living I opted once again for the world of golf, this time as a teacher. By joining the PGA of America I was able to get paid for my knowledge of the game, and of course I was able to keep playing. By now my expectations as far as my level of play were much less, and I began to actually enjoy the game again. Every round wasn’t life or death, and the playing served as a complement to the teaching. An added bonus was that I enjoyed teaching. A day on the lesson tee went by fast, and I found gratification in the challenge and variety of the individual lesson, as well as the appreciation showed by the student after any sort of progress.
 
As I began to see that my life in golf would be spent in large part as a teacher I resolved to become a better one. I found quickly that I wasn’t comfortable teaching things I couldn’t do myself, so that improving as an instructor was inevitably tied to improving as a player. I have gone about my business in just this manner: learn to play better, learn to teach better, in that order. Everything I have come up with to be a better player has been factored into my teaching, from technique in all parts of the game to course management and playing under pressure. As now a part-time player, I work on my game much like most of my students, in fits and starts between being too busy to give it much attention. But while I am not a full-time competitor, I think about it all the time. I spend my days watching various mistakes in concept and execution, and it is my job to communicate a better way to approach the problem and to achieve results. Over time, as my own understanding of the swing and all the other facets of the game that I am necessarily called upon to teach improved, so has my own game, to the point where I have played the best golf of my life.
 
The year 2000 was a successful one for me as far as tournament play goes, but I sensed that my physical abilities were holding me back, especially my endurance. Top level golf requires stamina, and I found myself lacking when it came to the closing holes of many events. That December I embarked on a physical fitness program, knowing full well that in the past such efforts had only led to further injury and more disappointment. This time, however, with the help, I was able to work out rigorously without hurting myself. The results of raising my physical level combined with an ever-improving understanding of what I needed to do with my own game culminated in my victory in the National Club Professional Championship that June, the most significant win of my career.
 
After a poor showing at that year’s PGA Championship in Atlanta, I came back to win the MAPGA Section Championship for the 2nd year in a row, and since I had already qualified to play at Kingsmill in the Michelob Championship that October, I looked forward to that as a chance to see what I could do at the highest level on a course that suited my game. It wasn’t that I now expected myself to play great in a Tour event, but I felt as though I now had the game to compete well against the best players in the world. And sure enough, when I shot 68 in the first to end up the day in a tie for 20th, I thought I might be on my way. On my way to what, you might ask? To a life on the Tour, the dream I had embraced for so many years? No, not really that. I have a wonderful family life now, and my wife and two young girls are the loves of my life. I couldn’t leave them at this point to travel as much as the Tour would demand. If I had to put my finger on it, I would say that I was perhaps on my way to having the command of the game that I had always envisioned, that I could tee it up and produce the kinds of shots I had visualized for 30 years consistently.
 
I knew what I had to do that 2nd round, a score of around even or 1-under usually makes the cut, and with the conditions fairly easy that meant a score of 73 or better. The thing about a Tour event is that it’s still just golf, and golf is just numbers. It’s not “if” you can do it: plenty of guys can shoot 64 and hit unbelievable shots. It’s “when” can you do it? Can you make the most of your opportunities? I had put myself into a position where if I played well I could really do something. I was putting well and my short game had been solid all year, indeed on Thursday I had ended the day by getting up-and-down for par on #16 from 100 yards, birdied 17, then pitched in from 25 feet on 18, so I felt that it was going to come down to ball striking. Could I hit the shots I needed to make the round go by easily, or was I going to make it another struggle?
 
My first drive basically told the tale. The 10th is a decent length par 4 with a generous fairway, about a drive and a 5 or 6- iron for me with a good drive. The hole goes from medium to quite hard, however, if you miss the fairway, and I had missed it to the right in the deep Bermuda rough every time I had played it from Monday to Thursday. I needed to hit the drive in the fairway to get the round off on the right foot, and I felt comfortable on the tee. I aimed down the left center of the fairway and proceeded to hit a block cut to the right, dead in the rough, exactly where I didn’t want to be. That led to a bogey, and while I came back with a birdie on 4, I bogied 6, 7, and 8 to turn 3-over.
 
Here I was again, making it difficult on myself with a game that was not measuring up. If you asked some of the guys I play with to describe the way I play I am sure that the word “grind” would come up more than a few times. I am pretty resilient, and I have the ability to hang tough, be patient, and keep hitting the ball until I can get something good to happen. I was always an intense competitor, but at times I would let my anger get in the way, especially when the round had a bearing on my future. Now, with decades of experience under my belt and a life that is more secure, I don’t let poor play get to me quite as much. It’s simply not the end of the world anymore. Don’t get me wrong, it still sucks, but it doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. Of course, it never did, but it took a long time to learn that lesson.
 
Now I was sitting on even par and feeling as though that would not be good enough to make the cut: I needed to make something happen. This I accomplished by hitting the 2nd in two and making birdie, then pitching in on #5 for another bird. I 3-putted the 6th from 20, a stupid mistake that in previous years would have chapped me completely and perhaps taken me right out of my game, but I came back with a good drive and another birdie on 7. Now I was 2-under for the tournament and in good shape to make the cut, but I needed to play the last two holes no more than one over. The hard shot on 8 is the tee shot, a 3-wood to a plateau fairway with trouble on both sides. I negotiated this fine, and I was left with 190 yards to a pin set back-right in the neck of the green. It’s a shot that you just can’t miss to the right. If you do you’re short side and your chances of making par will come down to a lengthy putt. This was the moment my swing needed to show up. I needed to hit a 4 iron straight. It didn’t even have to be that solid, because shots landing on the front of the green were running to the back. You stand out on the range for hours, days, years, trying to hone your swing so that you can aim and hit the ball where you’re aiming. I went through my routine, pulled the trigger, and while the ball felt well-struck, I knew my the club head was stuck a bit behind my hands, and when I looked up to follow the ball in flight it was heading too far to the right and curving gently in the same direction.
 
There are times that educated hands can save such a shot by turning the face over hard at the last moment, but this approach seems to work less well as the stakes go up. This is my technique flaw, the thing I work on constantly, and here it was again ruining the day. The ball ended up in the right bunker, and my 12 footer for par went wide of the hole. Now I had to par the 9th, the hardest hole on the course, and again I just didn’t have the shots. My tee shot faded into the right fairway bunker, and although I had a perfect lie I had 205 yards against the wind. This is a lot to ask on the last hole of the day with everything on the line, and I couldn’t muster up an answer. I got out of my routine, took way too many waggles, and hit a fat one way short and to the left of the green. I still had a chance to make a par, but it was a difficult up and down from the rough over a large knob in the green and it didn’t happen.
 
So there it was: a bogey-bogey finish, and a cut-missing (by one shot) total of 68-74-142. And so the search continues for the swing that hits the ball on the green with a 4-iron on the 35th hole, that hits a driver and a 3-iron on the green on the 36th. At the National CPC I finished like a champ, playing the final 10 holes 1-under par under poor conditions, while hitting just the shots I had failed to hit at Kingsmill. That positive experience gave me all the more confidence over the ball on those shots in Williamsburg, but I try to tell people that confidence, while a nice thing, does not hit golf shots, technique does. A technically sound swing hits quality shots under pressure, and that’s what builds confidence. The ball doesn’t know how you feel about it, only how you hit it. Golf is brutal in its examination of your technique. It either works, or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, there is no need to make an excuse, there is only more work to be done. Every now and then when I am practicing someone will wander over and ask me what I am working on. When I answer “hitting the ball where I am aiming”, I am not trying to be rude or smart. That’s the truth, and it will always be that way.

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