A large percentage of golf gloom arises from slicing. A golfer’s idea of
hell is to stand on a hot tee for a million years and slice balls out of
bounds. The chronic slicer is a wretched figure and he falls as low as
he can when, giving up hope of ever hitting a straight ball, he aims a
quarter of a mile to the left of the flag.
There are at least seven causes of slicing. The commonest is the vicious
practice of bringing the clubhead down outside the line of the ball’s
flight. This imparts a rotary motion to the ball, and the flight of it
describes a crescent. You do this nine times out of ten. But do not
despair; we can help you. We can teach you to hit inside the line.
Buy from a commission merchant a basket of very, very bad eggs, and give
these to the caddy to carry. When you tee your ball, or come up to it on
the fairgreen, place an egg about three inches away from the ball and an
inch or so back of it. Now swing, being careful to keep the clubhead from
straying beyond the line, otherwise you will smash the egg and scatter
the malodorous contents. Before a dozen eggs are broken you will quit
slicing or be asked to resign from the club.
If the egg remedy fails, procure a piece of dynamite and use that
instead. This will effect a permanent cure.
* * * * *
L. E. B. says his wife claims to be a Class A-plus golf widow. When she
passes to her reward she hopes it will be early in the week, so the
incident will not interfere with husband’s Sunday golf.
* * * * *
Florence quotes from one of H. G. Wells’s slams at golf, concluding with,
“The uglier a man’s legs are, the better he plays golf.”
“I play a beastly game,” adds Florence; “how about you?” Oh, a regular
Chippendale of a game, my dear.
* * * * *
Sir: I am sure I saw her on the golf course one windy day. We offer her
the privilege of our course for entire season if she will agree to keep
herself in shape.