So a buddy and I had a range session a couple days ago together. We spent the first 20-30 minutes just hitting our own balls, catching up. Normal stuff.
Now, I haven’t had a range session in forever. Probably the weirdest thing about owning your own golf company is that I golf less often than I did when I wasn't doing this full-time.
The same went for when I was a sportswriter for the better part of a decade. People would ask, "So you must got to sporting events all the time!" They were always disappointed when I told them I spent my time outside of work doing anything but watching sports.
Likewise, my golf rounds are sporadic, a wild wave where I'll play 54 holes in a week and then go a fortnight without.
But I digress.
All this is to say that my grinding days at the range appear to be behind me; at least for the time being. I haven't hit a full bucket in about a year.
Now the friend I went with last week goes more often. He's six strokes better than me on handicap. He's a good player, but works through the shanks from time-to-time.
On a beautiful, 80° Portland evening, we decided to hit a local range over at Colwood Golf Center. For the first 30 balls or so, we're catching up on life while we work through our individual games. I'm trying not to pull the club immediately inside, he's he's hosel-kicking shots and trying to adjust.
It's at this point that, offhandedly, I mentioned how I felt like my takeaway was super inside despite a very good position at the top. I had been videoing myself, and we looked at it together. It was just a mild complaint, and I had video evidence, so I showed it to him.
As I stepped back to my next ball, I heard my friend say from behind me on his mat, “Your whole thing has always been width. Get wide.”
So on the next swing, I just decided to hold my arms as far away from myself as I could at all times. Golf changes feel ridiculous like that, don't they? Of course, no part of me was actually holding the club straight away from me, and I wasn't swinging a golf club the way the uninitiated holds a baby with a stinky diaper. But it felt like I was.
All of a sudden, I’m hitting bombs. In particular, with 5i-7i, my height almost immediately doubled. I usually have a drop off at my 7i where I progressively hit it lower and shorter than my short irons, so the change was stark.
I begin to enjoy each of the next 8-10 shots, with my newfound height quickly flashing PGA stardom in the back of my mind.
Then, after I heard him click a ball and watch it shoot 45° to his right, narrowly missing the metal fence separating our bays, he spoke.
"Will you take a video of me?"
After handing me his phone, I stood as still as I could with the camera pointed directly down the line. Of course, his next shot was a baby draw that was slightly low on the face. Not necessarily helpful when trying to work out the shanks.
So I decided to speak.
“Maybe just get your hips through in the sequence earlier than you are. Not faster, just sooner.”
This kind of advice, from a stranger, usually warrants a mumbled response and a long inner discussion in golfer's head about which club they'd be willing to sacrifice with a satisfying clonk on the unrequested advisor's melon.
But between friends — especially close friends — it was more welcome.
Part of that has to do with how much of a person's swing you've seen. Have you played hundreds of rounds with this person, or were you paired up together on the first tee? Is this person one to take advice? What's the tone you're giving it in? Is it patronizing? Or are you phrasing it with some unsurety for plausible deniability on the previous fronts?
All those are key when making a drive-by recommendation on a golf swing, even if it is a friend.
Sure enough, on his next 20 balls, his shank turned into a 5 yard draw with some consistency. With his shanks gone and my newfound power, we decided to play some games together.
We spent the final 30 balls of the night playing a shot-shaping game — winner chose whether to go for KP, what club we had to use, whether it had to be a punch shot... we hit the last 10 balls of the night with a persimmon driver he had in his bag, with me considering using one in my next round it was so good.
We’ve been texting for two days about how the session was super fun, and how although neither of us are the kind to give unsolicited advice, our reciprocal offhand comments from a trusted friend somehow stuck.
Of course, not everything stuck. When we played at Heron Lakes down the road on Saturday, we tied in match play. My club control was iffy, and his putting failed him on No. 18, where I popped and saved my round.
Looks like there's more range sessions together to look forward to.
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