Wally Armstrong’s Blog

The course of life can often get more treacherous and uncertain than most of us are able to handle on our own.  When the heavy storms loom overhead and our visibility get clouded, and we’re staring down the barrel of a fairway that is dangerous and unfamiliar, we need someone there beside us who will smile and say, “Let me show you the way.  I’ll go ahead of you and stand in the fairway, and you just aim in my direction.  I’ll see that you stay safe and on the course.”

            That’s what the Hebrews writer meant when he wrote, “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith,” (12:2).  Jesus knows this course we play like the back of his hand.  He’s been through it, and he knows the fear we feel and the dangers we face along the way.  Wherever we go, he is standing in the fairway in the distance beckoning us on, saying to us, “Just aim in this direction, and you’ll be fine.”  And we know we can trust him—not just because he knows the course, but because he always has our best interest in mind.

            I remember a speech that Larry Nelson gave during one of our tour Bible studies years ago.  He was talking about how to get through tough times, and he read the passage from James 4:2. “You do not have, because you do not ask God.”  He explained that many times the reason we don’t feel God’s hand in our lives is because we simply forget to ask for his help.  He is there to guide us through any circumstance we might run across, even though we so often try to make it on our own. 

In any situation, just aim at Jesus and you’ll come out fine.

Golfers have always had an affection for the old courses, especially the ones in Scotland.  Courses used to be built with a hint of intrigue and a lot of creativity, with blind tee shots and hidden greens nestled throughout.  If you don’t stay on your toes you can easily find yourself buried in a patch of thicket hiding behind a bunker or over a mound.  And when you do find trouble, it’s seldom easy to recover.  The Scottish designers love to trip you up—almost as much as they love golf.

            A few of the old American courses have that same element of danger.  The Pine Valley course, located just across the river from Philadelphia, is one such example.  It’s been named as one of the top courses in the country by a number of different surveys. Many of the holes have totally blind shots over trees and ridges, and the course abounds with dips and mounds and other obstacles.

            The first time I played Pine Valley it was raining so hard that I was sure they would cancel the day’s rounds.  During breakfast we were all waiting for the announcement of delay due to heavy rains, but it never came.  Then someone came in to say that we were on the first tee in about an hour. 

            My caddie that morning was a man named Bob.  He was a local player, wearing a huge, floppy hat and full rain gear down to his toes.  His oversized galoshes flopped and squished as he walked with me toward the first hole. 

            As we started our round the rains began to pick up.  Visibility was low, and as we walked up to one of the early tee boxes—second or third, I believe—I looked out over the large, wet course and suddenly realized that I had no idea where to aim.  All I could see was a wide fairway feeding into a high ridge in the distance.  The green was nowhere in sight.  I asked my caddy if he knew the course well enough to show me where to aim.  He smiled and told me, “I’ll go stand in the fairway on top of the hill and you hit it right over my head.”

            He made his way down the course and stood on the mound in the distance, waving me on when he got into position.  I could barely see him in the thick morning mist.  I dried off the grip with a towel, wiped the rain from my forehead took dead aim directly over Bob’s head, and then made my swing.  Bob watched the ball as it sailed over his head and settled into the middle of the fairway beyond him.  I was in perfect position for my approach shot.

            Sitting safely on the green in 2, Bob stood behind me as I lined my putt up.  He told me exactly how the putt would break and how far, giving me a perfect line to the hole before stepping aside.  I trusted his advice and took the stroke exactly as he had suggested.  The ball fed perfectly into the cup for a birdie.

            A few holes later we came to another blind shot over a hill, so Bob again made his way down the fairway to stand on top of the mound, giving me a target to aim at.  Once more, I found myself in perfect position for my approach shot.

            Throughout the round Bob continued to guide me through the course.  I soon discovered that he had been playing Pine Valley for most of his life and knew the course like the back of his hand.  He could read the greens with pinpoint precision, and knew every dip and mound and trap on the fairways.  So often after hitting a blind shot over his head I would make my way down the fairway to where he was standing.  As I looked at my ball nestled safely in the middle of the short grass, I couldn’t believe the potential trouble lining the course to the right and left of it—trouble that I was able to avoid, thanks to my insightful caddy.

            In spite of the terrible weather and the impending obstacles, I came away with a 69 for the day.  Bob had guided me through to one of the best rounds I’ve ever shot, putting me well into contention for the tournament.

            There’s no way to overstate the importance of a good caddy during a round, especially if you’re playing a course that is unfamiliar to you and filled with possibilities for trouble.  A caddy often serves as your eyes and ears, watching for things you don’t see and guiding you through to safety.  If he is wise and insightful, you can gain a lot of knowledge by heeding his advice.  And good caddies always have your best interest in mind on the course.

            So pick a good caddy, and then trust him.

One common trait I see among a lot of average weekend golfers is unrealistic expectations of their game.  They often have full-time jobs and families to take care of, yet they want to play like the pros.  Many of them could if they were willing to make the sacrifice, but I would never be the one to encourage them to do so.  Families and careers should never be sacrificed for a game—any game.  Only when someone chooses to make a career in golf should they begin putting in the time it takes to play really well, but even then, they should carefully temper the time it takes away from their wife and children, not to mention their service to God.

I tell average golfers to take a close look in the mirror, asking themselves some tough questions about their game.  How much time do I really have to put into my game?  Should I be spending the time practicing when I have other priorities in my life that are being neglected?  And what are some realistic expectations of my scoring abilities based on the time I have to put into my game?

Once a player has discerned the true potential of their game and honestly assessed the amount of time they should be putting into it, they are equipped to put together the best practice plan to help them reach that goal.  The key is a balanced practice that takes all of these factors into consideration.  When you understand your limitations of skill, abilities and time, you can better plan your practice, prioritizing your time on the driving range, and the chipping and putting green accordingly. 

Almost without exception, when weekend golfers do this, they decide to spend much of their time on the range practicing their short game and putting—chipping around the green and getting in close to the pin.  Nothing helps average golfers lower their scores more quickly than learning how to get up and down from around the green. 

As I’ve often said to my students, unbridled expectations ruin many a pleasant round.

The late author, A.A. Milne, in his book, Not That It Matters, wrote:

“Oh there are other reasons why golf is the best game in the world for the bad player, and sometimes I am tempted to go farther and say that it is a better game for the bad player than the good.  The joy of driving a ball straight after a week of slicing.  The joy of putting a mashie shot dead, the joy of even a moderate stroke of the brassie; best of all the joy of the perfect cleek shot—these things the good player will never know.  Every stroke we bad players make, we make in hope.  It is never so bad that it might have been worse; it is never so bad that we are confident of doing better the next time.  And if the next stroke is good, what happiness fills our soul.  How eagerly we tell ourselves that in a little while all of our strokes will be as good.”

We should all have such a great outlook and attitude toward our game. 

The late Ben Hogan used to tell of a reoccurring dream he had throughout his career in golf.  In his dream he was at the end of a perfect round after making birdies hole after hole, hitting each shot with pinpoint precision.  He would walk off of the seventeenth green having birdied every hole, elated at the possibility before him.  But on the eighteenth green, in each and every dream, he would miss a 2-foot putt for birdie, blowing his chance for a perfect round.  Every dream ended the same way—with Hogan walking off the green in anger and complete frustration.

During his day, Hogan spent his entire career in pursuit of the perfect round.  Those who knew him said that it was his obsession, his one and only goal.  Though he was unmatched as a golfer, he never achieved that ambition. 

The truth is, he never played the perfect round because it can’t be done.  I’m convinced that even if Hogan had finished a game with a birdie on every hole, he would still go away unsatisfied.  He would simply set his sights on finishing with an eagle on every hole.  Who’s to say that isn’t the standard of perfection?

There’s nothing inherently wrong with someone setting their sights so high that they are destined to be disappointed.  Hogan did, and it made him the greatest player of his day.  But in doing so, we are in serious danger of losing perspective on the game and our lives.  Striving to be the best you can be is a worthy goal, as long as you don’t forget what’s truly important.

The healthiest approach to golf is to strive for progress, but not to expect perfection.  Each time we walk up to a tee box, we should feel as if we know a little bit more about the game than we did on the previous hole.  We should have a slightly better understanding of how to control the ball, how to trust our swing, how to keep our mind in the moment, how to ultimately lower our score.  We need to seek the thrill of the process, rather than agonizing over perfection.

Golf can never be mastered, but it can be played well.  And that should be our primary goal. 

When Dr. Tom came to me looking for help with his swing, he was as frustrated as any golfer I’d ever seen.  He’d been to teachers all over the U.S., trying desperately to improve the quality of his game, yet he couldn’t seem to get past the wall he’d hit in his scoring.  Tom was a psychiatrist who had done numerous studies on the left and right hemispheres of the brain.  His specialty was in analyzing how people learned, which made it that much more frustrating to him that he couldn’t seem to figure out what he was doing wrong.  

            After our first lesson together, I could see Tom’s dilemma.  He had a hundred swing thoughts going through his mind every time he stood over the ball—keep your head down, left arm straight, eye on the ball, swing inside out, club on plane, pronate, supinate, take it back inside, shift your weight.  It’s a wonder he ever made contact.  He was struggling with dozens of incorrect swing habits, each brought on by a preconceived notion about the proper swing pattern. 

            While visiting with Tom I had found out that he had played baseball as a boy, so the first thing I did was to put away his club and hand him a baseball bat.  I had him hit a golf ball off of a makeshift T-ball stick on the driving range.  I let him get the feel of how natural the swing can be when you don’t think about it.  It was amazing how long and straight he could hit a golf ball with a bat in his hand.  Then I handed him back his club and had him swing it just like a bat.  He continued this motion, slowly moving the club down further, first at waist level, then even with his knees, and eventually at ground level.  We teed one up and had him hit it, and immediately he was able to see and feel the difference.  For the first time he felt truly natural over the ball.  He told me later that his game literally improved overnight.

            The key to learning in golf is that you must first see and feel what you want the club to do, and then trust that motion in order for permanent change to occur. 

To say that golf is an addictive sport is a monumental understatement.  There is perhaps no other game on earth that so completely captivates the hearts and minds of those who play it.  It is a game that both frustrates and fascinates us, crushing our dreams and lifting our hopes, all at the same time.  What other sport can have a man walking on clouds at the turn, feeling invincible after a picture perfect birdie on the 9^th, well on his way to a personal best round, with visions of the senior tour dancing in his head, and then four holes later have him on his knees, demoralized, ready to give up golf entirely?  No man would live with a woman so fickle and obstinate, yet when it comes to this torturous game, we all but embrace the agony.

            The uninitiated see golf as an enormous waste of time and energy.  And they make no bones about sharing this view openly.  “If the game frustrates you so much, why do you play it?” they ask, somewhat condescendingly.  So far no one has come up with a good answer—at least not one that can be articulated easily.  You simply have to play it to understand.

            The truth is, golf is more than a game; it is a journey—an exploration into the deepest parts of ourselves.  And the lessons we learn along the way not only make us stronger but help shape the very core of our character.  The game teaches us virtues that are as timeless as they are important—honesty, sportsmanship, persistence, patience, tenacity, and above all, courage.  It brings us face to face with our true nature, then works to break it down and shape it into something much more noble and constructive.  In short, we golf, because golfing not only makes us better players, but better people.

            If that weren’t enough, golf also connects us with the past in a way that no other sport can boast.  Every time we step onto the links we become a small part of a very large and rich heritage.  You don’t have to play the old course at St. Andrews to feel its history, to share in its wonder and grace.  Just standing in a fairway on any part of the globe has a way of transporting us back, placing us right at the feet of legends long past.  Simply playing the game makes us part of its myth and legacy.

Taking up golf can be a daunting prospect for anyone, especially those with little experience in the game, but it doesn’t have to be. Children, generally, have no fear when it comes to trying something new. Jesus recognized this when He was descended upon by curious children but his disciples shooed them away. “Let the little children come to me,” Jesus said, “and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14). When it comes to golf, the important thing is that they experience some degree of success when they strike the ball.

How do you know whether your children are interested in trying out the game? It’s much like taking their temperature, and you do that by proposing to take them to a driving range. If they are very young, you can hand them a set of plastic clubs and let them beat a whiffle ball around the back yard. Some children will be hot to play, some will be lukewarm, and some will have zero interest, which is fine. The worst thing you can do is pull your children out of tennis lessons or their junior hockey league “because you’re going to become a golfer!”

Your approach and attitude say everything to your children. If you command your ten-year-old son with these words: “This summer, you’re going to take lessons and learn how to play golf,” he will believe that he is being “forced” to play the game. He’s probably not going to like it.

Offer your children the chance to play. Say something like, “Megan, I’m going over to the driving range to hit a few balls. Want to join me? Then we’ll go over to Dairy Queen when we’re done.” So what if Megan tries to hit ten balls before discovering that the nearby brook is more exciting to explore. She’s associating the word “fun” with “golf.”

Obviously, if your children ask you to take them out to the driving range, that’s a pretty good indication they would like to try the game. Many kids, of course, are not that direct with their parents, so you have to watch for clues. If you’re catching a few holes of a golf tournament on TV some Sunday afternoon, do any of your children watch with you? (I know. Some kids would watch test patterns if that was the only thing on TV, which some pundits have likened to watching golf.)

Another indicator of interest is when your kids enjoy viewing golf instructional videos. I can’t tell you the number of parents who have come up to me and said their kids wore out “Power Drives for Kids,” the video that Blake and I made to demonstrate how golf can be cool and fun. (As you know, “Power Drives for Kids” is part of the special DVD that comes with this book.) Kids have responded to that video in ways I never felt possible. One father informed me that if Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and Blake were lined up shoulder to shoulder and his five-year-old son could choose whom he could spend the day with, he would choose Blake. That’s the power of the medium.

Print is another powerful medium. Have you ever spied one of your children thumbing through a golf magazine—at home or at the newsstand? Do your children have any buddies who play golf? If so, have they talked about trying to play the game? Have they asked you to take them out to watch Tiger or Annika the next time a PGA or LPGA golf tournament rolls into town?

You have to keep your child’s temperament and personality in mind. As you know, every child comes into this world with a different God-given personality, and I know that has been true with my two sons. Scott is a self-starter who relished hitting four or five hundred balls because he wanted to. Scott was content to stay out half the afternoon on the range, even in Florida’s sweltering summer heat, setting ball after ball on the practice tee.

Blake, on the other hand, is a social creature who loves having people around him. He can’t hit more than a half-dozen balls without chatting up other golfers or walking to the clubhouse to get a drink. I found that it’s always better to have Blake invite one of his friends to come along when we practice or play 18 holes.

The best way to interest your kids in golf is to pile everyone into the car and drive to a nearby driving range and let them putt around on the practice green. Putting is the least intimidating part of golf, and I especially recommend this approach for moms. After your kids putt a few times, they’ll tell you in words or in body language if they’re having a good time. I’m betting they’ll want to do it again!

Golf is a sport of integrity and honesty. No black-and-white striped referees walk down the fairways with you. No umpire notices whether you improved your lie or not. You are expected to make the call or ruling, no matter how painful the penalty will be, as pro golfer Tom Kite demonstrated when he once said the ball moved while he lined up an important putt. No one saw the ball move after he apparently touched it with his putter, but Tom called a one-stroke penalty on himself, and it cost him the tournament title and tens of thousands of dollars.
Golf also teaches youngsters respect—for others in your playing group, for the group in front of you, and for the “Rules of Golf.” You don’t see John McEnroe-types wrapping an iron around a tree or digging up a green in frustration. Although everyone has gotten upset and tossed a club toward the bag, temper tantrums should be rare occurrences around the course.
If the kids don’t hear you swearing after missing a shot, then they are hearing just the opposite message that the world teaches: go ahead and utter a four-letter word when you blow a shot. Believe me, sooner or later they will ask you why you don’t swear, which will open the door for you to explain why.