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Every Golfer His Own Doctor
 There are a great many of us on the links to-day who have but the smallest notion concerning the theory of the different shots played in a round of golf. We should all be very much better players, and our temperature would drop to normal, if we carefully played golf in our mind as we sat in an armchair by the fire on a winter's evening. The professional can do us a great deal of good. It is his business, and, naturally, he can drum into our ears the everyday maxims of the game. But, even though he is a Braid or Vardon, he has not the power to instil enough inspiration in order to make our strokes go right.Success in golf largely depends upon the player himself—I mean from an improving point of view. We may know the game thoroughly and have spent pounds in order to play with the best professionals. Not one in a hundred of us has ever tried to cultivate the purely personal imagination, the dogged 'prentice knowledge which we must all fall back upon sooner or later. Most of us refuse to go back to the very commencement; it is against our human nature. Once our game has been fairly started, and the possibilities of beating bogey (or a similar handicapped player) are in view, we are in a sense satisfied, for we are now always certain of some sort of a round. This is not improbably at the end of our first year, and we are content to continue jogging along, taking a hundred and more for the round, feeling as though the world was merry and bright. Then we play for another year, what time our studies have been neglected and the yearning for more and more match play has asserted itself.
At the end of the second year we win a monthly medal. Our handicap is heavy, and by dint of some lucky putts and one or two hefty smacks with a wooden club we manage to put together a very excellent score. From this day our misery commences. That card has been placed upon the mantelpiece and the deathknell of incompetence is going to be shouted at us until the day of our departure for the unknown links where bunkers may not be en evidence. We shall never forget that one good score. It is going to be our ban in life. We are looking forward to improving off strokes here and there in order to bring the gross total within the near proximity of bogey. With this idea in view the golfer commences to practice hard, and may be the professional is asked for advice. It is too late then, my friends. This is the saddest moment of our lives. Did we not leave the professional at the end of the first year? We shall have to pay for those daily rounds wherein we heeded not the possibilities of arrant failure later on. I know scores of golfers who have finished their long climb on the scratch ladder at this period of their career. So many have told me afterwards: "If only I had stayed with the pro. a little longer." Ah! "If." It means such a lot, doesn't it?
Now, look here, and just see if there is no way out. It must be agreed, before we continue any further, that when the golfing babe leaves the professional's arms he does so for ever and always. Let him stay there for as long as he likes, but, for heaven's sake, do not permit him to fly off to the first tee as soon as he finds himself hitting the ball correctly. Surely it is when you are playing at your best that the pro. can be of assistance to you. He can sum you up at once. He knows your weight and your possibilities. When you are slicing and pulling, don't rush to the pro. Go out into a corner of the course and fight it out by yourself. I imagine that the above is all taken for granted by my readers, so I will continue to the moment when we commence the preliminary "finis" to our golfing happiness.
The game that we once thought so splendid and so sound has fallen to pieces. We are reduced to regrets and sighs. Our tee shots are hopeless and so different to last week, when we supremely hoped that it would be our honor to drive before an enthusiastic gallery of onlookers, who would watch the beautiful rhythm with which we swung the club. They would also be agreeably surprised to see the wonderful follow-through—the utmost confidence and perfect timing of our first tee shot. To-day we are ashamed. We slink before a gallery of four old ladies; even they can hit the ball truer than we can. Whether we continue in this state or improve out of sight is solely dependent upon ourselves. The professional is no use to us now, for there is a certain muscle in our body that is spoiling each shot we make. The year's play has caused that muscle to stiffen, and it clicks as we drive, and counteracts the balance of the swing. It merely means this: Whenever we have a moment to spare, let us shut our eyes and imagine ourselves driving a ball from the tee. This has cured some hopeless cases, for the golfer with a keen instinct can picture himself without the slightest trouble. The feet must be still, and the "push" out must be done at the right moment. It is all so easy—in an armchair by the fire.
I would ask my readers to be good enough to try this little idea. They must have the shot that is troubling them fixed securely in their mind's eye. Then I think the whole swing will untie itself naturally and gracefully, just as it used to do when you were playing well. It seems such a little thing, but I have seen players improve their game with it and gain confidence which is the great thing. That is not the chief point. The chances are that the player will get his own game back again. That is what matters. Let him think it out for himself when he is alone. Then all of a sudden he will make a rush for the poker and say: "Now I've got it, thank goodness!" How soon will you say that?
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