I started playing golf when I was 11 years old. I love sports, so I was keen to learn when I realised that a few of my new friends at school all played.
Before I even had clubs, I joined them one Sunday morning at Brackenwood, a 9-hole public course, I cycled the three miles to. My concern that my Olympus Raleigh with drop handlebars might be stolen was overruled by the opportunity to watch and maybe have a swing or two.
We waited an hour to begin on the first tee of a short par 3. The queuing system was simple: golf balls were placed at the top of a gently sloped steel shoot. It was your turn when the ball made it to the bottom. No one seemed to mind the wait, entertained by watching the poor executions from the players in front.
My reward that day, aside from being able to watch, was the opportunity to finally have a go once we were well out of sight of the pro’s shop, the nerve centre for the course. The boys took their game seriously, so I was restricted to longer holes with wider fairways where I wouldn’t interfere with play. Pete, one of the players, was happy enough to let me try. He gave me a pitching wedge and a ball, which had seen better days. I’d quickly hurry a shot after he’d had his, mindful not to slow proceedings down - serious game golf.
My results were mixed, the advice from others confusing, but I was still hooked. I could surely do a lot better with a bit of practice. The following Christmas, my big present was a half-set of clubs. The driver, a big-headed wooden club, was blazoned with American model, which must have meant it was good. My most helpful stocking filler was a small Ladybird book about how to play golf, written by Peter Oosterhuis*, the leading British golfer at the time. What more could I possibly need? The answer turned out to be quite a lot. I’m still learning, aged 62.
The following summer, I tried to combine Brandy’s walk in the field behind my old junior school with some 9-iron practice. It started slowly, with very few balls escaping the clutches of the grass. Then, out of nowhere, I finally connected, and it soared high into the air, going much further than expected. Wow, how did I do that? I don’t remember swinging any differently.
Cliff Swindell, who coached table tennis on a Saturday night at Burne Avenue Swimming Baths, took me to Bidston, his golf club, where we played several times during school holidays. I was desperate to play on an actual course but never got further than the practice area on the first occasion. It was freezing, and Bidston was a flat, open course with little protection from the cold Irish Sea winds blasting in from the top of the Wirral peninsula. I hit a ball so badly that morning my finger started to bleed from the vibration through the club shaft. It was then I realised my clubs with the unforgiving hard grips might not be quite as top draw as I thought. Once the bleeding stopped, Cliff, who must have felt slightly sorry, gave me his 7-iron to use. Oh my god, what a difference, it felt amazing. The handle was so much softer, making it easier to grip the club as I continued to make swings.
It had been an icy beginning on my golf journey. I was happy about the egg and chips afterwards and the lesson I never forgot, to always pack an extra layer in my golf bag.
When I left for university, my golfing career took a back seat. I continued to play a bit in the summers and then even less when I started working. I still kept a set of clubs, reluctant to sever all ties. I only seriously addressed the issue of getting good when we sold our company in 2018. It took another year before I heard the siren call and joined Ealing Golf Club.
I hadn’t been a good junior golfer (16 handicap), and I’m still an average one today. Those who’ve patiently read this letter for a while might remember that I’m dreaming of a single-figure handicap. This morning, my index stands at 11.6. I won’t bore you with the maths, but I’m still a way away from achieving that ambition.
I got drawn into this week’s letter because of a book - actually a chapter of a book by Scott Young, Get Better at Anything, which ships this month. In 2019, he wrote Ultralearning, an exploration of obsessive self-leaners. His follow-up is to resolve all the questions which remain unanswered, at least in his head.
If you want to get better at anything, what’s the best way to do it? What practice works best, what kind of examples help and what ultimately determines whether you’ll become a master or plateau too soon?
Remember Tetris? It is a beautifully simple game in which you rotate and place geometrical shapes on the screen to make complete horizontal lines, which then disappear. Young questions why players became much better at Tetris 30 years after it first became popular. Video and YouTube is the short answer. The top players record how they reach their high scores, allowing others to watch and learn their technique, putting the new moves discovered into practice.
Young highlights three learning pillars.
Seeing - what we know comes from others. We improve more quickly, the easier it is to learn. In other words, good teachers help.
Doing - we have to practice, but not just any practice. Apparently, we’re conditioned to take the easiest option but not necessarily the most productive one.
Feedback - yes, we need it from our coach or teacher and from experiencing the reality we’re trying to influence. Hitting a golf ball on a freezing cold day is easier when you’re warm.
There is no shortage of YouTube golf videos from pros and coaches showing great technique. So why am I still struggling to be a low-handicap golfer? I visit a great coach who makes lots of sense. I understand the physics of a swing much better now, and I know what I should be doing.
In my defence, there are other factors to consider. Learning to play as a youngster is good and bad. I came back to golf with a swing that hadn’t changed in 40 years. Old habits die hard, so making change isn’t as easy as I’d have liked. I don’t practice enough, who does? But it’s actually worse than that.
Go to the driving range and watch for a few minutes. Most golfers are wasting their time beyond the enjoyment of hitting a few good shots from their bucket of balls and the mental bonus of feeling good about doing something. This is not because they don’t have any ability, far from it. They’re just practising faults they’ve already got. That is still probably better than watching golf coaching videos every day.
Humans are gifted in the art of imitation. But a good golf swing can subtly hide many key points to success. Everyone’s body shape and musculature are unique, so our observations of how we should perform are only ever approximations.
Practice is also not enough without feedback, which is why we should video our swings more often and then share them with a professional coach. This might expose you to the benefits of a technique called deliberate practice, invented by a psychologist named Anders Ericsson, an expert in expertise. Elite performers in music, chess, athletics, and medicine achieved peak performance levels with the help of immediate feedback. It’s effectively what happens when you have a lesson.
I’ve not even touched on the mental side of golf or anything else you want to achieve greatness in. Suffice it to say all the top golfers now employ a coach for the mental part of their game.
This weekend is a big mental test for Ealing golfers. Our Spring Meeting is two days of golf played in a medal format, which means every shot on every one of the 36 holes will count. You can have a bad hole, but it still counts, hanging there as a reminder. Mrs H says I need to forget about it. I’m unsure if she means the bad hole, the round or golf altogether.
*Peter Arthur Oosterhuis, was a British golfer born 3 May 1948 and died 2 May 2024.