Putting Trip

Throughout the spring, Sam has sruggled with his putting and his nerves. While he continues to resist seeing a sports psychologist, he is more than willing to visit a putting psychologist.

“The best putting coach in Europe is Phil Kenyon,” his coach tells him.

Sam does some research and finds that Kenyon works out of Southport, England.

“Where’s Southport?,” I ask. It’s near Liverpool, Sam tells me, and we begin to plot how to get there. There are no flights between Brussels and Liverpool. There is a flight to Manchester, but its expensive. We decide to go to Scotland, drive south, and turn it into a golf weekend.

In Southport, we find a fading Victorian summer resort. Phil Kenyon works out of a small office in back of a row house. Could this be Europe’s putting mecca? Yes, it is.

Within a few minutes, Kenyon has analyzed what’s wrong with his putting stroke – and with his mental approach to putting. He checks his eyesight and shows that he is left eye strong, requiring him to stand over the ball at the front of his head. Wielding a sophisticated computer, he shows Sam how his stroke is too left to right and needs to be more straight back and straight though. He also works on his breathing and his “attitude” when he stands over the ball on the green. Sam gets a putter fitted for him and he no longer has any excuses.

Sam leaves understanding what was going wrong and he has a path to work on the problems. It was the first time that he was given such a clear explanation of his putting woes.

Beyond putting, Kenyon impressed He spoke clearly. He dissected Sam’s problem and explained how to fix it with concrete solutions. By the end of the lesson, I believe Sam has not just gotten a lesson in putting, but a lesson in how to tackle many tough problems in life. Get good data. Analyze the problem. Work hard – and be optimistic.

In the afternoon, Sam and I discovered that the Southport area is sprinkled with great links golf course after links golf course. Royal Birkdale, home to the British Open, looks magnificent, but costs almost 200 pounds a round. Hesketh, less spectacular, but still terrific, is our budget choice and we are delighted. I play terribly and lose a dozen or more balls.

But the next day, we play a lovely course called Formby Ladies. Formby also has a distinguished men’s course, but the ladies’ one is cheaper and uses the same terrain. I play a lot better, shooting a proud 77.

Sam is two over until the final two holes when he loses his concentration. Playing with Dad is just not a serious pursuit, like competing in a real tournament. His putting is not perfect. He still pushes a ton of balls right of the hole. But he also sees to be gaining in confidence on the greens. “I feel like I know what to work on now,” he says afterward.

The next day, we board the plane in Scotland and spot two Belgian touring pros, Guillaume Wattremez and Pierre Relecom. They were returning from the Challenge Tour event in Macdonald Spey Valley in northern Scotland.

"Where were you?," they asked.

"Seeing a putting coach," Sam responded.

"Oh, Phil Kenyon," Relecom answered, without hesitation. "He's the best. A real guru. He doesn't just teach you about putting. He teaches you about psychology."

So Phil, watch out. You may be getting a call from Relecom.

First Signs of Success

Sam played this past weekend in the King’s Prize on the Empereur Course. It is one of the “majors” of the Belgian amateur season. He was excellent in his first round.

For the first time this year, I saw smile coming off the course. He had a two over par round and was eighth in the tournament. He didn’t struggle. He hit the ball well. “If I only putted a little better, I would have been well under par,” he said.

The next day, Sam had to play 36 holes. I watched the first nine holes and it was instructive. He hit the ball much better than his playing partners. On the first hole, one boy hit into the water and took a triple bogey seven. The other missed the green with his second shot and took a five. Sam hit two perfect shots – and three putted for a five. On the second hole, he made another three putt. His playing partners kept missing the fairway, but scrambled for pars. By the turn, Sam was four over and his playing partners were two under and par.

Sam shot 77 and 78 to finish 19^th.

Parental Pride

I was in Paris the other day dining with a friend who has been reading this blog. She said she found my words “hard” on Sam. I was surprised. The last thing I wanted to be was “hard” on my fantastic, first born son. I am proud of him and thought my words shine with parental pride.

But I also can understand how even the slightest criticism – meant to be realistic or constructive – could be misconstrued. Sam has had a tough start to the golf season. He is putting too much pressure on his young shoulders. But I am more proud of him than ever before.

He just brought home his second semester grades from school. They are his best ever, with an average well over 8 out of 10. (For those Americans used to grade inflation, let me tell you that 8 out of ten at the European School of Brussels is one hellavu score)_

He is so excited about attending university in America and I am beginning to believe the tender loving care exhibited in my dealings with Davidson make it a more appropriate place to build confidence than my arrogant, impersonal alma mater Yale.

And when it comes to golf, Sam is not giving up. He is practicing harder than ever, determined to improve.

Shooting from Scotland

I'm proud of Sam.

He has been struggling on the course, fighting a fade in his shots and a lack of confidence in his shot making. His coach has corrected the swing sickness. When he manages to string together a strong run, however, Sam has failed to finish with panache, missing the cut in his last two big tournaments.

This past week, he traveled with the Belgian national junior team to Scotland to play in the Scottish Youth Championship. Its being played on a British Open qualifying course called Montfieth, a few kilometers from Carnoustie. On the phone, Sam told me it was a "true links."

In the first round, he shot a competitive 78. "I made some mental mistakes - it could have been much better." While a year ago, he would have called the round disastrous, this time he felt he had a fighting chance to make the cut.

In the second round, he teed off late and the wind was blowing hard against him in the first four holes. He began with a series of catastrophic holes that left him six over par after only four holes. Instead of giving up, though, he fought back, scoring back to back birdies. But on the next par five, he had to wait for a while lost his concentration and missed a short put. He struggled with his putting in the next few holes, but finished with a sparkling eagle on the 18th. It was too little to salvage the tournament - his 79 - left him failing to make the cut.

When Sam last went to Scotland, he easily made the cut in the Scottish Boys tournament. But what is encouraging is his attitude. On the phone, he called the round his "best yet mentally." Despite the horrendous start, he didn't give up. He fought. He broke 80. He sounded proud of himself, and he should be. If he has confidence, the results will follow.

A Long Trip

I’m writing these words travelling on a ferry between Dublin and England. My plan was to spend two days in Ireland on work. The volcano ash struck. I was sitting in a Ryanair plane on Thursday ready to return to Brussels when we were suddenly disembarked. I rescheduled for Saturday, but that plane was cancelled.

I couldn’t even get a ferry out yesterday – so I took the train south of the Irish capital to a seaside town of Bray. The weather was perfect, crisp, with sharp blue skies. The train passed along the seaside, with lush vegetation framing rocky beaches. Along the way, I spotted golf course after golf course.

When I debarked, I took a walk along the coast, enjoyed lunch in the sunshine – and then strolled over to the municipal course called the Dargle View Golf CourseThe clubhouse was a ramshackle affair manned by two elderly, unshaved men speaking in a thick Irish accent.

“Play a round?,” I asked.

“Sure,” they answered.

“I don’t have shoes, clubs and balls,” I warned.

“No problem.”

I paid 25 euros, about 35 dollars, and soon enough shoes missing spikes and a bag full of ancient clubs arrived. The driver had a wooden head.

Before the first tee, I chatted with some fellow local duffers. They asked about golf in Belgium. I explained how the game had an elitest image there. No Dargle View public walk on golf courses exist; only private clubs do. But they reminded me that Ireland has been forced to work hard to overcome its own golfing social divide. Not long ago, the game was the stronghold of the Protestant; only recently has it been opened to Irish of all religions.

The course itself was a nine-hole, somewhat ragged affair, shoehorned against the train tracks. But four of the holes had generous views of the sea. On this sunny day, perfect for golf, the stroll was refreshing. I hit some great shots and finished only three over par for nine holes.

Another Championship

Sam played the last two days of the Junior interclubs. His Sept Fontaines team won the national championship last year with him playing number one. This season, they are odds-in favorite. But in his first match with the team (he missed the first two days of competition at school), Sam won the deciding match, on the 19th hole.

“I played some good shots and some bad ones,” he sad. “Very erratic.”

I am in Ireland for work and follow only from a distance. The next day, the Sept Fontaines team wins the national championship. But Sam lost his two matches and is despondent about his play. In his last match, he was four up with five holes to play. Sept Fontaines already had won the match and he lost his concentration. In the end, he lost by a hole.

Tough Rounds

After such a promising start to his season, Sam is struggling.

He crashed out of the French Boys, shooting two rounds in the 80s. In contrast, his two Belgian buddies, Thomas Detry and Thomas Pieters, made it to the finals and semifinals. When Sam returned home, he said he was still happy. “I had a good time,” he said.

The following week, he failed to make the cut in the AFG Grand Prix. He missed by a stroke. I was out chaperoning friends and he played by himself. On the first hole, he said he chipped to a meter – and then three putt. Double bogey. Later in the round, he hit a terrific second shot to a meter from the hole – only to realize that he had hit the wrong ball. He returned to his first shot and hit another terrific shot, taking a two stroke penalty and ending with a bogey. In addition, his putting remained erratic.

After the match, he was crushed. So was I. He had prepared so well for the season. Yet he now admitted that he totally lacked confidence.