COMPETITION PLAY
Its difficulties--Nerves are fatal--The philosophic
spirit--Experience and steadiness--The torn card--Too much hurry to
give up--A story and a moral--Indifference to your opponent's
brilliance--Never slacken when up--The best test of golf--If golf
were always easy--Cautious play in medal rounds--Risks to be
taken--The bold game in match play--Studying the course--Risks that
are foolishly taken--New clubs in competitions--On giving them a
trial--No training necessary--As to the pipe and glass--How to be
at one's best and keenest--On playing in the morning--In case of a
late draw--Watch your opponents.
It is the same game whether it is match or medal play, and the same
whether you are merely engaged in friendly rivalry with an old friend,
with half a crown or nothing at all but the good game itself at stake,
or testing your skill and giving rein to your ambition in a club or open
tournament with gold medals and much distinction for the final victors.
But, same game as it is, how convinced have we all been at times that it
is a very hard thing to play it always in the same way. How regularly
does an evil fate seem to pursue us on those days when we are most
desirous of doing ourselves full justice. Five times in a week will a
golfer go round the course and beat bogey, reckoning after each
performance that he has only to repeat it on Saturday to win the prize
which he covets, with several strokes to spare. Then Saturday comes, and
a sad falling off is there. By the time the sixth or seventh hole is
reached, the all-important card has perhaps been torn up into little
pieces and flung contemptuously into a convenient ditch.
Of course much of this sort of thing is due to nervousness, and there
is no game in which full control of the nerves and extreme coolness are
more necessary than in golf. Let the player be as keen as he likes--the
keener the better--but if he is apt to become too anxious at the
critical stage of a round or match, he is not the man who will ever win
prizes in great competitions. He who is the most composed when in
difficulties and when the game is going against him, and who treats each
fresh trouble as it comes along as a part of the ordinary day's work to
be surmounted in the best manner possible, is the player who will most
frequently come out the conqueror. In many cases the tendency to fall
into a highly nervous state at the smallest provocation will disappear
with time and lengthening experience. Each year of golf should bring
increasing steadiness, and the steadier a golfer becomes the more
frequently will he do his best scores when they are most wanted. And so
I must leave it to time and practice and the proper cultivation of the
best methods to bring the ambitious beginner along into the front rank
of his contemporaries. But still there are some useful hints which I may
offer him and which may facilitate his progress towards the acquisition
of medals and cups.
To begin with, there is a little sermon to be preached on that torn
card. "Nil desperandum" should always be the motto of the competition
player, and it is a motto that will probably pay better in golf than in
any other game. I think it is very likely that some scores of monthly
medals have been lost through a too precipitate destruction of the
scoring card when everything seemed to be going the wrong way. Every
player should remember that it is indeed a perfect card that is without
a blemish, and that on the other hand there are few rounds played by a
man who knows anything about the game that are bad all through. But some
men, because they have the misfortune to be debited with a couple of 8's
in the first four or five holes, forthwith give up the ghost and rend
their cards into small pieces with many and varied expressions of
disgust. Thereafter they play well, and at the conclusion of the match
are inclined to think that they were rather in too much of a hurry to be
out of the competition in its early stages. If they had made a fine card
for fourteen or fifteen holes from the beginning, they might have taken
two 8's towards the end much less seriously to heart. They would have
said to themselves that at all events there were many very fine holes,
and the misfortunes which came later were not sufficient to spoil their
chances of success. Well, then, when these annoyances happen near the
beginning, why not take a philosophical view of them and say that as
they had to come it was best that they should come quickly and be done
with, and then go on playing hole after hole coolly and properly until
at the end it is found that the early misfortunes have been amply
retrieved? I am aware that this is very simple advice, and that it
appears like a string of platitudes, but it is extremely sound and yet
it is ignored on every medal day. Never, never tear up your card, for
golf is indeed a funny game, and no man knows what is going to happen
when it is being played. There are numberless historic instances to
support this counsel, but I will quote only one which came under my
personal observation recently, and which to my mind is one of the most
remarkable of all. It occurred at a London club. Six players were left
in the final round for a cup competition, and the conditions of playing
in this final were that a medal round should be played on two different
Saturdays. On the first Saturday three of the players tore up their
cards, and so only three remained to fight out the issue on the second
Saturday. On this occasion one of the remaining three tore up his card
very early, and soon afterwards a second did so, each being unaware of
the other's action, the third player being likewise ignorant of the fact
that his rivals had disappeared from the contest, and that now, being
the only man left in, he could make any return he liked and become the
possessor of the cup. Presently he also fell into grievous
difficulties, and was on the point of tearing up his card like the
others, when the player who was marking for him stayed his hand. He had
some idea of what had happened, and, bad score as his man's was, he
insisted on its being completed, with the result of course that he was
hailed as the winner of the tournament. He at all events would for the
rest of his golfing days respect the moral which I have here endeavoured
to convey; and what must have been the reflections of the other
competitors who threw up the sponge, when they discovered afterwards
that if they had kept plodding along they would still have had an
excellent chance!
Similarly in match-play competitions, do not get into the way of
thinking that your chance is hopeless just because your opponent becomes
two or three up on you, or even more than that, early in the game; and,
above all, do not alter your style of play in consequence. Nothing pays
like your own best and steadiest game and a stolid indifference to all
the brilliant things that your opponent is doing. It is unlikely that he
will keep on doing them all through the game, and when the reaction
comes you will speedily make up the leeway. There are many ups and downs
in a game of golf; and when the players are at all evenly matched, and
neither has lost his head, early differences have a way of regulating
themselves before the game is very far advanced. No doubt it is
disconcerting to be three down after only three have been played; but
are there not fifteen still to come? But it often appears that an even
greater danger awaits the inexperienced golfer than that of funk when
things are going against him, in that he is too frequently apt to become
careless when he has obtained a trifling advantage. Never slacken your
efforts when you are two or three holes up, but continue to play with
all your might and with an extreme of cautiousness until at last you are
one more up than there are holes still to play, for not until then are
you sure of victory. When a man has once held a good lead, but by
playing carelessly has allowed his opponent to get on level terms with
him again, the moral effect upon him is usually extremely bad. When this
has happened he is inclined to regard himself not as still on equal
terms with his opponent, but as having suffered a great loss and being
in grave danger of defeat. And this feeling is the prelude to actual
defeat and the bitter self-accusations that must inevitably follow. I
may have seemed to labour these simple points, but every old golfer will
bear me out in saying that a proper regard for the essence of this
advice is the first necessity for the man who covets honours in the
golfing world.
I say that all golf is the same, and no matter whether it is match or
medal play, the simple object is to hole out each time in the fewest
number of strokes; but the fact that a single bad hole counts far more
heavily against you in a medal round, where all the strokes are added
together at the finish, than in match play, where the bad hole is simply
one of eighteen, and in which there is only one man to be beaten, of
whose performances you are a spectator, instead of an invisible
field--this difference generally calls for a change in tactics,
particularly on the part of the player who knows to a nicety his own
capabilities and limitations. Score play is not, of course, so generally
interesting as match play, and for this reason will never be so popular;
but from my point of view it is the best golf and the best test of golf;
indeed, in these respects I think there is really no comparison between
the two systems. Score play tests the qualities of both the golfer and
the sportsman. If he makes a bad hole and drops two or three to bogey,
he must not lose his temper, which proceeding is both useless and fatal,
but must screw up his determination, and realise that if he can snatch a
stroke from bogey at the next two or three holes, all will be just as
well as ever. He must always be hopeful. If we never made a bad hole,
were never set any difficult task, always did just what we tried to
do--well, what then would be the use of playing golf? We should very
soon ask ourselves this question, and as there would be no satisfactory
answer to it, we should cease to play. The difficulties and the
annoyances of golf are after all the things that make the game so
attractive and render it so subtly fascinating.
But all the same, when you are playing a medal round in a competition,
give due consideration beforehand to this overwhelming fact, that bad
holes do tell more heavily against you than in match play, and that when
they are made they are not over and done with, but are on permanent
record as faults to be atoned for before the round is completed. When
the score player sends his ball into a bunker, takes two to escape, and
holes out in eight strokes instead of in five, his punishment is not
completed at this stage, as in match play. The case is held over in view
of what his future conduct may be. He is, in fact, ordered to come up
for judgment if called upon. Now, to avoid the pain and anxiety of all
this, I suggest to the player who takes out a card in a score
competition, that he should make up his mind at the beginning of the
round that from the first hole to the finish he will be more than
usually cautious. By this I do not mean to say that he should always
play the strict safety game, for the man who invariably plays for safety
and nothing else will soon find his card running up very high. Certain
risks must be taken; but do not accept the very doubtful risks. In match
play, I say always play the bold game. Go for everything that you can.
If there is a bunker somewhere about the limit of your best possible
carry, go for it. If you have a long putt for the hole, give the hole a
chance, and either be in or beyond. But I do not suggest that these
things should also be done in score-play competitions. If the hole is
guarded by a bunker, and you have reason to fear that you cannot carry
that bunker, it is in these circumstances a thousand times better to
play short than to take the risk of putting your ball into it and
making a serious blot upon your card. Similarly, when on the putting
green, and there is a long distance between your ball and the hole,
bring your mind to realise that it is really of less importance that you
should hole out in one stroke than that you should do so in not more
than two, and therefore concentrate your whole energies on placing
yourself dead for the second putt. Therefore I say, accept a risk now
and then when there is a fairly good prospect of success, and when the
reward for it will be commensurate with the danger that was incurred.
The last-named is an important clause. The course should be studied hole
by hole for medal play, and the competitor should come to an exact
understanding with himself as to the things that must be done and what
things need not be done. Thus it frequently happens that a player,
seeing a bunker some distance in front of him but yet not quite out of
his range, goes for it as a matter of course. Obviously he must incur a
certain amount of risk, and it may happen that even if he carries it in
safety he may not be better off at all than if he were ten or fifteen
yards on the playing side. In either case it may be an easy shot to the
green, and it may even happen that of the two the longer one would be
the easier for this particular golfer. But it is quite likely that he
never took any account of that when taking the risk of the bunker. Now
this man is to be remonstrated with, for, with the best intentions, he
has displayed not courage but folly. He must realise that all bunkers
are not of necessity to be carried with long shots. If all golfers
played the same game, and always their best game, and, moreover, if all
bunkers were placed in the proper places for bunkers, then it would be
their duty to go for them every time. But either through the very good
or the very bad shots that have gone before, we find that these carries
vary very much, and, besides, the bunkers on all courses are certainly
not placed exactly where they ought to be, and so for reckoning up the
proper mode of play in order that the hole may be captured in the
fewest possible number of strokes, they can sometimes for all practical
purposes be disregarded.
A golfer is often in an anxious state of mind when the day of a
competition in which he wishes to do well arrives, and he is painfully
conscious that he is completely off his play with one or other of his
clubs, and has an abiding fear that it will bring him to grief. When he
feels like this about the club, it will probably do so. Now the question
is, whether at this crisis he shall take out a new one with which he is
entirely unfamiliar and trust to luck with it, or put his faith once
more in the instrument which of late has repeatedly spoilt his game. He
is usually advised that in such circumstances he should not indulge in
any risky experiments, and that it is madness to take a new and untried
club out with him when it is more or less imperative that he should play
one of his best rounds. But I am not by any means sure that this advice
is well founded. No golfer plays well with a club in which he has
completely lost confidence. It may not be the fault of the club at all;
but there is the fact. On the other hand, the player is always possessed
of a certain amount of hope when he takes a new implement in his hands.
He has convinced himself beforehand, or at least ought to have done,
that its points are just what he most admires, and that he is likely to
do well with it. And so he probably will, even if it is only for a round
or two. It is the confidence trick again. What I suggest, therefore, is
that when this grave uncertainty exists about the kind of performance
that will probably be made with one of the articles in the bag, and
there is a new and good substitute ready at hand, the latter should not
be disregarded because of a kind of instinct that in a big fight it is
best to stick to the old weapons. Take the new one out with you, but do
not call it into service for the first hole or two. During this
preliminary stage give the old but disappointing favourite another
chance to show that it will not desert you in the hour of need; but if
it fails to rise to the occasion and you blunder with it during the play
at the first and second holes, pass sentence upon it forthwith and
relegate it finally to your bag. Then at the third hole let the new one
have its trial. Over and over again have I found this method succeed
most wonderfully, and I am a particular believer in it in connection
with putters. A golfer may have been putting badly for a long time, but
directly he takes a new putter in his hand he feels that a great change
for the better has been effected, and forthwith he begins to astonish
himself by holing out from almost anywhere, or at least always getting
his ball dead the first time. There is no accounting for these things.
They seem very absurd. But there they are, and no doubt it will be
agreed that a medal or a cup is worth a new putter any time.
I do not believe in any sort of training for important golf matches. It
is not necessary, and it generally upsets the man and throws him off his
game. If he is a smoker let him smoke all the time, and if he likes an
occasional glass of wine let him take it as usual. A sudden stoppage of
these luxuries causes a feeling of irritation, and that is not good for
golf. The game does not seem the same to you as it was before. For my
part I am neither a non-smoker nor an abstainer, and I never feel so
much at ease on the links and so fully capable of doing justice to
myself as when smoking. But at the same time I believe in the most
complete moderation. Only by the constant exercise of such moderation
can that sureness of hand and eye be guaranteed which are absolutely
necessary to the playing of good golf. On one occasion when I had a
championship in view I stopped the tobacco for a short period
beforehand, and I am bound to confess that the results seemed excellent,
and perhaps some day I may repeat the experiment. But there was nothing
sudden about the abstinence in this case, and by the time the big days
came round I had become thoroughly accustomed to the new order of
things, and the irritation had passed away. However, these are matters
which every man may be left to decide for himself according to his own
good common sense, and the only object I had in introducing them was to
counsel the avoidance of sudden whims and freaks, which are never good
for golf.
Another question is how much or how little golf should be played
beforehand when a man desires to give himself the best chance of playing
his best game on a certain specified day. That depends largely upon how
much golf he is in the habit of playing in the ordinary course. If he is
a man who plays regularly, almost every day when it is fine, I think he
will generally do far better for himself by abstaining altogether for a
day or two before the competition. Then, when he goes out to play in it,
he will experience a zest and keenness which will be very much in his
favour. There is no danger that in this brief period of rest he will
have forgotten anything that he knew before, but, on the other hand, he
will have a greatly improved capacity for taking pains, and every stroke
will be easy to him. His confidence will be refreshed. If he continues
to play his round or two rounds every day right up to the date of the
competition, he will undoubtedly be "over-golfed," will have a great
tendency to fall into errors, and will be generally careless. But if the
would-be prize-winner is a man who has usually to content himself with
week-end golf, it would be all in his favour if he could put in a day or
two of practice before taking part in the big event. There will be no
possibility of his becoming stale by so doing.
When a competitor has the choice of playing his round either in the
morning or the afternoon, I strongly advise him to select the former and
get the thing over as soon as possible. I am positive that his chances
of success are usually greater when he does so, especially if, in case
of his electing to play in the afternoon, he has nothing particularly to
occupy his mind and attention in the interval except his prospects in
the forthcoming contest. Golfers are freshest and keenest in the
morning, their bodies and limbs are most vigorous and anxious for work,
and--a very important consideration--their eyes are most to be depended
upon. And it is not an unimportant consideration that there is no
indigestible lunch to interfere with the perfect ease of mind and body
which are necessary to the making of a good card.
But often, particularly in the case of important open competitions, the
times of starting are decided by lot, and the competitor, on arriving at
the course, finds that he has to accept the disadvantages of a late
draw, and must endure a period of waiting for his turn to tee up. It is
best to dispose of these wearisome periods not in hanging about the tee
or in the vicinity of the club-house, but by going out with one of the
early couples, watching their methods, and making note of the exact
manner in which their best holes are played. If the course is a strange
one, the information which the watcher thus derives will be invaluable
to him when he comes to play his own round, for he will now be possessed
of the most excellent hints as to difficulties which demand special
efforts to avoid, and of particular strokes which it is in the highest
degree necessary to play well. Not until he has watched the play of
others in this manner will the enormous significance of the position of
a particular bunker be made clear to him; he will discover the great
danger of being short with certain strokes, and of overrunning the green
at various holes. By thus watching other competitors' play he will
probably learn more about the nature and peculiarities of the course and
the way it is playing on this particular occasion, than if he were doing
a round with his own clubs. Therefore, if there is time to be killed,
this is most decidedly the way in which to kill it, and I may add that
it is the method which I myself adopt on every possible occasion. I know
that in championships and tournaments I have reaped great advantage in
watching closely the play of my fellow-competitors, their triumphs and
their failures, while waiting for my own turn to begin.