Menu
It’s 12:45, and by glancing at my book I realize that my erstwhile student, Stan, is my one o’clock lesson. I am momentarily distracted from the serene pleasure of hitting balls on the range with no one bothering me as my mind wanders to thoughts of what is to come. Stan and I go way back, back to his start in the game (alas, I am partially responsible), back to his ex-wives and ex-girlfriends who have not survived his desperate search for mediocrity. Thinking of Stan’s golf game already has me unconsciously removing my cap and rubbing my forehead, something I am prone to do often in our hour of…what should I call it? Education? Instruction? Futility? No apt words of description come to me. I shake myself from this revelry and return to banging balls, but the moment is gone. I will accomplish nothing else this practice session. Better to prepare for Stan and his existential angst.
Stan truly wonders why he is not better, and why for all his efforts he cannot seem to get any better. He operates a very successful business, and certainly has the money to spend on any aspect of the game, whether it be equipment, of which he has ample supply of the latest and most advanced (although no company would particularly want it to be known that Stan used their clubs), or instruction, evidence of which are his many visits to the various golf academies scattered around the country adorning the names of the most recognized teachers of the era, often for seemingly outrageous fees. He is a member of at least four clubs, and plays just as horrendously on all of them. He is mystified by the game, and yet is driven to it, a prime example of the statement that equates golf with insidious disease. I have tried to help Stan in the past, and have explained that perhaps if he came for help more than once every few years, (and then only when he is mired in a pit of poor play to rival Dante’s bottommost depths of hell), he might make more progress. He usually agrees with me, comments enthusiastically on how much better he is hitting the ball as a result of our one-hour lesson, and promptly disappears for a few more years, presumably occupied by yet another divorce or ugly break-up.
I can only hope that he is getting along O.K., and only needs minor adjustments. Not. My hope is crushed as Stan approaches and begins with these dreaded words: “we need to talk”.
Wayne: No problem Stan. Hey, nice to see you again. Why don’t you hit a few while we chat?
Stan: No, I can’t hit any. I can’t even pick up a club. (He has his clubs with him, but eyes them as though they are infected with the Ebola Virus, and merely touching them would cause his skin to immediately rot away.) I just need to ask you a couple of questions. Don’t worry, I’ll cover the time. I need to get some things clear in my head. You’ve got to give me some straight answers. No B.S., all right?
Wayne: Stan, have I ever given you the runaround? If nothing else I’m noted for being somewhat blunt with my assessments.
Stan: All right then, I’m going to trust you. Am I hopeless? Think about it before you answer. I try so hard, but the game not only eludes me, it practically runs in the other direction. It’s a disaster. I can’t do anything right.
Wayne: C’mon, Stan, it can’t be all that bad. What was your handicap when you first came to me?
Stan: I didn’t have one. If I did, it would have been whatever the max is.
Wayne: Yeah, I remember. And what is it now?
Stan: Well, it’s about a 22. But it’s trending up.
Wayne: So, you’re about 20 shots better than you were 5 years ago. That’s 4 shots a year. I know it’s not easy to understand, but in this game that’s pretty damn good. You’re improving. That’s what it’s all about. It may not be as fast as you would like, but you’re gaining on it.
Stan: Yeah, great. I’m barely breaking 100 on a good day. Lately it’s been much worse. I’m so bad, I don’t know if I want to play anymore.
Wayne: So you’re in a slump. It happens to everyone. You can’t expect a smooth ride when you’re learning this game. Everyone goes through pretty much the same thing no matter what level you’re on.
Stan: How can I be in a slump? My whole career has been a slump. I’ve been slumping since I picked up a club. If 99 is not a slump, then I shouldn’t be playing. Why is it so hard for me? I have friends who picked it up about the same time I did and they’re doing much better than I am.
Wayne: Stan, I hear you. Look, the first thing you’ve got to do is decide whether or not you’re really giving it a full effort.
Stan: What do you mean? I try as hard as I can.
Wayne: I know you try, but do you put in the time? Do you practice all parts of your game? Do you understand what you are supposed to be practicing?
Stan: Sure. I mean, I love to play, but I do practice some. And your lessons have really helped.
Wayne: You mean the three lessons I’ve given you over the last 5 years? You know what I think, Stan?
Stan: No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.
Wayne: I think you’re whining, and I don’t think you have any reason to. Why do you think you should be getting better when you don’t do what it takes to get better? This is a hard game. If you’re happy just being out on the course and you don’t want to bother with working on your game and trying to develop some knowledge about what you’re up to then you shouldn’t complain about playing poorly. If playing bad bothers you that much, stop wasting your time complaining and do something about it. Everyone has their own limitations. In order to improve you have to identify your weaknesses and work on those until you feel better about each one.
Stan: So what do you think are my biggest weaknesses?
Wayne: Do you want me to list them?
Stan: Sure, why not? I’m a big boy, I can take it.
Wayne: Well, first of all you’re in terrible physical condition. You look like you swallowed a basketball, and you have the flexibility of a glacier. You could do anything I tell you much better if you’d start to get your body into some semblance of shape.
Stan: Ouch. Don’t hold back or anything. I can’t believe I’m paying for this abuse.
Wayne: Look at it as “tough love”. Besides, it’s my experience that most people are tired of having their asses kissed by teaching pros who tell them that they’re this close to awesome and that all they need is a little tweak and everything will be great.
Stan: OK, what else.
Wayne: You’re not very coordinated. I mean, you’re not a natural athlete. What sports did you play in high school?
Stan: Sports? I used to go bowling every Friday and Saturday night. Does that count?
Wayne: That’s what I mean. It’s not that you’re a bad person because of it, but when it comes to complex athletic movements that require timing and skill you don’t have any experience. Remember when I asked you to throw a ball sidearm?
Stan: Don’t remind me. I think I fell down, after I threw it backwards. And what did that have to do with golf anyway?
Wayne: That’s just it: it has everything to do with golf. The motion of the swing is almost identical to a low sidearm throw. It’s not like you can’t play if you can’t throw, but learning to have a good swing without the natural ability to throw is going to be a much more difficult task, as you have unfortunately found out.
Stan: All right, so I’m a pig and a klutz. Keep going.
Wayne: Now come on Stan, I didn’t call you either of those things.
Stan: I know: I’m just having a little fun. Aren’t you glad I can keep my sense of humor about this?
Wayne: You didn’t act like this was funny when you first showed up today. But if you can’t laugh at yourself a bit while you try to play this game you’re never going to get much enjoyment out of it.
Stan: You’re right, this is painful. But I am trying to see the humor in it. Anyway, keep going.
Wayne: All right. For another thing, you have no retention. I tell you to change your grip, and then work on it with you, and by the next swing it reverts back to whatever is comfortable, as though I never said anything. I don’t know if this is a trait you show in everyday life, or if it’s just here in a lesson. I do know one thing though: this is a complicated game, and if you can’t do more than one thing at a time you are in big trouble. Unless that is, you are incredibly talented, which I think we can agree that you’re not, at least at golf. We all want to just set up and hit it without thinking. Unfortunately, if you have a bunch of problems with your swing, you are going to have to change it to get any better. The swing you make when you don’t think about it isn’t any good. In order to do something different you are going to have to think about what you are doing. If you continue to black out as soon as you start your swing it is still going to suck. You have to try harder to remember what you are supposed to do. This is a major revelation for a lot of people. If you can’t focus enough to check your grip each time you get ready to hit a shot you have little chance to get anywhere. I mean, it’s the set-up! You’re not even moving yet. If you can’t remember something before you swing, how are you ever going to change anything once everything starts into motion? I never say anyone is hopeless, but people with zero retention are about as close as it gets.
Stan: But it’s so uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem possible that my grip could be that far off.
Wayne: Stan. Think about it. You shoot 100. You are capable of shooting 120. Almost nothing you do is correct. If that feels comfortable, then doing something correct will probably feel uncomfortable. Does that make sense? Do you want to be comfortable and be terrible? Do you think that I know what I am doing? You need to trust the fact that I am teaching you a grip that will work far better, and will become quite comfortable in the process. And it’s not just the grip. It’s anything I show you. You know how I pull and push you around during the lesson?
Stan: You mean when you torture me with your pretzel positions?
Wayne: Right. There are a number of reasons why I yank you around like I do.
Stan: Really? I haven’t quite figured them out yet.
Wayne: That’s because you have no imagination, or at least you don’t apply it to golf.
Stan: That’s funny. All my high school teachers said I had a fertile imagination.
Wayne: Like I said, you just don’t apply it to golf. The process starts when I show you your own swing on the video. I try to point out what I think is going on that keeps you from hitting the ball better. It usually makes more sense if I show you a good swing to compare it to, so I put up Ernie or Tiger or whoever in order to show you how what you do is different. I draw on the TV screen and try to explain what we’re looking at. Then I take you into the mirror and have you go through your normal movement, followed by what would be different, and better. Things you do all the time without thinking have no real “feel”. When you do those things differently they are going to feel different. I need to get you to see what it is you need to do, and then apply a “feel” to that image so that you can repeat it without the help of a mirror or having me move you around. If you can close your eyes and produce the right positions, then explain to yourself what those positions feel like, then you are using your imagination, and you have a chance to repeat the change when you are by yourself. Understand it, picture it, feel it, execute it: that’s the magic process. That’s what you are supposed to be doing when you practice.
Stan: But I never feel like I know exactly what to practice or whether I should even be practicing if I’m doing it all wrong.
Wayne: That’s why you take lessons. I’m supposed to help you figure out what you need to work on, and then it’s my job to give you specific ways to work on those things. If you have multiple headaches, like you do, it can be a bit overwhelming at first. I remember trying to learn to play the guitar. I had decided to quit playing golf a while back so I sold all my extra clubs and bought a Fender Strat and an amp. I loved any type of guitar playing, and I figured I’d take some lessons and get going with it. I pictured myself jamming like Hendrix, Clapton, Stevie Ray, and I was prepared to put the time in to do it. After 4 or 5 lessons, all those good intentions were out the window. Starting from zero, I made the mistake of looking down the road and measuring just how far I had to go to be really good. Even if I put in hours a day, I could see that really learning how to play was far more involved and complex than I had imagined. It was hard just getting my fingers to hold down the strings. The task was just too daunting. I knew it was going to be a tremendous amount of work just to be decent, because it was obvious that I wasn’t a natural. I didn’t have the “knack” for it that some people do, that freakish ability that is present for no particular reason but makes learning much easier.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized that the only way to learn something is to enjoy the practice, put in as much time as you can and give yourself credit for a good session of work. In other words, if I had let myself enjoy the process and had not been so impatient to be immediately great, I would probably still be playing today and would be enjoying whatever level I was on. It’s never going to happen all at once. If you want to be better than a 100 shooter you have to shoot 95 first. Your goal needs to be improvement of any sort. I’m not a fan of specific goal setting. I guess I’m a bit different from a lot of people in that regard. I love to work on my game, to improve my technique in all aspects. The tournaments and the scoring takes care of themselves. Each competition is a test to see how my efforts are coming along. Each failure serves to focus me on what I need to work on. It’s a process that never ends. That’s why you see the best players in the world grinding on the driving range before, during and after a tournament. No one ever “gets” this game. You play until you quit, or you die. I doubt if I’ll ever quit again, although I have tried a few times in the past. I enjoy the challenge too much. And a big difference now is that the challenge is enough to keep me going. It keeps me waking up early to go to the gym, testing and changing my equipment, working on my swing and my short game. I enjoy all of that, and I put in as much time as I can. I have a passion for golf that I think you might also have, but I don’t know if you’ve understood what kind of commitment it takes to move in the right direction. But then again, you’re here, so that’s a step in the right direction.
Stan: So how often do you think I should take a lesson?
Wayne: That’s totally up to you. Some people come every week, some once a month. You need to decide what works best for you. I do know that once a year is not enough. If you want to score better we need to work on every aspect of your game. You might think your short game and putting is O.K., but I can guarantee you that there are tons of shots in there that you are losing every round. I know you love the game. You need to love working at it and learning about it just as much as playing. Given your liabilities, you’re going to have to work harder than the next guy to achieve the same amount of improvement. But I have no doubt that you can do it.
Stan: You really think so? Man, I hope so. I would hate to think that I was doomed to be a total chop. Well, all right then. Why not show me that grip again? And this time I’ll have it after the first time.
Wayne: That’s what I want to hear.