It’s almost May, and with a turn of the weather we serious golfers get ready for a serious assault on the links. Having been stuck inside for months with cold, nasty conditions forbidding enough to stifle even the most hardy players, we have, for a lack of anything better to do, allowed ourselves to be subjected to endless golf talk. I admit it: I love it. I find no subject more interesting than golf, as absurd as that may seem.

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“You know why they call it “love grass”, asked John Whelan, our Irish tour guide? None of the 24 American golfers (6 Middle Atlantic club professionals, including myself, and 3 amateurs we each invited to come along as a team) knew the answer.

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You may be wondering (at least those of you with a bent for literature) why I would choose a passage from an English poet when writing about my experience in Scotland. There may be no answer good enough for a Scotsman (who dislike the English to the extreme), but suffice it to say that Wordsworth’s thoughts truly represent the way I feel about my visit there.

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Every now and then my students ask me how I got to know what I know. What were my influences? Did I have a teacher who guided me through my career? What books did I read and follow? The answer to the first question is quite simple. My Father showed me how to swing a club and how to play, and helped me along until I could beat him at age 13, beyond which I pretty much did things on my own until after college, when I took the only golf lesson of my life, from David Ledbetter in 1982. As we looked at the video tape of my swing it occurred to me that I could see everything he [...]

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