NUMEROUS and varied are the ills to which the golfing flesh is heir. Fortunately it is nearly always possible for an experienced player to diagnose with accuracy the disease of stance or swing which is causing distress to a fellow-golfer, point out to him the character of his burden, and suggest a cure. In that respect, golf is different from most other outdoor games. The ball is struck from a stationary position; consequently, cause is as clearly defined as effect to the person who has made a deep study of the shots.

Occasionally, in the case of an ordinarily good player who is temporarily harassed by a slight deviation from the correct method, the secret of the trouble is hard to fathom. I know of one excellent golfer who, in a time of adversity, called together quite a large party of championship winners in order that they might examine his methods, confer as to the nature of his affliction, and prescribe. After a little while they discovered the origin of the disease, and effected a cure. The discussion that proceeded while the patient displayed his swing was solemn in the extreme; it was like a meeting of specialists at a critical point in a grave illness. Still, it had good results. Naturally, in the case of an indifferent player, diagnosis is easier, because the faults are generally more pronounced. My object in this chapter is to deal with affections that often visit themselves upon the moderate golfer, to explain the cause of such distressing phenomena, and to indicate how they may be eradicated. I do not propose to launch out, like a quack doctor, with the remark that I have a cure for every complaint. Much must be left to the heedfulness and diligence of the patient himself. Moreover, there are some cases so terribly complicated (the stance, the swing, and everything else are wrong), that there is little hope for the victim unless he decides to forget his present methods, and start the game over again in the proper way. He must make a new golfer of himself. An instance of this kind comes to my mind. The victim of chronic incorrectness whom I have in view is one of the best-hearted men I know, and I must confess that he derives boundless enjoyment from the pursuit of the pastime in his own peculiar way; but his style is really enough to make the hair of an instructor stand on end.

In some extraordinary manner he hits the ball with the top of the club-head - that is to say, on that part where the name is engraved. This is not merely an occasional eccentricity; . he does the the same thing with nearly every shot he plays, even through the green. He wears the name off the wood in next to no time. He cannot use iron clubs because the surface at the top of the head is not sufficiently big to enable him to hit the ball. Rumour says that he has never been known to strike with the face. To hear him call for a spoon when he is right under a hedge is almost paralysing. I once followed his fortunes for about ten minutes on a certain course. Starting from the fourth tee, he directed the ball by a series of zig-zag movements on to a green of the homeward half. Having dropped his ball at the side, he proceeded to scoop it on to yet another green in the last nine holes. He was still playing to the fourth. From his new base of operations, he got into a pond which was supposed to be a hazard for another hole which he had yet to tackle. Ultimately he reached the fourth green after having worked his way completely round it. The man who is so philosophic as to be able to thoroughly enjoy the game even when he plays it very badly is an enviable soul. I do, indeed, covet his happy disposition. The great majority of golfers, however, earnestly desire to execute the shots properly, and when a person finds that he is doing nearly everything wrongly, I can but recommend him to place himself in the hands of a capable coach, and learn whether his only remedy is the desperate one of retracing his footsteps to the place from which he started, and beginning his career as a golfer in an amended manner.

Let us consider, however, the case of the player who is in possession of the right ideas, but who is suffering tribulation on account of a temporary incapacity to put those ideas into operation. He should look first to ascertain that he is gripping properly. He may have fallen unwittingly into the habit of placing one hand or the other too far under the shaft, or he may have gone to the opposite extreme, which is equally bad. Whether the golfer affects the overlapping grip or the older two-V grip, in which the hands touch but do not overlap, it is important to see that the knuckles are neither under nor over the shaft of the club. As nearly as makes no difference, the knuckles of the left hand should be facing the line of play, while those of the right hand should be pointing in the other direction. I am writing, of course, of right-handed golf. In no circumstances, should the knuckles of either hand be looking down at the turf or up at the sky.

A frequent cause of disaster, especially with iron clubs, is failure to ground the implement in a reasonable manner behind the ball. The proper way is the easiest; that, perhaps, is why so many thousands of people do not take advantage of it. In golf, as in other affairs of life, humanity has a knack of making things difficult for itself. There is no surer means of learning how far to stand from the ball than the simple expedient of seeing that the whole length of the club's sole, from toe to heel, is resting on the turf when the club is grounded. Yet there are countless players who take up their stance and perform the ceremony of the address with the toe of the cleek, iron, or mashie cocked into the air. Having occupied a position a goodly distance from the ball for the driver shot, they appear to be afraid of drawing appreciably closer when they have to select one of the shorter clubs. So far as one can judge, they fear that they may get so near as to be unable to swing freely. They ought to be considerably closer for the iron or the mashie than for the driver. They may rest assured that if they have space sufficient in which to swing back, they will have just as much room in which to come down again. There is such a fault as getting too close to the ball, but it is a blight which affects only one player for every fifty golfers who do not stand near enough for their iron shots. They reach forward in a strained manner - a process which in itself compels them to stoop unduly - with the result that they have very little chance of either pivoting properly or grazing the turf with the length of the club's sole as they execute the stroke. It is easy to fall into the habit of stretching the arms too much in the address in order to reach the ball; it is equally easy to avoid this straining by closing in a little on the ball. Therefore, let the player who is in the throes of purgatory satisfy himself that he is gripping properly, and soling the club properly.