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Yip Yip HoorayNext time your putter misbehaves, try strapping it up. . .By Jeff Ritter
One of my greatest teaching experiences was working for world-renowned short game and putting instructor Dave Pelz.
After a few great years with Pelz, I left with enough putting information to help anyone and accepted a position with the Golf Digest School just outside New York City.
One afternoon, a gentleman shows up for a putting lesson. He’s wearing a bright green cardigan, a pair of slacks without a belt and white shoes. The perspiration stains on each garment emphatically told me that this was definitely his “golfing uniform.”
In addition to his unique style, the most intriguing thing to me was the nine putters he’s brought with him. He had the standard types like the Ping Anser, but he also had one with a head like a can of beer and another in the shape of a pickle. He was clearly a man searching for something.
His complaint was simple. “I have the yips.” He explained that it is so bad, the only way he can enjoy golf is to play to the green and pick-up! I’m confident though, that whatever he throws my way, I can handle.
My first order of business is to remove the source of his anxiety: the hole. I askedif he could putt a ball across the green without a yip. He couldn’t.
Next, I asked him to putt a ball across the green with his eyes closed to remove the anticipation of impact. Still, there was no progress. Sensing a difficult case, I grabbed a long putter. At first he was averse to the notion, but then after a little persuading he agreed to give it a go.
To my dismay, he maked a stroke that looked like he was shooing a mouse out of a kitchen with a broom.
After a few more standard remedies we were suddenly 45 minutes into our one-hour lesson and he hadn’t improved a lick. I grabbed a metronome to help him tune into a beat with his stroke to smooth things out. We continue working, but still there was no progress.
It is now Berhard Langer time. He clamped the putter to his left arm by grasping the shaft tight with his right hand. Still the yip was so great that the shaft was literally ripped from his arm.
On the verge of accepting defeat, I racked my brain for answers and remembered one bit of wisdom passed from father to son that is undeniably true; duct tape can fix anything!
Before he could get a word out, I slid the grip up against his left forearm and spiraled the tape from wrist to elbow. I had, in essence, created a perfect pendulum. Anyone who has ever duct -aped a hose on a car’s engine knows that this stuff is awesome. His arm and club were now as one, not only for that moment, but possibly forever.
As he began to putt, I could see his muscles trembling beneath the tape trying to break free, but the tape was working. A few minutes passed and a miracle happened. His wrist simply gave up. Like a boxer who had had enough, he just threw in the towel and conceded defeat. He began to make perfect strokes. He put his right hand on his arm to assume the previous clamp-style grip. Now he looked like a golfer as he continued to excel. I kneeled down to reflect on my victory and see him smile. He was clearly pleased. Unconventional, yes, but it worked!
He then suddenly realized that he was late for an appointment and began to quickly gather his things. After a few unsuccessful tugs at the tape, he grasped for his money clip, and as if peeling an orange one-handed, ripped off a hundred bucks and was out the door. He jogged through the parking lot as a small crowd began to follow. His putter still taped to his arm, he hopped in his car, tugged at the tape one more time, and then slung the club and his arm onto the dash as he drove away.
It was definitely one of the oddest lessons I’ve ever had.
Image by: Nishant Choksi www.nishantchoski.com
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My most enduring memory with Dave would have to be my first day of work. I rolled up to the Pelz facility only to see the likes of Tom Kite, Lee Janzen, Curtis Strange and Billy Andrade practicing. Then I heard the scream of a sports car engine ripping down the entrance to the short game school. It was Peter Jacobsen in a shiny new Ferrari with sunglasses on and the radio cranking. It was like Pimp My Ride colliding with X-Factor, but for golfers!
