This article first appeared in SIGNATURE magazine

November 2009

“If I tell you, you’ll forget it. If I show you, you might remember. But if you feel it, then you’ll understand.”

With these words of what he wryly calls “a bit of ancient Chinese wisdom”, Martin Briede welcomes me onto the practice tee at the Royal Johannesburg and Kensington Golf Club. It’s been one of those glorious spring days in Gauteng, and the late afternoon light is catching every blade of grass on the greens. Regular fourballs of golfers who have taken Friday afternoon off approach the final hole, three-putt, swear and stalk off to console themselves at the nineteenth.

Martin’s gentle smile and firm handshake put me at ease, but I admit to feeling a little nervous – both because it’s my first lesson with a golf pro and because, as I was reminded while hauling my clubs out from the cupboard, it has been about five months since I last set foot on a golf course.

The lesson starts even before I’ve made a practice swing: while I’m gingerly performing my generic pre-sport warm up exercises, Martin suggests a few moves that are more appropriate for golf. My biokinetic ego (developed during a brief foray into sports science as an undergraduate) is somewhat dented when he tells me that simply holding calf, thigh, hamstring and back stretches won’t do – “Golf is about rotation,” he explains, “and rapid muscle contractions in the downswing. So you don’t want your muscle fibres to be too stretched.”

When I start hitting a few eight irons, with Martin casually observing me, the result is worse than I anticipated. I spray them everywhere. Hooks, slices, draws, fades, shanks, toe-ends ... at one point I’m actually pleased to duff it straight along the ground for 100 metres. Fortunately, after a while (which seems an eternity), my touch begins to return and I strike a few sweetly. Martin looks as relieved as I am.

I am about to discover, however, that this is because he wants me feeling confident when he reveals how much I actually have to work on. At some point, he has whipped out a camera and recorded my better efforts. It’s video swing analysis time – this is the ‘showing’ part of his teaching method – and we head inside.

*

Many years ago, in a fit of adolescent enthusiasm over the camcorder that my dad brought home from work one day, I set up a tripod and videotaped myself performing a series of practice shots in different sports: golf swings, tennis forehands and backhands, cricket hooks and forward defensives and late cuts. Of course, everyone’s a champion in his or her own back garden, and without any pressure on I showed (or so I thought) textbook form.

This buoyant sporting self-image was deflated over time as it became clear that I’d never be able to turn professional in any sport, least of all golf. The crushing blow came when my best friend told me, in the kindest possible way, that as I hit a ball off the tee I resembled a second-rate batsman playing a cover drive.

Nothing could have prepared me, however, for the humiliation of seeing myself, knock-kneed and arms akimbo, swaying and wobbling with a golf club in hand. It was a sobering reminder that, no matter how good I think I look when I hit the occasional long iron 250 metres, I actually still look like a happy hacker.

Still, Martin was happy enough with my swing arc and announced that an improvement in two key areas – my grip and my stance – would make a fundamental difference to my game. Often, he noted, the longer you’ve played as a self-taught, part-time golfer, the more likely it is that you’ve adapted your game to accommodate basic flaws.

The problem with the stance was so obvious I could identify it myself onscreen: I was hunched over the club like an old man bent double over his walking stick. Martin reassured me that it’s fairly common for tall players to do this – I’m 6’2” – but pulled up a video clip showing a pro golfer of a similar height (Steve Stricker, I think) to show that it is not inevitable. A slight canting of the hips, a deeper knee bend, a different angle of the club shaft, and my posture was immediately much improved.

Before we left the computer, Martin loaded another clip – this time, in response to my ‘cover-drive’ anecdote, a montage of Sir Donald Bradman flaying cricket balls around the ground. The footage from the 1930s was grainy but made Martin’s point quite clearly. The Don, greatest batsman of all time, did not control his bat with the stiff wrists prescribed by orthodox cricket coaching. Instead, when hitting a ball straight back over a bowler’s head, he played what were, effectively, golf shots.

Fearful that this was becoming a lesson in the wrong sport altogether, Martin quickly changed the topic: “Let’s go and sort out your grip”. We stepped outside with a bizarre looking piece of equipment, an alien golf club with a warped shaft and the head of an ice-hockey stick. It also had a specially moulded grip to demonstrate where my hands should rest, with the ‘V’ between forefinger and thumb on both hands aligned and pointing to my right shoulder.

“Get a feel for the weight,” advised Martin. “You should just be able to hold it up at 45°.”

At this stage, I should admit something. For the last two years, I’ve played golf with two gloves. Tired of getting blisters on my right (bottom) hand after each round, I went into a Pro Shop pretending to be a left-hander and asked for a glove for my ‘top’ (right) hand. Well, you can imagine the derision I’ve faced from fellow-players for walking around the golf course like Michael Jackson; but hey, at least I avoided having to walk around the office with plasters on all my fingers.

It never occurred to me that the source of the problem was a faulty grip. I’d just assumed I had sensitive skin, or that there was some other explanation. In retrospect, it’s clear to me that I’ve been clasping the club (a) far too tightly and (b) in the wrong position. Nevertheless, fixing the problem is going to take some time.

Suffice it to say that, under Martin’s watchful eye, I only managed to hit one or two decent shots with the new grip. “It’ll come,” he affirmed. “Just keep at it. And remember what Bradman did – roll your wrists through the shot.”

*

I did not get in quite enough practice to join the field at this year’s edition of the Silver Vase, an annual amateur tournament that has been played on the twin courses at the Royal Johannesburg and Kensington since 1953. To be honest, I’m not especially optimistic about next year either. And, come 2011, you still won’t find me lining up with South Africa’s best amateur golfers at this Diner’s Club-sponsored event.

But I’ll keep at it, with my new grip and my new stance and Martin’s straight-talking advice. I like to think it’s what Donald Bradman would have done when he was on the golf course.