My putting has always been the weakest part of my game. While my long game has come along nicely in the past few months, partly due to a club upgrade but mainly thanks to some long overdue lessons, and my chipping has generally been fairly reliable, putting is a let-down.
And if one more person says "drive for show, putt for dough!" I might possibly have to wrap a driver around their necks and shove a putter up their arses.
On the other hand, I also have to admit that I am starting to really feel the truth of that hackneyed old truism, and acknowledge that hitting a good fairway wood does not a good score make.
So it seems that I must at last take action if only to stop my playing partners rolling their eyes behind my head as I miss another 3-footer.
Of course, I'm always better constructing a strategy than executing one, so I've put a certain amount of thought into it and a lot less action.
1) Buy a book.
"Putting Out of Your Mind" by Big Bob Rotella duly purchased, is in a cupboard somewhere in the flat.
2) Read the book.
Yeah let's not get over-excited here. It's on the to-do list.
3) Buy a new putter.
This is the habitual go-to solution of some of the girls I play with. I'm not so much of a subscriber to the idea that new gear makes you a better golfer - proof of this fallacy being that my new putter has been in my bag for months with little perceptible improvement. However it can't be a bad investment considering my old one was part of of a starter set and had as much feel as a lead pipe.
4) Customise.
While I'm at it, I've had the putter shortened to a length appropriate to my height. Apparently the vast majority of women use their putter straight out of the box, but since the average player is a man it's likely to be too long for a lot of women.
5) Put new wheels on the bike.
So I've got a new putting stance. This stance makes me look like an idiot. I really hate it. I also hate that it was taught to me by one of those randoms you sometimes come across who think their advice is a) welcome and b) correct, but it seems to work at the moment, encouraging my stroke along the line as well as a more shoulder-generated action instead of being all arms.
6) Go on the putting green.
Yeah whatever. I'd rather be in the clubhouse with my fried egg sandwich, besides which - how square!? As if.
Maybe if things get desperate. I had three 3-putts on the back nine yesterday which knocked me back from carding 36 points, so let's see if steps 1, 3, 4 and 5 work before we get over-excited and implement steps 2 and 6.
(Photo from TorontoStreet's Flickr stream)
Putting new wheels on the old bicycle doesn't make it a racer
Blind partners: a game of chance, not skill
This week's ladies day was the the first non-qualifier in ages, and we played blind partners for a bit of fun. Blind partners, in case you've never played it, is where you all keep your own cards, but have a partner drawn at random, and the total of both cards is your pair's score. As I say, it's "a bit of fun", but not too much. The ones who weren't playing well had the unpleasantness of thinking they were going to disappoint whoever their blind partner was, with the added suspense of not knowing whether it was going to be someone who had just played a blinder and deserved a prize.
Making sure the wives are getting their husbands' dinners on the table
Some golf clubs seem to operate outside of the normal rules of time, space and humanity. I was reminded of this when my friends joined a club up north, one of those truly 19th century ones where you have to be nominated and seconded by members, you have to be interviewed, have to play a round with the Captain, and at the end of it only get membership if you aren't blackballed by someone who probably hasn't even met you.
These friends knew they wanted to play golf, and for some reason that remains mysterious to me decided they wanted to play there, and they didn't get blackballed. They seem happy enough, so all's well that ends well. Although technically they are members of different clubs, a mens and a ladies, that share the same course. I suppose they don't have mixed competitions. God forbid that the genders should play together!
Unfortunately, this also happened to another friend more local to me. She was a beginner, had swung a club at a driving range once or twice, and thought she might be interested in playing more regularly. She went to her nearest club, a short walk from her house. This particular Home Counties golf club would have required her to play a round with the club pro, have a handicap of less than 25, meet the Lady Captain, fill in an application form detailing her employment, job title and as good as her salary - as well as that of her partner - and for an initial investment of £stupid,000 (subject to being accepted) she could have been privileged to play with some of the snobbiest people in the land.Unsurprisingly she decided that golf clearly wasn't the game for her and jacked it in, except for the odd trip to the range. Fortunately a pro there suggested another, friendlier, club and that's where I met her. She's been playing for a year, and I'm hoping to see her handicap down in the twenties this summer. I would love it, I would absolutely love it (to paraphrase Kevin Keegan) if she one day plays for us in the county league and thrashes that club to buggery.
This last story I think is apocryphal, but it's shockingly funny. I won't name the golf club in case it turns out to be true. The bad part is that it really could turn out to be true! Tell me you don't deep down partly believe it. This club, let's call it Victorian Old Bastards G.C., doesn't allow women to become members. (I know. Forget shocking, this is barely noteworthy, sadly). However, in a generous gesture the enlightened old gits allow the wives of members to be 'associate members', just like the Carlton Club. Rather sweetly, though, if the husband pops his clogs, the widow is sent their condolences and asked to leave.