Thursday, September 27, 2012

In many ways, the highs and lows of my golf experience borrow liberally from Hollywood mainstays–the quiet triumph of a Ron Howard film, for instance, or the gritty terror of grainy horror shot on handheld. Amnesia is a common refrain, too, because I will frequently find myself on the driving range with little to no recollection of how to get the ball off the ground consistently. I will grind it out, of course, and manage to recapture some mojo, but there will be pieces missing, as if I were trying to recall a dream.

That’s the problem, basically. I know what a good shot feels like. I’ve got the taste. But reclaiming that taste is arduous, and any headway I make invariably takes a step or two backwards. This cycle repeats, and it occurred to me that I may as well commit the few tidbits I remember here in a kind of golf diary.

Stance is relaxed. I used to stand on the pads of my feet, but it’s, like, I’m not a frickin’ ballerina here. Firm grip, though not a death grip. Head completely still and trained on the ball. Easy backswing into a shoulder swivel. Then, and here’s the tip that was eye-opening last weekend, lead with my left hand as I make contact. We’re talking NASA-like levels of preparation here, I know. But it’s a ball, rather than a rocket ship, that I’m launching into the sky to punch through that grass ceiling.