Article #30
Teacher: Hardpan
To meet this week's teacher, or to purchase a copy of MUNIE ~ The Jitterbug Collection, go to www.bobbysteiner.com
Story: The Sklyland Open (Excerpt from MUNIE ~ The Jitterbug Collection)
I made a seemingly awesome discovery while warming up at the range before the first round of the Skyland Open Championship, a three-day stroke play event revered as the "Local Masters Tournament."
I found that if I slowed my arm swing before aggressively shifting my weight left through impact, I could release the club hard with the right hand, finish high, and hit a beautiful, towering draw, and with any club in the bag.
I scanned the range, hoping to find an awe struck walker-by who might start the buzz that this was finally Steiner's year to make a move in the amateur division, when suddenly, I heard the unmistakable sound of a bag dropping in the station next to mine.
"Whatssay, Bobby?"
I looked over my shoulder. "You gotta be kidding me! How in the world are you, Hardpan? I haven't seen you seen last year's Skyland."
"I'm good," Hardpan replied. "Just thought I'd come down here and see which way the ball is flyin'. They got me goin' off number one today."
That made sense. Hardpan, Jitterbug's cousin, won the Skyland Open pro division the year before for a record seventh time at the age of forty-nine.
"I understand you just turned fifty," I said. "Does that mean you're gonna play in the senior division this year?"
"Well, I was hopin' to double-dip," Hardpan said. "But, they won't let me. They said, 'We don't do that kinda stuff around here.' Shoot, I don't see what the big deal is."
"What is 'double-dip'?"
"That's where I pay two entry fees," Hardpan said. "And, play in both the regular and the senior division at the same time. I told 'em I'd play it all the way back with the young guys, but they ain't go for it."
"So, you're just gonna play the seniors, then?"
"Heck no!" Hardpan said. "I'm gonna play with the young guys. First place pays five hundred more dollars in the regular division."
After taking a moment to stretch, Hardpan grabbed a wedge to hit some warm-ups. His swing looked the same as I remembered, but his shots made a clunky, not-very-solid sound.
Smiling, Hardpan shook his head. "Looks like one of them days."
He then grabbed a five-iron. After seven or eight weak fades, he put his club back in his bag and walked away, saying, "I guess that's it, then."
I shot a first round of seventy-seven. Not particularly great for a one-handicap, who, only moments, hit the ball like a champ. The simple sequence with which I'd begun the day, and which had produced such an elegant draw, turned into a nightmare of snap-hooks.
Again, the next day, I visited with Hardpan before teeing off.
"What'd you shoot yesterday?" I asked.
"Sixty-nine," Hardpan replied.
"SIXTY-NINE? The way you were hitting the ball? You must've found your swing once you got out there."
"I didn't find nothin'," Hardpan said, putting on his glove. "My ball striking ain't been solid in months, In fact, you seen the best of it yesterday here on the range. But, I can't complain. I'm only one shot out of the lead with two days to go. A sixty-four today will put me right back in it!"
Once more, before the third round, Hardpan stopped by the practice range.
"Congratulations, Hardpan," I said. "I understand you captured the lead yesterday. Sixty-six is awfully solid."
"Yeah, I finally got some putts to drop," he said.
Hardpan swung a lofted wood four or five times before putting it back in his bag. Like the two mornings before, his shots seemed lifeless.
"I have a question," I said. "The way you're hitting the ball, you should be shooting a million, but you're leading the pro division. The young pro division at that! Is your putting really that good?"
"My putting is always good," he said. "But, I think you're missin' the point on somethin' here."
"And, what's that?"
"The guy who hits the most impressive shots ain't always the winner. The winner is the guy who does the best job of predictin' what's comin' off his club, good, bad, or in between. That's the only reason I come to the range, Bobby, just to see what the ball wants to do. Some days it wants to go one way, and other days, another."
"But, what if it isn't doing what you want it to?"
"That's the whole point," Hardpan replied. "It don't matter what I want it to do, all that matters is what my swing wants it today. Why waste time before a tournament tryin' to make a crooked gun shoot straight? The game is hard enough without fightin' my rusty old golf swing. I don't care how ugly my action is-as long as it's consistently ugly, AND I don't try to fight it, it'll work just fine."
Hardpan won the pro division for the eighth time that year. Nobody seems to know for sure, but most believe it was the only time a senior won the young pro division in the history of the event.