Golfing where the wind blows free
When I hear interviews with the best golf professionals, I’m often struck by their concerns with wind-associated challenges. As if the courses weren’t already long enough, the fairways maddeningly narrow, and pin placements diabolical, those poor babies have to contend with winds. To hear many of them tell it, a ten-mph zephyr of a breeze can make the difference between choosing a wedge or a seven-iron. For guys who can dial their irons down to within a six foot radius, you would think they’d be able to handle such trivial challenges. Obviously, few of them have had to test their skills by playing a course on the South Plains.
One must acknowledge that headwinds and tailwinds affect yardage, which becomes critical when the pin has been set only ten feet, say, from the front edge of the green. Then the player must factor in slope, amount of backspin to be imparted, and any obstacles, like sand traps, water hazards, and/or overhanging tree limbs Crosswinds bring their own set of challenges, like whether to draw or fade the approach shot, and how much roll to expect on sloping greens. Many golfers can play their irons like a surgeon wielding a scape, carving a path through the air with exquisite precision, until the ball falls softly to the green in position for the birdie – or eagle – putt.
But when does a light breeze qualify to be called “wind,” and when does a wind turn into an impossible challenge? I’d suggest that anyone who has ever played a West Texas golf course has developed different ideas about what constitutes a real wind. There are always those occasional days of blessed calm, which of course means the wind is blowing at anything below twenty mph. On such days, hackers like myself are still factoring in wind that isn’t there.
And when the wind is really up, and the flags are bent over double, we will usually have to deal with the ever-lurking, or even raging, dust storms. In this semi-desert climate, there’s often no way to get enough water on the greens, resulting in a concrete-like pad for a landing area, with the resulting “flyer,” making a faded dream of your hopes for that elusive par. True Confession: In my case the wind is rarely as factor, as I can no longer hit the ball high enough or far enough for the wind to come into play. And my iron shots are usually dribbled along the ground, making them impervios to movement of the air. There are still a few benefits to getting old.)
So those fickle winds should portend dismal prospects for a golfer to maintain, much less improve, his shaky game. But the spirits of the average golfer are buoyed by the occasional “sweet” shot, keeping alive his Walter Mitty-like quest for adequacy. That’s about all we can expect: to “flush” one now and then, and even help his team on those odd days, when he plays in a “scramble” with a hot putter. Those are the times we live for.
I just said “we,” but “we” of the Geritol Generation appear but briefly, then fade away as our health problems multiply. But what about the real “A” player, or the student competing for a varsity spot on his/her school or college team? Can you think of a more rigorous test of his/her emerging golf skills, than to train and compete in conditions that would close schools in Wussyland? Playing sub-par golf, as best I can see, is not only attainable by these future stars, it becomes the norm – the expectation of the aspiring pro.
There is little doubt in my mind that the conditions for golf in this region not only sharpen one’s game, but they build tremendous confidence. Imagine a young Lubbock pro playing in the annual pro- am at Pebble Beach. The wind out there can be fierce, but a Tech-
trained, steely-eyed tiger will pay it no mind, beyond automatically factoring those conditions into his game, as though he were playing a $50 Nassau at the Rawls course. The wind will not get into his head, as it does to so many others.
And of course, we of the wannabe crowd will always take partial credit for his success, having paid years of dues on the same courses that made him a start!
George is an American Bad Ass. He grew up in Jersey, flew B-52s in Vietnam, taught English, Spanish and other languages to children around the world, makes his own salsa, has been known to enjoy a beer or two and has called Lubbock home for a few years, just to entertain the locals. Welcome to Raiderland, Major. We are going to feature some of his writings going forward. Some new, some old. Some rhyme, some don’t. When it comes to George, there’s no box. So… enjoy our friend and enjoy his writings! – Hyatt
