a few range observations

Had my lone 18 of the year thus far on Father’s Day (how appropriate) but there’s really not much to tell. Kinda like the U.S. Open, but instead of those guys struggling to make boring par after boring par, I was doing the same on the bogey line.

My thanks to brother J for asking me to play - another gratis round at a country club…It’s nice to have friends and family far wealthier than I, and generous, too. I felt like I played smart. I had the usual lapses in ability but easily could have shot 7-10 strokes lower if the short game was on.

So much to write about, but since I am by nature and inclination nothing but a range rat, I’ll start there. Stopped by my muni on Saturday and with the on-again, off-again weather the swath of virgin range was sparsely populated.

It’s amazing how many regulars you see out there -  range rats one and all. Looking for the cure, hoping for salvation.

Took up a position at the far right, but I couldn’t help notice the 30-something father and young daughter perched in the middle. He had that loafer, no socks and pressed white shirt thing going. He also had an Earl Woods thing going with this poor little girl, who likely was no more than 6 or 7. Not that he was berating her or anything, but you just got that “she’s not having a good time” vibe. It was uncomfortable watching them. Dad perched in his folding chair barking out little directions and the girl gamely popping out 50-yard 7 irons.

Now, I thoroughly admit that, for generally selfish reasons, I too have brought the little ones to the range, but I’ve never once given them directions on how to hit the ball. It should be natural to just try to whale it out there, and no instruction you give to a 4-year-old is going to stick unless you actual drill them. After four months of trying to make four year olds do soccer drills (even fun and wacky ones) I can attest that it just doesn’t work. The four year old mind doesn’t work that way. So they smack out a full bucket of balls in under 10 minutes and we’re on our merry way.

The whole scene reminded me of a feature I read last year about Judy Rankin and how her father drilled her from an early age to be a great golfer. She - wanting to impress daddy at all costs – complied and excelled. There is a certain mindset of compliance, concentration and sheer will that makes champions (or great pianists or whatever), but perhaps thankfully it comes around so rarely.

That these kids are pushed and goaded and, through their own will, go on to excel, is the essence of sports excellence. I’m not saying it’s right but, let’s face it that’s the way it is. Those that fall by the wayside, not living up to their parents or their own expectations, well, we can chalk them up to the also rans. At what cost, though? My whole point, I guess, is that sports are SUPPOSED TO BE FUN FOR KIDS.

Yes, if you drill your child for four hours a day and he/she has the internal fortitude or stubborn nature to take it AND the inate compulsion to want to get better, then you too might have a future PGA Tour champ. But you probably won’t… and when all’s said and done, who wins?

Ok, I’m ranting a little bit.   

Anyway… compare preppy guy and young red-headed muni Rankin to hippie dude and son, who I was adjacent to on the range’s outer reaches. Hippie dude I’ve seen many times a-ranging, and he is distinctive for his rather un-golfish attire and his old school swing.

Picture wiry grey afro, long sleeve button down shirts in summer, wire rim glasses – he’s very scholarly. His swing is Johnny Miller-esque, all flairs and sweeps. At 50+, hippie dude can still bring it but his swing is so quirky that he’s all over the range. He’s fun to watch. With him on Saturday was the junior version - bushy brown hair, t-shirt, the hippie golfer conundrum that his father must have been in the 1960s.

Guess what? He’s got his father’s swing to the nth degree and the cool thing about it is that no one swings this way anymore. I have never seen a young kid that doesn’t have the PGA Tour robot swing because that’s what the pros teach these days, but young hipster has the sweeping flair of a kid who learned the game in the caddy yard circa 1940.  Like his dad, he was wild as hell but hit the ball a mile.

So there you have it, the proper and the imperfect, the parental and the pariah.

I’d try to write a wrap up of the Open but I can probably do it one or two sentences –Watching the US Open is like watching a videotape of sunken boat survivors slowly being dragged under by sharks. At the end there’s one golfer left and he gets rescued and handed a trophy.

More soccer season wrap up and other neat stuff to come. And of course, I have to keep my promise….Damn that Furyk, both he and Scott were close.

Comments

[dave]

I really enjoyed this post! REALLY enjoyed it!!!! THANKS

[who nellie!]

thanks, dave! BTW, since (i think) you inquired earlier, the soccer season kept going from bad to good back to bad again, but I think the angst was all mine. it's amazing what a little trophy can do to light up a kid's face....