Yip Yip Hooray

One of my greatest teaching experiences was working for world-renowned short game and putting instructor Dave Pelz.

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 practising. 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!

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 tell me that this is definitely his “golfing uniform.”

In addition to his unique style, the most intriguing thing to me is the nine putters he’s brought with him. He has the standard types like the Ping Anser, but he also has one with a head like a can of beer and another in the shape of a pickle. He’s clearly a man searching for something.

His complaint is simple. “I have the yips.” He explains 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 see if he can putt a ball across the green without a yip. He can’t.

Next, I ask him to putt a ball across the green with his eyes closed to remove the anticipation of impact. Still, there is no progress. Sensing a difficult case, I grab a long putter. At first he is averse to the notion, but then after a little persuading he agrees to give it a go.

To my dismay, he makes a stroke that looks like he is shooing a mouse out of a kitchen with a broom.

Image by: Nishant  Choksi  www.nishantchoski.com


Originally published, Golf Punk Magazine, UK

After a few more standard remedies we are suddenly 45 minutes into our one-hour lesson and he hasn’t improved a lick. I grab a metronome to help him tune into a beat with his stroke to smooth things out. We continue working, but still there is no progress.

It is now Berhard Langer time. He clamps the putter to his left arm by grasping the shaft tight with his right hand. Still the yip is so great that the shaft is literally ripped from his arm.

On the verge of accepting defeat, I rack my brain for answers and remember one bit of wisdom passed from father to son that is undeniably true; duct tape can fix anything!

Before he can get a word out, I slide the grip up against his left forearm and spiral the tape from wrist to elbow. I have in essence created a perfect pendulum. Anyone who has ever duct taped a hose on a car’s engine knows that this stuff is awesome. His arm and club are now as one, not only for this moment, but possibly forever.

As he begins to putt, I can see his muscles trembling beneath the tape trying to break free, but the tape is working. A few minutes pass and a miracle happens. His wrist simply gives up. Like a boxer who has had enough, it just throws in the towel and concedes defeat. He begins to make perfect strokes. He puts his right hand on his arm to assume the previous clamp-style grip. Now he looks like a golfer as he continues to excel. I kneel down to reflect on my victory and see him smile. He is clearly pleased. Unconventional, yes, but it works!

He then suddenly realizes that he is late for an appointment and begins to quickly gather his things. After a few unsuccessful tugs at the tape, he grasps for his money clip and as if peeling an orange one handed, rips off a hundred bucks and is out the door. He jogs through the parking lot as a small crowd begins to follow. His putter still taped to his arm, he hops in his car, tugs at the tape one more time, and then slings the club and his arm onto the dash as he drives away.

It was definitely one of the oddest lessons I’ve ever had.