As we find the theories of others are more diverting than our own,
which are merely scientific, we shall but seldom intrude an opinion,
and then only for the purpose of adding to the general confusion. Thus
we may take this occasion to record that the so-called Pendulum Putt
is an overpraised institution. Any man, or almost any man, may become
a grandfather, but no man can be grandfather’s clock; a tall clock
has no nerves and no muscles, and it lives a quiet, regular life. The
Pendulum Putt is not more inevitable than another. In our laboratory
experiments we have putted in every language, including the Scandinavian
and Profane, and have found that the hole can be missed as easily by one
method as by another. The least attractive style is that which requires a
consideration of their navels (known in California as “sunkist navels”),
and a strict adherence of the putter blade to the line o’ flight. The
method we finally adopted does not require that the putter be taken back
or brought forward on any invariable, ineluctable line; any line, within
reason, will do. That decided on, putting ceased to be as troublesome as
a hair shirt, and we now approach the green sustained and soothed by an
unfaltering trust, instead of like the quarry-slave at night, scourged to
his dungeon.
* * * * *
Mr. Chick Evans drove two or three dozen golf balls into the west wind
once for our special delectation, and golf dubs will be glad to learn
that after analyzing Mr. Chick’s stroke we concluded that the great
secret of golf and the only secret, is rhythm. Mr. Chick’s rhythm is
perfect. The morning stars have nothing on him.