Bobby Jones on Golf

by Robert Tyre Jones

  Incidentally, by cultivating the habit of accepting difficult lies as part of the game, we can derive for ourselves more pleasure from the playing of it. It will help us to remember that we tire of banging balls from a practice tee, where for each successive shot the lie of the ball and the problem is the same as for the preceding stroke. We must have a change of scenery, but when we get too much of it, we curse our luck.

  One of the reasons Walter Hagen was such a great competitor was his habit of accepting readily any problem the breaks of the game may have tossed his way. Once a spectator, standing by Walter’s ball after it had taken a wicked kick into long grass, remarked to him as he came up that he had had bad luck “Well,” said Walter with a smile, “here it is and from here I have to play it.”

  The continual striving to improve our score, although entirely natural, nevertheless does detract to some extent from our ability to enjoy golf. When we become slaves to the card and pencil, we become inclined to regard as total losses those rounds in which our score mounts beyond our reasonable expectancy. When we take pleasure in the game only according to the scorecard, a bad start is likely to put entirely away the possibility of an enjoyable afternoon.

  The real way to enjoy playing golf is to take pleasure not in the score, but in the execution of the strokes. A brassie shot to a green can be just as interesting when played after a recovery from trouble as when it follows a perfect drive. By cultivating this attitude, one finally comes to welcome unusual situations, in which there is the possibility of pulling off something a little out of the ordinary. And again, such an attitude in itself brings better results because it sustains interest and keeps one trying to the end.

  2 PLAYING THE WIND

  A competitive golfer has to put up with all sorts of weather and has to ride it through, for to take shelter during a medal round means instant disqualification. Through fourteen years of tournament play, I have seen at least my share, but I have never seen anything even remotely approaching that day at Sandwich playing for the St. George’s Gold Vase. To the American players a dragon breathing fire, or anything else bearing a promise of warmth, would have been a welcome sight.

  I remember my thoughts on awaking that morning and looking out from my window over a very turbulent English Channel and hearing the wind whistling under the sash of the window. I had heard of the boisterous weather of the Channel coast, but somehow I had not pictured it in connection with golf. Now the connection was becoming entirely too close for comfort.

  Under ordinary conditions, or rather I should say, under conditions which we Americans regard as ordinary, St. George’s is not an unusually difficult course. True, the first nine is tricky and deceiving and the second nine is rather long, but on the whole, scoring there is not a test of meticulous accuracy. But when the wind blows in true Sandwich fashion, the problem is something else entirely.

  There were in the field this day all members of the American Walker Cup team, all members of the British team, and almost every other amateur of prominence in Great Britain. On the previous day, I myself, arriving for a practice round, had scored a 73 with little difficulty. Yet, of the fine field, 80 was the low score of the morning round and 78 of the afternoon, Major Charles Hezlett doing both and winning the medal.

  I had always regarded with annoyance a wind of sufficient force to back up a tee shot twenty or twenty-five yards. Not only did the Sandwich gale blow the ball back at the player, but it made a problem of standing up long enough to hit the ball. The player was forced to lean against the wind in order to retain his balance, and during the swing, he felt that the club would be wrenched from his hands. I recall, as an example of the increased difficulty of playing, that the Sahara Hole, which we had all reached the day before with a drive and a three-iron, was played that day with a full drive, a shot up short of the vast bunker, a brassie across, and a chip or run-up to the green.

  One really amusing thing happened to one of our players—I think it was Jesse Guilford—whose approach to the ninth green had come to rest shakily upon the crest of a ridge skirting the right edge of the putting surface. Jesse, preparing to putt, placed his putter on the turf behind his ball. The putter blade shut off the wind and the ball, starting to roll, continued into the rough. The putter had then to be exchanged for an eight-iron, a necessity that added not a bit to Jesse’s enjoyment of the day.

  A moderate wind provides a fine test of skill. The player who best controls his shot and displays the most resourcefulness in overcoming the difficulties imposed by the elements in windplay demonstrates a clean-cut superiority. But I am not sure that the same thing is true when a real gale is blowing. It seems to me then that the real test is of temperament rather than skill, the reward going to him who plods along unruffled and unexcited, refusing to become angry with himself or the results of his efforts. The man who can appreciate that 80 is a good score under such conditions is far ahead of the ambitious one who attempts to subjugate the elements and return his low 70’s score in spite of them.

  3 DIFFICULT CONDITIONS

  It takes a great deal more than a good swing to get consistently good figures around the golf course. A good part of the game is played between the ears; meaning that judgment, based on thought and experience, is often as important as mechanical skill. Here are a few observations and suggestions I hope may be helpful in meeting some of the conditions of actual play not found on the practice tee.

  A following wind tends to blow the backspin off the ball, to cause it to come down fast and run like a rabbit. If you are playing to a green with the wind at your back, you cannot rely much upon spin to stop the ball. Elevation is the only hope, and that isn’t worth much unless the green has been soaked. It is best, when you can, to play the ball short and allow for the run. If you must pitch over a bunker or other obstacle, use a lofted club, not merely a club which will make the distance comfortably with the help from the wind, but one weaker than this, and hit the ball hard. If you are playing a short hole under these conditions, set the ball on a low peg tee. This enables you to get a cleaner contact, without the interference of grass, and gives you a better chance to get some spin that will hold.

  The same is true when playing from a heavy lie in soft, green grass or clover. This shot also is difficult to stop and must be spanked hard with a lofted club. In either case, if the green is the least bit firm and closely bunkered, you are not likely to be able to hold it. But this is your best chance.

  A head wind accentuates the backspin and tends to make the ball peak toward the end of its flight. A steep pitch into the wind is very difficult to control. This is the time to take a stronger club to keep the ball down. If you have anything like a clean lie, you can bang the ball all the way up to the hole with absolute assurance that it will sit down. You can almost stop a shot on concrete if you have a strongish breeze in your face.

  The most common tendency toward slicing becomes greater as the face of the club becomes straighter. In other words, most players are more likely to slice, or likely to slice more with a straight-faced club than with one of greater loft. So, when the wind is blowing across the course from right to left, it is usually better to take a club a little stronger than is needed; and, conversely, when the wind crosses from the other side, a more lofted club and a full swing usually work better. Obviously, this cannot be precisely true in all cases. But this is the rule, according to my observation, and it helps a great deal to take cognizance of it.

  This much, of course, concerns the shot to the green where it is control, rather than length, that is wanted. The ball that comes in with the wind will naturally roll more than the one that is turning its head into the current. Off the tee, many players ride the wind in order to gain length. For my part, it seems better to keep the ball in the fairway, rather than go out after a few extra yards. If you ever get off a bad hook or slice with the wind helping out, you may find your ball in the next county, if you find it at all.

  As a final word, do not make too much of hittin
g the tee shots down into a head wind. When you hit the ball down, you give it backspin. It starts out low and looks very pretty and very expert, but the spin makes it climb or peak near the end of its flight and it drops almost lifeless. Even against the wind, the ball struck squarely in the back or a little bit up is the distance-getter. Such a shot keeps its head down and continues to bore in, and it has something left when it strikes the ground.

  4 EQUIPMENT

  A tall man does not necessarily require longer clubs than a short man. This problem is controlled by a number of factors, by the posture the player prefers, that is, by the degree of bend he finds most comfortable, by the distance from the ball he likes to maintain—and by the breadth of arc that gives him the best balance between distance and control. In short, the determining factor is comfort. There is no rule that so many inches of height requires so many inches of club.

  Since the advent of the steel shaft, golf club lengths have been more or less standardized. It never was a good idea to alter the length of any kind of club that left the manufacturer’s or club-maker’s hands perfectly balanced. Such a procedure has become even less a good idea now, because the steel cannot be scraped or pared down to restore the feel destroyed by decreasing the length. But the necessity that the player balance length and control in the selection of a club has enabled the manufacturers of steel-shafted clubs to arrive at standard lengths that are suitable to almost all individuals. They could never have done this if it had been true that the length of the club had to vary in direct proportion to the length of the player.

  Back in the times when everyone was using hickory, I remember being surprised upon discovering that Long Jim Barnes’ driver was a shade shorter than my own, and some time later, upon learning that Wee Bobby Cruickshank’s was some little longer. Evidently, in these cases the lengths of the clubs used by two men of almost a foot difference in stature had been brought to almost the same point by the balance of control and length. Barnes, with his great height, was able to get all the arc he could control with the shorter club, and Cruickshank needed a comparatively longer club to get distance.

  Many men of short stature have experimented with abnormally long clubs. Cruickshank was one of these. There was one fine player in England who carried a fifty-inch driver, but he rarely used it because it was not easily controllable. I used to use long shafts in my irons, but cut them off in 1926 at Tommy Armour’s suggestion, and found my iron play much improved.

  I have rarely run across a club in any man’s bag to which I could not accommodate myself, the lengths have been so little different from my own. But I regard this as a phenomenon that by no means alters the fact that shaft lengths are to be determined wholly on the basis of individual preference. My chief warning is to avoid the idea that height and reach, or either, are the controlling factors. Comfort is the main thing, and a tall man need not be surprised if he likes a short club, or a short man a long one.

  Golf is throughout a game of compromises, in which it is always necessary to make sacrifices in one direction in order to gain, or to fail to lose, something of equal importance on the other side. Thus we are compelled to give up a certain amount of length for accuracy and control, of backspin for safety, and so on. Whenever we begin to measure the ultimate possibilities of any shot, we are always hauled back by an appreciation of the risks involved.

  This, of course, any golfer recognizes. But what he does not see with equal clearness is that this necessity for compromise extends even to the ball he uses. The three desirable features of any ball—assuming all to be well made and therefore uniform and reliable—are length or power, durability, and feel. It so happens that after a certain point is past, no two of these factors can be enhanced except at the expense of the remaining one. Most manufacturers have recognized, because this is true, that the average golfer should have a ball different from one that fits the expert. But an imperfect understanding of just what can be built into a golf ball has prevented this from benefiting the average player as it should.

  One may well begin with the positive assurance that no first-class ball is as much as twenty yards, or even fifteen yards, longer than any other first-class ball. This difference, on the driving machine, is rarely more than two or three yards on carry; by increasing compression, the advantage of one over the other can be stepped up to approximately six yards. But as the compression is stepped up by means of a tighter winding, and the driving power increased, the ball becomes less durable, easier to cut, and begins to have a harder, stonier feel.

  The ball that is tightly wound, that is, is of high compression, is the ball for the expert. He can hit it hard enough to make use of its added power; and the feel of the ball can be softened somewhat by applying a thinner cover. The player who hits every shot on the nose, and rarely half-tops one, can afford to use such a ball. Often a difference of five yards on the drive, or ten yards in two full wood shots, will be very valuable. But the average golfer using this ball might require a new one every few holes, the tighter winding has added power, and the thinner cover has improved the feel, or at least offset the effect of the higher compression, but the durability factor has been reduced considerably. It is well to remember, too, that the difference of two or three or five yards mentioned before contemplates a carry of from 230 to 250 yards. For shorter lengths, it is considerably less.

  With the size and weight of the ball standardized, its power can be increased in no other presently known ways. I think the average golfer might well ask himself if the game is worth the candle. Certainly, it would seem to me that he should prefer a combination of a somewhat lower compression and a more durable cover, even if the driving capabilities of the ball, which he will never reach anyway, were a few yards less. I think that most players are inclined, all the way through, in the ball, the club, and the swing, to assign too much importance to length at the expense of accuracy and reliability. It is far more important for them to use balls each one of which will respond in precisely the same way to every type of stroke.

  At any rate, a better understanding of the possibilities of golf ball construction will enable each player to select with his eyes open the ball he prefers to use. Certainly, this is a decision he has every right to make for himself.

  5 GOLF ARCHITECTURE

  Almost every golfer cherishes an especial fondness for one particular golf course. Even when he does not stop to find the reason for it, he recognizes that he can derive more enjoyment from playing one course than another. It is the business of the designer and builder of golf courses to discover and to utilize the features that make the superior course more enjoyable.

  It seems to me that many courses are designed with an eye to difficulty alone, and that in the effort to construct an exacting course that will thwart the expert, the average golfer who pays the bills is entirely overlooked. Too often the worth of a layout is measured by how successfully it has withstood the efforts of professionals to better its par or to lower its record.

  The first purpose of any golf course should be to give pleasure, and that to the greatest possible number of players, without respect to their capabilities. As far as is possible, there should be presented to each golfer an interesting problem that will test him without being so impossibly difficult that he will have little chance of success. There must be something to do, but that something must always be within the realm of reasonable accomplishment.

  From the standpoint of the inexpert player, there is nothing so disheartening as the appearance of a carry that is beyond his best effort and that offers no alternative route. In such a situation, there is nothing for the golfer to do, for he is given no opportunity to overcome his deficiency in length by either accuracy or judgment. The problem supposed to be offered him becomes no problem at all when he has nothing to look forward to.

  Whenever there is a carry offered, two things are essential. First, there must be a way around for those who are unwilling to accept the risk, and there must be a definite reward awaiting the man wh
o takes the chance successfully. Without the alternative route, the situation is unfair; without the reward, it is meaningless.

  The ideal golf course would have to be played with thought as well as mechanical skill. Otherwise, it could not hold a player’s interest. The perfect design should place a premium upon sound judgment as well as accurate striking by rewarding the correct placing of each shot. Mere length is its own reward, but length without control ought to be punished.

  There are two ways of widening the gap between a good tee shot and a bad one. One is to inflict a severe and immediate punishment upon the bad shot, to place its perpetrator in a bunker or in some other trouble demanding the sacrifice of a stroke in recovering; the other is to reward the good shot by making the second simpler in proportion to the excellence of the drive. The reward may be of any nature, but it is more commonly one of three, a better view of the green, an easier angle from which to attack a slope, or an open line of approach past guarding hazards. In this way, upon the long, well-placed drive—possibly the one that has dared an impressive bunker—is conferred the greatest benefit, but shots of less excellence are still left with the opportunity to recover by bringing off an exceptionally fine second.

  A course constructed with these principles in view must be interesting, because it will offer problems a man may attempt, according to his ability. It will never become hopeless for the duffer, nor fail to concern and interest the expert; and it will be found, like old St. Andrews, to become more delightful the more it is studied and played.