Phil’s Turn To Swing - The Driving Range

"This is harder than I thought." - Me (Phil)

The Driving Range - A Great Starting Point

Introduction:

Phil here again, with my two cents on this game called golf.  I am at the other end of the spectrum to Sid, being in my early 20s and completely new to golf.  It will be an interesting juxtaposition comparing my youth and inexperience, with his maturity and sage wisdom.  While Sid tackles the finer points of swing mechanics and course strategy, I'm here to chronicle the raw, often hilarious struggles of a complete beginner. So if you’re trying for par, Sid’s the one to follow.  If a triple bogey is more your league, then hello, I’m Phil.

Before working with Sid, my experience with golf was incredibly limited.  The odd game of mini-putt now and then, Nintendo Switch Golf, etc.  Mostly due to working on this site with Sid, and how much of it is golf related, I've recently embarked on a journey to learn the game myself. 

I've got a set of clubs – a Callaway driver (a review of which may come in future) that feels more like a foreign object, some irons, a wedge that seems vaguely familiar, and a putter that's become my only friend. Armed with this arsenal and a healthy dose of undeserved optimism, I headed to the driving range, envisioning myself gracefully launching balls into the stratosphere. Little did I know that just consistently hitting the ball would be a Herculean task, and that a tiny wooden tee troll would become my nemesis.

Reality Smacks

Like many beginners, my expectations were... lofty. I imagined myself channeling my inner Tiger Woods, each swing a symphony of power and precision. The reality was far less graceful. I consider myself quite good at sports and physical activity, with a healthy background in football, athletics, and going to the gym. I feel as if very little of that helped prepare me.

My first few swings were less golf pro and more drunk octopus wielding a metal stick.  I whiffed, I shanked, I sent balls dribbling pathetically a few feet in front of me, only to roll over the edge of the platform in some final humiliation. The sweet, satisfying "thwack" I'd heard from other golfers was replaced by the thud of my club hitting the ground and the occasional, mortifying "whoosh" of air as I missed the ball entirely. That was very humbling.  I was reassured by others in attendance that this is just how it is at the beginning.  So I pushed on.

The Anatomy of a Miss

My misses were varied and spectacular. There was the "worm burner," a low, screaming liner that barely got off the ground. Then there was the "sky ball," a towering pop-up that went almost straight up and landed with a disheartening thud about ten yards away. Most common was the dreaded slice, a banana-shaped trajectory that sent the ball veering sharply to the right, as if it were desperately trying to escape my swing. There were a lot of curse words coming out of my mouth when I knew I’d duffed it. How could something that looked so easy be so incredibly difficult?

Bear in mind, I came into this intentionally cold.  I read all of Sid’s articles before they go live, but most of my first forays came before we got to the articles part of our work together.  So I hadn’t picked up any snippets or nuggets of information then.  I also did not watch YouTube as I wanted to come in cold and see how far I could get.  The truth was not very far. I believe, in hindsight, there are fundamentals in golf that aren't naturally instinctive, and you benefit greatly from advice and insight, at least. Things such as having the right grip, a basic, correct stance, lining up the ball, and so forth. 

The Tee - A Tiny Troll

And then there was the tee. This seemingly innocuous little piece of wood became a source of endless torment. Too high, and I'd top the ball. Too low, and I'd dig into the ground. Sometimes the ball would just roll off the tee as I was addressing it, as if it were mocking my incompetence. On more than one occasion, I found myself adjusting the tee height multiple times, muttering under my breath like a mad scientist trying to perfect a volatile experiment. For something so small, that tee was definitely mocking me.

Far too often, I would place the ball on this little troll tee, step back, only for the ball to roll off.  This happened far more than I care to admit.  My mind was truly wandering off to what the heck land. This little thing has it out for me.

But amidst the chaos, there were fleeting moments of glory. Every now and then, I'd connect. The club would meet the ball with a satisfying crack, and the ball would soar through the air, a white projectile against the blue sky. These moments were rare, but they were enough to keep me going. I was giving myself fist pumps every time.  

They provided a glimpse of what was possible, and a foundation to begin building upon.  It’s hard to convey how incredibly satisfying it was to start hearing those cracks.  The sound of the clubface connecting sweetly with the dimpled ball.  I would recognize patterns when I successfully connected, make notes of what was going wrong when I wasn’t quite connecting.  I began to pay attention to my stances, still not fully understanding what importance that would bring to the game.  All I did know, is that I wanted to hear more of that sweet connect sound.  It was more important to me than how far I drove the ball, or the accuracy of my shots.  I just wanted to get that crack sound, that sweet connection between the club and the ball - consistently. 

Then, it happened. I took a deep breath, focused on my stance (which I still didn't fully understand), and swung. The club connected with the ball with a resounding crack. I watched, a little frozen with a smirk, because I knew, I just knew, it was a good one.  It wasn't a long shot, but it was straight, and it was beautiful.

Patience, I realized, was not just a virtue; it was a necessity on the driving range. It was about accepting that I was a beginner, that I was going to make mistakes, and that improvement would come slowly, one small victory at a time.  At this early stage on my golf journey, I feel more intimidated than ever.

Conclusion:

My war with the dimpled ball is far from over. But despite the whiffs, the shanks, and the tyrannical tees, I'm not giving up. I’m motivated to learn more about this game, and in turn, myself, by pushing forward toward actually playing a full 18 hole round.  The driving range has been a humbling experience, a reminder that mastery takes time, effort, and a whole lot of practice. So, I'll keep showing up, keep swinging, and keep hoping for those moments of glorious contact. And who knows, maybe one day I'll even conquer that tiny, wooden tee troll. Stay tuned, because this Georgia golf newbie is starting a journey and if it does not go too disastrously, I may share more of it.  Remember, for some actual helpful tips on this beautiful game, read Sid’s golf articles.

What were some of your struggles when you first started to play?