pure joy when you find a momentary secret…




I don’t know about you. There are many times when I stand on the first tee and peer down that fairway with no clue as to where my shot may end up. I do all the visualization. I picture the ball soaring off, down the middle and landing softly, positioned for my shot to the green.

Then, I tee it up and stand over the ball and my mind goes on a rampage. I remember that there are trees on the right and left. I am dead if I push it right.  I inhale and exhale and begin my back swing………….I am thinking slow and smooth.

         evil-angel              Then that evil angel whispers….””Let it rip”

                                                                                               Let it RIP !!!!!

and my body uncoils like a dysfunctional cat………………..knees shifting, hips turning trying to keep pace with hands that are moving like an out of control freight train. Contact is made and the ball explodes off the tee.

This momentary abdication of control leads to the most asked question on the tee. “Did anybody see where it went?’

Just to be sure you understand, this is not a first tee jitter ailment. No, this foible creeps it’s ugly head at various times through out the day. You can be rolling along, parring a few here and nothing worse than a bogey there. Then out of a clear blue sky, you are faced with a twenty or thirty yard chip shot. Nothing major. Just a little soft wedge to a green. You have made this shot about a thousand times. 

You stand over the ball and suddenly visions of a dead shank race into your mind. You step back and inhale focusing on exhaling slowly. You stand over the shot, take the club back slowly and the angel whispers again…SHANK……….and it happens. You rush the downswing and the ball does a crazy wild bend to the right, leaving you the same distance from the green.

You walk over and it happens again. You may chuckle (while your insides are doing a battle between fury at yourself and fear that you may never hit another ball straight again) and walk to the ball. This time discretion becomes the better part of valor and you take your putter out of the bag and resort to the old Texas wedge.

I have suffered. It continues. Then I was at the range hitting balls. Just your average evening of hitting 165 balls with a soft wedge. Just a night full of watching one after another jump from the club face and go dead right.



Then on one frantic attempt the ball soared straight. It rose fifty yards straight up and landed forty yards away. I quickly did a mental check list and realized that I felt my right elbow brush my chest as I came through the ball. I dropped another ball. I focused on the feeling. Bingo, it also took off  in a perfect line.

Another momentary secret discovered. Pure joy.


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