(Plus one more really annoying thing)

By Joe Buttitta, veteran sports journalist and current golf pro

DISCLAIMER: I am a teaching golf professional who really loves his job. I am not a licensed sports psychologist. But some of the things about some of the people I teach just plain p*** me off. Kingdom kindly offered me a place to vent, and so with a mind to perhaps making you a better student (and thus a more improved golfer), and on behalf of teaching pros everywhere, here are a few things to keep in mind next time you’re headed to a lesson. My tongue is firmly planted in my cheek… Or is it?

In reverse order of annoyance:

The Non-Bather

This guy or gal annoys me and makes me sick to my stomach. Imagine standing on the range and smelling a mix of sweat, cigarette smoke and rotten potatoes, only this human stench is much worse. Problem is, everyone thinks it’s me.

Moral of the story: Shower before your lesson—please.

The “Yes, But…” Guy

Every teacher has one of these, and I’m cursed with several of them. This is the person who is certain he knows more than the pro. Let’s take the grip, for instance. You spend lesson after lesson shaping a personal grip for this guy or gal and they always respond by saying those two miserable words: “Yes, but…” “Yes, but it doesn’t feel comfortable. Let me show you how I want to grip the club.” “Yes, but I like to position my feet like that.” “Yes, but I’ve always been told my wrists should do this.”

Of course they never improve to their satisfaction, to which I say, “Yes, but… you never listen to me!” It’s like constantly treading water, and so making progress is impossible! Invariably they pass the word that Joe doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How can I? I’m too busy listening to their “Yes, buts.”

Moral of the story: If you knew better, you wouldn’t need a lesson.

The Liar

This person shows up for the lesson with fresh-out-of-the-box Miuras, a giant leather Tour bag and an alpha-male attitude. He claims to be a plus-two handicap, but immediately he produces four ground ball 9-irons off the mat. His 7-iron is good for three textbook shanks, and his 5-iron is destined never to leave the ground—he’s a born curler if I ever saw one. Then he wants to hit a driver, and boy I can’t wait to see this. By now my annoyance is turning into a kind of amusement as the charade persists. This is getting entertaining! With all of the high-end equipment, clothing and crazy shots bouncing all over the place, these newbees invariably draw a crowd, so roughly 20 people stop practicing to watch. And to paraphrase former St. Louis Cardinal baseball announcer Jack Buck, “they can’t believe what they just saw.” Five times the student in question raised his driver in a high arc and—so help me Babe Ruth—three times he whiffed the ball. Complete mosquito killers. Then he hits two pop-ups that any decent catcher could handle. God help me, then he wanted to know when we could hit the course. “As soon as you can hit the ball,” I replied. Nice clubs, though.

Moral of the story: Come humble. There’s no shame in needing help with your game—that’s what keeps us pros employed! So be honest with your pro. In the end, it will save you a lot of embarrassment and it will save us both a lot of time.

The Dreamer

It happens a few times each year: An obvious non-golfer shows up and wants a lesson because his annual company tournament is next month. I ask him to take a few swings with a 9-iron. “Whattaya think?” he wants to know. I think he should suddenly develop an elbow problem just before tournament day. “I just want to be respectable,” he says, quite seriously. He asks me to hit a few. I do. “See, now that’s how I want to hit it,” he says. If I think this guy’s check won’t bounce I say, “Well, let’s get to it.” I certainly hope his tournament is a Scramble.

Moral of the story: Have realistic expectations. Getting “respectable” in golf can take months. Or years. Or a lifetime.

The Letterman

And I don’t mean David. This former athlete from a galaxy far, far away lettered in Greco–Roman wrestling in high school and somehow made the All-City team. This was 30 years and 40 pounds ago. But by all rights, he should be great at golf, right? I mean, what the heck?!! Both sports are so similar! In truth, golf is a hand/eye coordination game, so I give him my instant test: I soft toss him a golf ball. If he snatches it out of the air without so much as a fumble, he’s got my attention. If he bobbles it against his chest, drops it to the ground, kicks it and takes three subsequent bounces to corral the thing, I refer him to another teacher. He doesn’t have a chance, and I don’t have enough time. “But I was an All-City wrestler,” he pleads. Yeah, so wrestle the ball!

Moral of the story: Ever seen Charles Barkley’s swing? Right. Being a former athlete might indicate that you have an advantage in learning golf, but only if your former sport was golf.

Wedge? What’s A Wedge ?

As far as this guy knows, a wedge is a fancy salad. He wouldn’t know a golf wedge if it bounced off his noggin (see what I did there?). He just doesn’t give a darn. His short game is generally ignored despite my attempts to convince this golfer that it’s the surest way to a lower score, guaranteed. “Give me the driver,” he demands. He says he wants to lower his handicap but he doesn’t enjoy chipping, pitching or putting. He doesn’t even know the difference between a chip and a pitch (though I can’t blame him here: so many TV golf announcers don’t either). He averages 42 putts for 18 holes and yet when he gets back on the range, yep, he grabs the driver! Highly annoying.

Moral of the story: “Drive for show, putt for dough” didn’t come from nowhere. Yes, whacking the dimples off the ball is great if you can keep it straight, but ignore your short game at your own peril. Scores drop (or rise) quickly closer to the hole.

And headlining my all-time list of annoyances is THE HUSBAND—By far the most odious of all golf species. He causes the most grief to teaching professionals everywhere, and the hubbies are all the same. He wants his wife to learn golf so together they can travel the world visiting all of the outstanding golf destinations he sees on TV. It soon becomes obvious that the farthest they should go is Disney World. Nonetheless, he signs up his wife for a series of six lessons. Yep, that oughta do it! Right about the third lesson you notice that you are repeating much of what you already covered in the first two lessons. Ah, the poor woman. She has trouble remembering simple things, like how to hold the club. Basic stuff, like where you point your toes. Undaunted, you continue because his check didn’t bounce.

But one day, suddenly, it all makes sense. The girl isn’t the problem. You notice that hubby dear has hung around closely during her lessons, watching like a hawk. And when the lesson is over and I leave, he swoops in. Boy, does he! Like it’s mandated in the marriage license. All of a sudden he’s the expert, he becomes the teaching pro, and just like that he does his best to undo just about everything you taught his wife.

He changes the grip you think she should use. His kind of stance should work better. Don’t focus so much on posture, dear. And balance? Don’t worry about that either. Just swing hard, darling, in case you hit it. Red flags appear everywhere. The woman we thought was a bit simple is revealed to be a confused victim caught in the instructional crossfire, with bad information being heaped on top of good. She’s doomed. She listens to him. I got no chance. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s sleeping with the guy!

Moral of the story: If you’re the student, trust your pro and ignore everyone else. If you’re the hovering husband, stand down and don’t confuse your wife or friends. And if you really want to give golf lessons, “Becoming a PGA professional unlocks the door to a rewarding and exciting career in a sport that spans the globe.” That’s from the PGA’s website. But then you knew that already, didn’t you.