HUMAN SIDE OF GOLF

Evening Star, Issue 19724, 26 November 1927, Page 16

HUMAN SIDE OF GOLF

HOLES THAT WE DISLIKE FWrittea by Harr? Vardon, for the Star.’] Most of us have our pot aversions in golfing holes, as well as in other phases of life. On the course which wo frequent every week, or which we visit occasionally when holiday making, is a hole which wo thoroughly dislike. Every time wo como up to it we inform ourselves, and also our opponents, that wo detest it. There is a great deal of relief in being able to offer this explanation in advance; we feel that if wo lose it the other man will know why, and that wo shall have suffered a martyr’s fate. Meanwhile, the hole will have been counted against us—a circumstance that will have provided the only real jarring note to our justifiable and only-to-be-expected discomfiture at it. The curious thing is that wo often win it. or in a medal competition play it witli decent nrecision. Very often wo cannot for the life of us say why we abominate it. There is perhaps nothing about it that looks particularly offensive. It is just a plain, straightforward sort of hole that ought to inspire neither detestation nor affection. Yet wo took an involuntary dislike to it the first time that we saw it, and we cannot overcome the feeling.

Wo wish to goodness that the Green Committee would blot it out of the course in some way; incorporate it with the next hole and make a really good one of the two, and bring the total up to 18 by introducing a short hole just down by the hayrick. From time to time wo express our abhorrence of the hole, which we feci convinced has been the worst feature of the course ever since we knew it.

Possibly it is not so hateful as to induce us to abandon altogether our pilgrimages to tho scene. Very likely nobody else has formed an aversion to it. So wo cry in the wilderness, feeling more aggrieved than ever with tho Green Committee. BRAID’S BETE NOIR.

Great golfers confess to equally pronounced prejudices. Janies Braid once told me that he always had a feeling of repugnance for a certain hole at Muir/ield—it was the 12th one on the old course—although ho had never been able to explain the reason of it. He simply disliked it directly he saw it. In the open championship of 1906 ho had infinite faith in its capacity for giv* ing him trouble, and, sure enough, ho took 7 for it in tho very first round, lie was ready to agree that it was a good hole, judged by all lecogmsed standards; it required a long tee shot, followed by a perfectly executed iron stroke over a big bunker guarding the green.

It was similar to plenty of other holes which lio liked, yet it was different—so different that ha did not at all relish the task of playing it. And he promptly bungled it. That ho afterwards won tho championship spoke volumes for his power of rising to an occasion. Tho first round cost him 77—largely tho result of that 7—but ho obtained a grip on bimsclf every time he came to the 12th hole in the next three rounds.

Best of all, ho did it in four ou tho final afternoon, when its possibilities loomed large in his mind, and when a slip might have cost him the lead for which ho had struggled so hard, lie heaved one of the most grateful sighs of relief to which ho had ever given vent as he walked to the 13th tee on that occasion, with the marker putting down a four for tho hole which had been just finished. Golf is an intensely human game; that, presumably, is why' tho golfer conceives these likes and dislikes. He cannot express iiis reasons any more definitely than ho can tell you why lie approves of disapproves of certain men; he only knows that they stiike him as being objectionable people or very decent sorts. So it is with tho holes on the course. He either takes to them at once or sees bad in them at tho first blush of the introduction. There may oe a hole which often inflicts upon him dire retribuation and yet for which he has an affection. Perhaps ho appreciates its frank brutality. At any rate, ho goes - forward with zest to attack it. Ho likes it m spite of tho many unkind knocks that it has given him. AN EXAMPLE. There is another hole which lias seldom done him ony harm, but which he detests. It is a soulless, silly sort of hole. _ It aggravates him. Ho must play it, because the couple behind are pressing upon him and ho is not allowed to cut in nt the next tee, but he finds little pleasure in setting about it I have such a hole in mind. It is about 560yds long. Some people might call it a good tliree-shot hole. Others might dismiss it airily as an example of the hole that calls for " two kicns and a spit.” A considerable number hate tho wretched tiling. It boasts a cross-bunker and a half—the_ half being to catch a sliced second. lx. is uphill all the way; it is a downright wicked hole m hot weather. To me it seems to offer no incentive to thought. All that it demands is hard hitting and tho strength to eiimb a long hill. Nevertheless, there are people who say that they regard it as a line throe-shot hole.

The only holes that never arouse tho spirit of resentment within the golfer are the short ones. A very c-asy short hole, which is about as bad a feature as can exist in the design of a course, may be despised, but it is not to be altogether hated because of us simplicity. And a good short hole is bound to provoke esteem; it cannot very well have any other effect. We may be able to reach it with either cleek or iron or masbie; in any case, it gives us no opportunity for making an unheeding kind of full swipe on the teeing ground. Wo aie set thinking at once, and it is when we are forced to think dopiy that a hole becomes interesting and attractive. Short holes are increasing in number, and their vogue is satisfactory. They are essentially friendly creations; they always give a chance of threes. If we rub them the wrong way, that is our own fault. We cannot justifiably detest them because of our personal failings. Yes, the pigmies are pretty little things. The holes that wo dislike are usually those which we have far less reason to dislike.