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Private Lessons: 3 Easy Keys for Sticking Your Irons

By Staff
Too much lower-body action can make you lose your balance, rhythm and timing. As you swing through impact, firmly plant your left foot in the ground, as though you were trying to leave a footprint in the turf. This effectively turns your left leg into a solid post, letting your hands, arms and club whip past your body and hit the ball with maximum speed. At impact, you should feel most of your weight in your left heel, and your right heel should be barely off the ground.
To swing around a solid left side, plant your left foot into the ground as you swing through impact.
It’s important to maintain the same amount of forward bend from address all the way through impact. This allows you to stay over the ball without moving your spine angle up or down, ensuring a solid strike. If you rise up (i.e., lean backward) out of your original address posture, you’ll probably flip the club upward and catch the ball thin.
At the end of your swing, you should feel most of your weight (about 80 percent) resting on the outside edge of your left foot, with your left instep slightly off the ground. Your hips should face the target, and your right shoulder should look down the fairway. If you can hit this position in good balance, you’ll catch the ball flush time after time.
Your spine angle should remain the same from address through the hitting zone. A trick to achieve this: Focus on keeping your sternum the same distance from the ground.
For better balance in your follow-through, think “left” as you complete your swing. Most of your weight should be on the outside edge of your left foot, and your hips should have fired to the left.
Originally published by
Golf Week
Golf Life: Your favorite golf memory? This one’s a Sandy to remember
By: Ran Morrissett
(Editor’s note: While most golf courses in the United States don’t officially allow dogs, perhaps they should on occasion.)
My favorite memories on a golf course – bar none – come from evening rounds at the James River Course of the Country Club of Virginia several decades ago. Four of us – my two brothers, Dad and myself – were golfers. One – Mom – was strictly there for moral support and she was joined by another female:
Sandy, our dog.
Sandy was a mix, part collie, part something else (perhaps fox?) and weighed a little over 30 pounds. As soon as we saw her at the S.P.C.A., we snagged her. During the summer months from the late 1970s to the early 1980s, Dad would conscientiously get home for a quick dinner, and then we would all pile into his car. Sandy liked to be last so that she could then bound up and sit on someone’s lap to allow her long snout and tongue to hang out the window.
Once en route to the course, something caught her eye and she sprang out through the open window as we rounded a bend. People think chasing a white ball is insane; try jumping out of a car moving 25 mph!
We tried to be on the first tee no later than 6:15 p.m. as we knew the front nine would be empty.
Sandy would hover close by and when Dad addressed his drive, she’d get on her mark and then shoot off the moment he made impact. Dad was never fazed, and his focus always amazed us.
We never brought a leash and Sandy ran free. On the odd occasion, she might scare up a deer or two but generally she would chase squirrels and birds, alas with no success. That didn’t stop her from trying though. A few of the holes brushed up along some wetlands and sometimes she would reek to high heavens. The car ride back turned into a debate of who had to wash her.
We never had a problem with her or a complaint. The affable, long time Head Professional, Bill Smith, had no issue. This was Norman Rockwell type stuff; there was no need to alert the authorities that a father, mother and their three children and dog were out having fun.
As Sandy grew older and we took her to the vet, the doctor was always impressed by her leanness and muscle mass, especially her haunches. We attributed much of this to the miles and miles she covered on the course, likely four or five times the distance we did.
Alas, all good things come to an end and since the late 1980s, dogs are no longer allowed. Nor are they allowed on most courses in the United States. There are all kinds of reasons, some litigious, but to the surprise of no one, common sense still prevails in the United Kingdom.
On our first family trip there in 1983, we were standing high on the hill of the Turnberry Resort and looking across the rumpled links ground. We saw a few dog walkers, which prompted Mom to remark, ‘Wouldn’t Sandy love to be here – she would have such a grand time!’ It makes me sad, in part because neither Sandy nor Mom is still with us.
At the posh Sunningdale Golf Club outside London, the sight of a dog loosely tethered to a pull cart is a frequent one. One of the great moments in the game comes when you reach the halfway house behind the 10th green on the Old and New Course and near the 10th green on the New. Various golfers and their dogs convene for yummy sausage rolls with brown sauce while the dogs lap up water from the provided bowls.
The sense of camaraderie is palpable – and isn’t that what every golf club yearns for?
In 1990 we pulled in to Royal West Norfolk Golf Club and saw a dog waiting for his owner to assemble his trolley and then off they went for a quiet 2 ½-hour walk over those ancient links. Why would a club come between a golfer and his best friend? In the United Kingdom, the answer is that clubs largely don’t. It’s called civilization. If you need a lot of rules for your members, you either have too many members or the wrong ones. The Brits have it right.
Today, I live in North Carolina and on occasion, my wife and our two dogs accompany me for an evening four to six holes at Southern Pines Golf Club. I am appreciative that I belong to a place that likes to see its members enjoying the facilities. Sandy would like it too.
(Morrissett is a Golfweek contributor who works with our team of course raters. He’s also the editor of Gwk
Originally published on Golf Week
Golf Digest
Why speed is the key on every putt
Pick a spot for aim and distance: in line with the apex of the break and a couple feet past the hole.
You’re looking over a long, breaking putt, and in your mind you start drawing a picture of the ball snaking its way to the hole. What’s wrong with that image? Nothing, as long as you don’t forget about speed. Speed is the biggest factor in putting. Good speed with a bad line almost always puts you closer to the hole than bad speed with a good line. Think about that.
What you need is a way of combining those two elements. You probably already pick an aiming spot on long putts. For a lot of golfers, that spot is the high point of the break, which might be halfway down your line. If that’s what you do, don’t be surprised if you’re leaving putts short—you’re aiming at something halfway to the hole!
Want more tips from top instructors and tour pros? Check out Golf Digest Schools.
For better speed control, try this method. First, estimate the high point of the break, then draw an imaginary line through that point to a spot even with the hole. Second—and this is the big one—move that spot a couple feet farther out on the same line (below). Why? Because you want the ball to have a little roll left when it approaches the hole. To quote Yogi Berra: “Ninety percent of putts that are short don’t go in.”
Here’s one more image to help you get putts to the hole: Picture one of those annoying speed bumps three or four inches before the cup. You want to hit the ball with enough pace to get over the bump. You can even practice this concept with an alignment stick on the green.
The best part about getting the speed right is, you become a better green-reader. You’ll have a mental database to access when you’re reading a putt. The more putts you’ve hit with proper speed, the more experiences you have to guide you. Putts hit with poor speed poison the database.
Michael Breed is Golf Digest’s Chief Digital Instructor.
Originally published on Golf Digest
Golf Digest
A short, heartwarming story about Vijay Singh. No, seriously
By Joel Beall
It was in the Tuesday twilight of Masters week, some 20 years ago. Most of the patrons had departed for the day, their stomachs filled with pimento, their wallets barren from merchandise sprees. But in spite of the ever-growing shadows at Augusta National, a small company remained. Because no matter how much time you spend at golf’s mecca, it’s never enough.
This was well before the club’s modern, expansive practice facility was built, back when players were confined to the 260-yard range or the short game area situated between Magnolia Lane and the par-3 course. I was at the latter that evening, blessed to have an intimate, unobstructed view of my favorite player—a player who was the favorite of many; still is—working in the fading light. It’s still vividly ingrained in my mind: from pitches to flops to sand shots, no matter the distance, each ball coming to rest within feet of the hole.
In my hands were a marker and a Masters flag, radiant in yellow and gleaming with signatures. The names were a who’s who of that period in the game, but it wouldn’t be complete without an autograph from him, and he was right there. Eventually, with his head down, he ventured in my direction. I remember shaking, in disbelief at my fortune and overwhelmed that this was actually happening.
Only it didn’t. He wasn’t heading towards me but through me, his thoughts lost in whatever things run through a player’s mind during Masters week. My presence startled him something fierce. Chalk it up to shock, a bad mood, or merely the judgement that I had the audacity to be where I was, he looked down at me with disregard and uttered, “What the…get out of my face,” and marched on to the clubhouse.
What significance sports hold varies from person to person, yet its weight is undeniable when you’re a kid. In truth, it probably means too much, each game viewed as life or death, when athletes are more than athletes. And in that moment, my world was wrecked. Even in recollection, I feel like I need a blanket and hot chocolate.
I can’t tell you how long I stared forward, trying my damnedest to regain my composure, but it was somewhere between five seconds and forever. However, with the utmost clarity, I can tell you what snapped me out of the trance.
Emerging from thin air was an arm that seemed as big as my body, and it wrapped around my shoulder like a tentacle. As I turned my head to the right to see this massive limb, a voice boomed from above: “Hi son. How are you doing?”
I gazed up to see a towering man, his glasses tucked underneath a Wilson visor and his shirt so drenched it appeared he had fallen into Ike’s Pond. And smiling. I’ll never forget that smile from Vijay Singh.
His arm still around my shoulder and a rope in between us, Singh guided me from the practice area to the side of the clubhouse. As we walked, he peppered me with question after question: “How was your day? Is this your first time here? What was your favorite hole?” He treated each answer with interest, as if I had unlocked Hogan’s secret. He told me how much he enjoyed Augusta National, and what a delight it would be if he could win the green jacket. “I don’t think I would ever take it off!” he laughed.
We finally reached the veranda, and Singh grabbed my flag and signed it. Before he left, he leaned down and said, “Thank you for coming.” He took a few more steps towards the clubhouse, looked back, and waved.
When I looked down, I noticed Singh had signed the back of the flag. The front was covered with a dozen names, among them four Hall of Famers. But for years, on a bulletin board hanging above a desk in my bedroom, those names were hidden, because Singh’s was the only one that mattered.
Two decades later, Singh—who eventually got that green jacket—is in the final group of the Honda Classic. With a victory, he’ll become the oldest winner in PGA Tour history at 56 years old. But if he pulls it off, it won’t be as celebrated as it should, because Singh evokes a past that continues to haunt in the present.
And that rap, that stigma…it’s probably fair. But as he attempts to do the unthinkable at PGA National on Sunday, know that Singh, and his story, are far more than that.
Originally published on Golf Digest
Source: GolfDigest
By Keely Levins
Learn how to turn back, not sway.
Let’s talk about hip turn. James Kinney, one of our Golf Digest Best Young Teachers and Director of Instruction at GolfTec Omaha, says that from the data GolfTec has collected, they’ve found lower handicap golfers have a more centered lower body at the top of the swing. Meaning, they don’t sway.
If you’re swaying off the ball, you’re moving yourself off of your starting position. The low point of your swing moves back when you sway back, so you’re going to have to shift forward to get your club to bottom out where the ball is. That takes a lot of timing, and is going to end up producing some ugly shots.
So, instead, Kinney says you should turn.
“When turning your hips, you are able to stay more centered over the golf ball in your backswing and the low point of your swing stays in the proper position, resulting in consistent contact.”
To practice turning, Kinney says to set up in a doorway. Have your back foot against the doorframe. When you make your lower body move back, your hip will hit the door fame if you’re swaying. If you’re turning, your hips are safe from hitting the frame.
Remember that feeling of turning when you’re on the course and your ball striking is going to get a whole lot more consistent.
Originally posted:
Source: GolfDigest
By Keely Levins
Pull yourself out of that rut and hole more putts
By Cameron McCormick
Was your performance in 2016 slightly less than satisfying? I know it’s not enough to hear it happens to everyone from time to time. You want to shake off the year of stubs, lip-outs and three-jacks before golf season rolls back around and you’re racking up missed putts again like a kid catching Pokémon. Well, if you really want to fix this flat-stick fiasco, you’re going to need a bit more than a 30-minute session rolling balls into those tiny golf cups. I recommend a full reboot. Here I’m going to give you four ways to pull yourself out of that putting rut. Sometimes only one of these will do the trick, but be prepared for the reality that you might need all four. Best get started. —With Ron Kaspriske
If you’re the kind of golfer who talks to a putter, gives it a good spanking when it isn’t performing, and even threatens to back the pickup truck over it in the parking lot, it’s time for the “we need to take a break from each other” conversation. Bench your putt-er for something different. Use a blade? Switch to a mallet. Always preferred heel-shafted putters? Try a centershaft. Everything from club length to grip circumference is up for consideration. Go get fitted (View: Your Ultimate Guide To Finding A Better Game). The big switch works for two reasons. First, there are no bad memories with a new putter. It’s a new day. Second, assuming the old one isn’t now residing in a scrap-metal yard, you’ll make it just jealous enough that it will perform its best when you rekindle your relationship.
“It’s not you, it’s me” won’t fly as a break-up excuse after the second Tinder date, but it’s probably true of your relationship with the putter. It showed up ready to bury every five-footer—but sometimes you didn’t. You need a refresher on mechanics. So I suggest you practice putting with your sand wedge. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. A good stroke is propelled by the shoulders and requires minimal hand or wrist action. To get the ball rolling with a wedge, you have to make that kind of stroke hitting the ball at its equator with the leading edge (above). This type of practice elicits precision and is good for the ol’ ego. You’re more apt to forgive yourself for a miss, which helps reduce those anxious feelings that turn you into a puddle of goo when the putts actually count.
You’ve held your putter the same way for so long the grip is starting to look like one of those training clubs that has grooved channels for your fingers. It’s time to switch it up, because what you’re doing, as they say here in Texas, is as pitiful as a three-legged dog. The easiest switch would be to flip hand positions so the higher one is lower. But I think you should take it a step further. Get crazy with it. Try the saw, the claw, the paintbrush, the non-anchored belly grip. Sometimes all you need is a dramatically different way of holding the club to reset your brain and start rolling the ball the way you used to.
On the putting green you need to be more Picasso than Pythagoras. In other words, knowing the math behind a putt is important (speed, slope, etc.), but don’t let it squelch your right-brain artistry. You probably aren’t crunching numbers when you ball up a piece of paper and try tossing it into the garbage. You just use your feel. My suggestion? Go deep. Find the longest, craziest putts on a green and try to make them. Even putting from well off the green will help you get your feel back. You know you have to hit the ball hard, and you know it’s going to break, but when you try these long-distance putts, you become less concerned with the mechanics and tap back into the hand-eye coordination you thought you lost. Another benefit? It will free up your stroke. No more trying to steer them in. You’ll putt without fear of missing. Reboot complete.
Cameron McCormick is Jordan Spieth’s instructor and teaches at Trinity Forest Golf Club in Dallas.