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I had just come off what I thought was not a bad summer of golf.
My very first. My boys had finally got me out to a course back in April, and I
hadn't missed a weekend all season. I think I even shot an 87 that summer. Not
bad for a 47 year old with bad eyes and a questionable back, who, like so many
late-in-life converts, had never picked up a club before. At least that's what I
thought.
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Good or not, I'd gotten the bug, and that fall was the beginning
of our regular winter trips to Florida. We just happened to find a company in a
nearby city that built and rented homes for Canadians in Florida. The price
seemed incredibly right, so we did our first rental.
It was awesome. I'd been to Florida a few times before, but
never as a "golfer". This was going to be different. I immediately scouted the
town for courses and ranges. And before I even had the bags unpacked I found
myself at the little range down the road pounding out a couple
buckets.
That's when I met Ron, the resident "pro". I guess he saw me
hacking away in my typical rapid fire manner, and either he was impressed by my
zeal, or, more likely, "spotted a flaw in my swing". Whatever the reason, he
approached me and offered to give me a tip or two.
"Sure", I said, putting aside my usual discomfort with the
thought that somebody was evaluating my swing. Not that I didn't need the help.
But I had foolishly assumed having to pay these guys created a sufficiently high
barrier against impromptu tip-giving. Apparently not. Ron wanted to give tips.
No, wait, that's not quite correct. Ron wanted to completely revamp my
swing.
What sticks in my mind most vividly was the feeling of pain in
my left side as good old Ron twisted me into the Leadbetter-like "torque"
position. I had been blissfully unaware of the necessity to "coil like a spring"
until Ron so helpfully pointed it out. Maybe the fact that it seemed so
unnecessary — even counterproductive —back then has jauncided my opinion
of the concept ever since.
I can still remember Ron's parting words. "You learn to rotate
like that and you won't be able to keep it inside the fence." Wow! I thought.
Even if this does feel strange, even painful, I guess I just have to get used to
a new move. I don't have any trouble with the old saw "You have to go backwards
before you can go forwards." I'll just have to work on it for a while — maybe
even all winter. And then I'll be hitting it a mile come next season.
Awesome, man! You da man, Ron.
So that's what I did. I worked away at stretching those muscles,
and I went out and bought some books, just to see what other guys say about this
coil move. And sure enough, Nick Faldo confirmed what Ron was saying. So did Ben
Hogan, though he seemed to have other, more important axes to grind.
I think we must have spent five or six weeks in Florida that
winter, and I worked very diligently on Ron's tips every chance I got. And sure
enough, I did go backwards before I went forwards.
In fact by the spring I was so far back I was getting desparate.
Ron had not cured my slice and given me more distance. I wasn't hitting it over
the fence. Instead, I was still slicing it into the canal. In fact one day I
sliced about 8 balls into the canal. Weak, pathetic little slices. Ron's tips
were a complete bust.
Now don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming Ron. I obviously didn't
get it, so I either needed more tips, or I had to find another way to put my
swing back together. And since Ron was roughly a thousand miles away, and likely
sleeping under a palm tree somewhere, I started looking around at
alternatives.
That's when I discovered Moe.
Copyright © 2003 by Richard J. Hendershot, all
rights reserved.
This article may not be republished without express written
permission of the author.
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