by Julie Ganz
But it must not be understood that golf does not develop the physical attributes, as in truth it is a wonderful all-round developer of physique, and in particular of the muscles at the back of the arm, and those which have their resting place in the shoulders; the majority of those who have played much golf in their younger years have splendidly developed shoulder muscles. Again it develops the leg and chest muscles; in fact, as a general, all-round developer of the frame there are very few games as good as golf. It is a peculiar fact that the muscles that it does not materially aid are the biceps and the forearm muscles. Although many good golfers have well-developed forearms, it is, to my way of thinking, possible to have too great a development of forearm for the playing of successful golf.
What I do think the game of golf tends to develop is strength of sinew, particularly those which pass through the wrists, as it is almost impossible for a golfer to be a great player without he has an average degree of strength in the sinews of the wrists. This does not mean necessarily that he must be possessed of those big, strong, square-boned species of wrists which indicate exceptional strength in this part of the anatomy. In fact, the bone development may be slight and the wrist apparently a comparatively weak example, but provided there is strength and suppleness of sinew, the player need not worry about the lack of bone. The sinews will do all that is required and some of the longest drivers I have ever come across have had wrists which in appearance would have seemed more in keeping on the arms of a woman.
THE SECRET OF LENGTH
The secret of being able to hit a golf ball a very long way, is freedom of action and the application of strength. To be a long driver it is not altogether necessary to be abnormally strong muscularly. Strength is useful, but not in any way essential, as is evidenced by the fact that many men of comparatively light physique are very long drivers, a fact which is no doubt due to strength of sinew and the gift of being able to apply the strength they have at command. In connection with the evidence of power when hitting a golf ball, I am convinced on one point and that is that long arms are a great aid to the player, as not only do they enable him to obtain a fine, free sweep of the club without the use of any excessive body action, but, moreover, long arms are invariably set on the body on somewhat free principles, and the player who is blessed with this freedom is enabled to get his arms well away from his body.
The ideal combination for long driving is a pair of long, sinewy arms combined with long, powerful hands and fingers, and the majority of players who drive a long ball without much apparent effort are invariably thus blessed. Of course, there are players who obtain length by other means, men who are compactly built and are comparatively short in the arms, but they usually obtain their length by forcing with the body, that is, by throwing the whole of their physique into the blow. It is a forcing style of driving which is not altogether elegant and, moreover, it is a style of play which is apt to go to pieces under pressure. Again there is always a danger in connection with players who, on account of their physique, have recourse to these methods, and the danger lies in the fact that with increasing years they are naturally prone to put on avoirdupois, and what freedom they originally possessed is apt to leave them, and they inevitably lose their length.
Of all the golfers I have come across I cannot think of any who to my mind would appear as ideally built for the playing of the game as Harry Vardon. He is sufficiently tall without being ungainly, he is strong without being muscle-bound, and he has the strength in the correct places, viz.: the shoulders, wrists, and hands. There may be many men playing golf who are infinitely better physically developed than Harry Vardon, but perhaps none whose physique is better adapted for the game. George Duncan is another player whose physique is also well fitted for the game, but Ray, whom Americans will see performing this fall in their open championships, would appear to be a somewhat clumsily fashioned individual and does not in any way give one the impression of being an athlete. But he has wonderful strength and great freedom of action.
At one time in his career he was probably too free in his actions, but since he has filled out into a big, heavy man, his freedom has come much more under control, and he is in consequence a more reliable long-game player. Comparing his form of the present day with that when he was a man of comparatively light physique, one cannot heip but think that the extra avoirdupois which has gradually appeared during the past few years has had a very sobering effect upon his swing, and many young players who are inclined to be weedy of physique would, no doubt, benefit by the addition of weight to their physique, much as Ray would appear to have benefited.
Reviewing golfers who have learned the rudiments of the game in the States, one cannot help being struck with the fact that the four players who stand out as having made the biggest name for themselves are all men of comparatively light physique. The four I mean are Messrs. Walter Travis, Jerome Travers, Chick Evans, and MacDermott. Not by the wildest stretch of imagination can any of this quartet be called big men. In truth, one would be inclined to class them all as comparatively small men. Jerome Travers is probably the tallest of the four, but he is not by way of being a giant.
SUCCESSFUL SMALL MEN
Of course, it may be only a pure coincidence that the four most successful golfers in America are all of small physique, but it is nevertheless remarkable that they should exhibit more control over their clubs than the men of more commanding stature. There is a saying that a good “big one” will always defeat a good “little one,” and one cannot get away from the truth of this opinion, as provided that both are equally gifted from the point of view of scientific application, the greater strength of the bigger man must prevail in the end. But, on the other hand, it will generally be found that the smaller man has the better balanced physique, better balanced in the respect that he can control his actions more successfully. On this assumption the small man should be the more stable and consistent player than the big man, and I am inclined to think that on the average he is, as he has certainly proved himself so in America.
It is in events such as open championship contests that the smaller man is at a disadvantage with his stronger opponents. He may be likely to do as well as any of his opponents, for argument’s sake we will say even better than any individual opponent, but on account of the limitations to his power he cannot expect with just average fortune, to accomplish anything as great as that which several of his stronger opponents may accomplish. However well the smaller man may play, there is always the great chance that one or other of his more powerful opponents may do even better, for the reason that they are gifted with greater power, and in an open event one has to defeat all opponents and not any particular individual one.
In England the open championship during recent years has invariably fallen to one of the big men. Players like J. H. Taylor or Tom Ball, who are representatives of the accurate, scientific class of player, have a habit of finishing in second position, suffering defeat because they have the misfortune to run up against just one player possessed of greater power, who is on the top of his game on this particular occasion. The difficulty for the Taylors and the Balls is to defeat the whole fleet of these big men, and the fleet is such a numerous one nowadays.
In the old days the sound, accurate golfer had a much better chance of success in the open championship than he has at present, as the ever-growing number of powerful big hitters has had the effect of increasing the pace, so to speak, in that the players now realize that to win the championship something more than steady play is required. One or other of the strong men is almost sure to be on his game, and the men less gifted in physique have to go full steam ahead from the very start of the event and often crack under the strain.
Aside and apart from the question of a good wrist and a good wrist action, which is undoubtedly the most essential possession for a golfer who hopes to be a first-class exponent of the game, perhaps the most useful asset is a powerful pair of hands, and if the fingers are long all the better for the player.
To my way of thinking, long, strong fingers are an aid to the golfer in every way, with the possible exception of when he is on the putting greens, where it may be an advantage to have slight, delicate fingers. But in the more powerful phases of the game the long, strong fingers have it in every way, as they are able to control a comparatively heavy club with ease, and long driving, in consequence, becomes more or less a simple manner.
But it is in the really heavy work from indifferent lies that the long, strong fingers hold the great advantage, as they enable the player to grip the club firmly and get that quick, sharp nip into the swing which is so useful when playing from rough, heavy grass. I speak feelingly on this point, as nature gave me short fingers, and I look with envy upon men like Braid, Ray, and Vardon when they take heavy medium irons from lies from which I would have to rest content with a niblick shot for safety. They have the combination of length in the fingers and strength in the hand, which allows them to put sufficient snap behind the shot to enable the club to come through all obstructions.
Personally, I may have the requisite strength in the hand, but I am certainly not possessed of the requisite grip with the fingers, and if I attempt any of these Goliathlike feats when playing from long grass, it invariably ends in my losing possession of the club. It is not due to the lack of strength in my fingers, but to the lack of firmness of grip owing to the shortness of finger.
THE VIRTUE OF SLOPING SHOULDERS
One excellent physical attribute for a golfer to possess is sloping, or what are generally termed bottle-neck, shoulders, as there cannot be the slightest shadow of doubt that the man with these sloping shoulders is always gifted with exceptional freedom in this part of his anatomy. There are two of our noted players, viz.: Mr. John Ball and Alexander Herd, who are blessed with this class of shoulders, and for freedom of swing these two are not excelled by any. The ease with which they can swing a golf club is simply extraordinary.
Rather remarkable to say, both Mr. Ball and Mr. Herd grip the club in the palm of the right hand, with the knuckles pointing to the ground, and I feel assured that neither of them could employ this underhand grip and nevertheless swing with such freedom and truth if it were not for the sloping shoulders that they possess. In swinging a golf club a square-shouldered man is, to my way of thinking, at a disadvantage in comparison with men who are physically modeled on the lines of Mr. Ball and Mr. Herd.
Although in the swinging of a golf club the upper part of a player’s anatomy is admittedly a more important factor than the lower part, still in the truth of a golfing swing much depends upon the use the player makes of his legs and feet, and in consequence a player is a good deal dependent upon the physique of his lower limbs. There can be but little doubt that it is an advantage to be strong in the legs, as strength in this part of the anatomy enables a player to maintain his balance. But as against this many men who are abnormally strong in the legs are not a little prone to try to utilize them too much, and are not only apt to move about on their feet, but, moreover, are sometimes inclined to place so much pressure on the feet that there is a continual risk of their slipping.
One thing I have noticed is that nearly all players who are exceedingly well developed below are inclined to take a very wide stance. This is only natural, as they are naturally inclined to obtain a more than average degree of impetus from the legs and feet
Another point which is noticeable in connection with the general run of golfers who have played from their youth up is that they are much inclined to turn their toes up, and in a true, free golfing swing players undoubtedly utilize their toes a great deal. Moreover, they turn on the ball of the foot, and this tends to turn the toes skywards.
Lisa Ganz
THE STORY OF THE CHARM OF GOLF
ALAN ALEXANDER MILNE
When he reads of the notable doings of famous golfers, the eighteen-handicap man has no envy in his heart. For by this time he has discovered the great secret of golf. Before he began to play he wondered wherein lay the fascination of it; now he knows. Golf is so popular simply because it is the best game in the world at which to be bad.
Consider what it is to be bad at cricket. You have bought a new bat, perfect in balance; a new pair of pads, white as driven snow; gloves of the very latest design. Do they let you use them? No. After one ball, in the negotiation of which neither your bat, nor your pads, nor your gloves came into play, they send you back into the pavilion to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to fatuous stories of some old gentleman who knew Fuller Pilch. And when your side takes the field, where are you? Probably at long leg both ends, exposed to the public gaze as the worst fieldsman in London. How devastating are your emotions. Remorse, anger, mortification fill your heart; above all, envy—envy of the lucky immortals who disport themselves on the green level of Lord’s.
Consider what it is to be bad at lawn tennis. True, you are allowed to hold on to your new racket all through the game, but how often are you allowed to employ it usefully? How often does your partner cry “Mine!” and bundle you out of the way? Is there pleasure in playing football badly? You may spend the full eighty minutes in your new boots, but your relations with the ball will be distant. They do not give you a ball to yourself at football.
But how different a game is golf. At golf it is the bad player who gets the most strokes. However good his opponent, the bad player has the right to play out each hole to the end; he will get more than his share of the game. He need have no fears that his new driver will not be employed. He will have as many swings with it as the scratch man; more, if he misses the ball altogether upon one or two tees. If he buys a new niblick he is certain to get fun out of it on the very first day.
And, above all, there is this to be said for golfing mediocrity—the bad player can make the strokes of the good player. The poor cricketer has perhaps never made fifty in his life; as soon as he stands at the wickets he knows that he is not going to make fifty today. But the eighteen-handicap man has some time or other played every hole on the course to perfection. He has driven a ball 250 yards; he has made superb approaches; he has run down the long putt. Any of these things may suddenly happen to him again. And therefore it is not his fate to have to sit in the club smoking-room after his second round and listen to the wonderful deeds of others. He can join in too. He can say with perfect truth, “I once carried the ditch at the fourth with my second,” or “I remember when I drove into the bunker guarding the eighth green,” or even “I did a three at the eleventh this afternoon”—bogey being five. But if the bad cricketer says, “I remember when I took a century in forty minutes off Lockwood and Richardson,” he is nothing but a liar.
For these and other reasons golf is the best game in the world for the bad player. And sometimes I am tempted to go further and say that it is a better game for the bad player than for the good player. 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 with a 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 but it might have been worse; it is never so bad but we are confident of doing better 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 our strokes will be as good.
What does Vardon know of this? If he does a five hole in four he blames himself that he did not do it in three; if he does it in five he is miserable. He will never experience that happy surprise with which we hail our best strokes. Only his bad strokes surprise him, and then we may suppose that he is not happy. His length and accuracy are mechanical; they are not the result, as so often in our case, of some suddenly applied maxim or some suddenly discovered innovation. The only thing which can vary in his game is his putting, and putting is not golf but croquet.
But of course we, too, are going to be as good as Vardon one day. We are only postponing the day because meanwhile it is so pl
easant to be bad. And it is part of the charm of being bad at golf that in a moment, in a single night, we may become good. If the bad cricketer said to a good cricketer, “What am I doing wrong?” the only possible answer would be, “Nothing particular, except that you can’t play cricket.” But if you or I were to say to our scratch friend, “What am I doing wrong?” he would reply at once, “Moving the head” or “Dropping the right knee” or “Not getting the wrists in soon enough,” and by tomorrow we should be different players. Upon such, a little depends, or seems to the eighteen-handicap to depend, excellence in golf.
And so, perfectly happy in our present-badness and perfectly confident of our future goodness, we long-handicap men remain. Perhaps it would be pleasanter to be a little more certain of getting the ball safely off the first tee; perhaps at the fourteenth hole, where there is a right of way and the public encroach, we should like to feel that we have done with topping; perhaps
Well, perhaps we might get our handicap down to fifteen this summer. But no lower; certainly no lower.