Golfers Quotes

You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America's Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named "Bush", "Dick", and "Colin." Need I say more?

The greatest thing about tomorrow is, I will be better than I am today. And that's how I look at my life. I will be a better golfer, I will be a better person, I will be a better father, I will be a better husband, I will be a better friend. That's the beauty of tomorrow.

Now, I was well aware that certain sports required certain modes of dress for protection, but I failed to see how wearing a sleeveless blouse on the course qualified as a safety hazard. God forbid the sight of my bare shoulders should send male golfers into a tizzy, knocking balls everywhere.

I golf like a Jackson Pollock painting. I splatter my shots all over the place—and then I act like I just produced a masterpiece.

Your appearance, attitude, and confidence define you as a person. A professional, well-dressed golfer, like a businessperson, gives the impression that he thinks that the golf course and/or workplace and the people there are important.

A cigarette is just rolled up leaves, which makes it a smokable salad burrito. That makes the golfer John Daly a health advocate.

I shimmy so much before teeing off, people are probably thinking, "Are you going to golf—or dance?” Well, why not both?

They say koala bears have tiny brains and eat grass. I say to be good at golf you must go full koala bear, and forget about all the greens you've chewed up and focus only on this hole and this swing.

John Daly is from Arkansas, but now lives in Florida. I'm from Florida, but now I live in Arkansas. I am the inverse John Daly, and I think my golf game proves it.

I once played golf. That day I caught five new ducks to add to my farm collection.

Golf is probably a CIA psyop. Think about it. Golf is the only thing that tames the wild FloridaMan. It turns even the hilariously hostile into the docile.

Zebras are piano horses. I think about that when I’m swinging a golf club, and it brings a musical cowboy element to my game that another player might not be able to buy in a vending machine.

Reading all the quotes in the world won’t make you or me into Plato, Gandhi Or Einstein, just like watching hundreds games of soccer won’t make you a soccer player or taking a yoga class will make u a yogini, or reading a golf book will make you a golfer. We need to put the Knowledge to practice and that is the challenge. Put it to work for you, make the effort to Follow Through

The moon is a golf ball in the sky. My motto is this: If you can’t hit a hole in one, fake it in a film studio.

You have to have balls to golf. That’s why The Securities and Exchange Commission doesn’t play.

People watch my unique style of play, and they want to know my top three golf influences. That's easy. John Daly, practicing daily, and an orange and white cat surrounded by yellow ducklings.

Page 99: "...unless something changes, the future that you can expect is more of the past. Sorry or becoming committed does not make Jim Carrey a great golfer, or made Jack nicklaus funny. Recommitment does not make a person who is unsuited for a particular position suited for it all of a sudden. Promises by someone who has a history of letting you down in a relationship mean nothing certain in terms of the future.

I watched the cheese melt in the microwave—along with the surrounding plastic. I forgot to take it out of its package before use, just like my golf game.

I golf like a Jackson Pollock painting, but that's balanced out by the fact that I paint like Jack Nicklaus golfs. My record is finishing in 63 strokes.

When I golf, I use just enough strokes to create a masterpiece, like I'm a painter. The score I post up would look great on a museum wall.

They say those who can't do, teach. That's why today I'm pleased to announce I'm giving golfing lessons.

He has a golf swing like a Bukowski line. It's slightly rough, but it's got a shape that knifes through time.

I told the joke, but someone else got the high five. That’s like me drinking a cup of coffee and a guy in a coma waking up. Go back to bed, buddy, your golfing days are over.

I have a golf swing like a Rosary dangling off a car's rearview mirror. I hope watching me play makes you realize Catholicism isn't for you.

Many people have accused me of having a Coach Face. I may not be able to get you to improve your golf game, but I sure will have fun verbally abusing you while you play.

I love how golf courses have water hazards. But the ponds feel empty without ducks. I'd like to start a business renting my ducks out to country clubs.

Do you know who profits most in a gold rush? Mining suppliers—merchants. Today that includes marketers, because they're selling an idea or lifestyle. It's why golf's richest men aren't the pro players.

Bryson DeChambeau uses science in the true sense of the word to improve his golf game. He experiments and analyzes data to get better, and this separates golf fans, because those who think that's not cool use all of their brain capacity just breathing, like amoebas, but dumber.

A golfer has to learn to enjoy the process of striving to improve. That process, not the end result, enriches life.

I can golf in 17 different languages. I don’t speak any of them, but that’s balanced out by your inability to listen and understand.

Enjoyment is more subjective than evaluation. Whether you prefer peaches to pears is a question of taste, which is not quite true of whether you think Dostoevsky a more accomplished novelist than John Grisham. Dostoevsky is better than Grisham in the sense that Tiger Woods is a better golfer than Lady Gaga.

One golfer a year is hit by lightning. This may be the only evidence we have of god’s existence.

I played a round of golf, but I didn't get an eagle. No, that symbol of American FREEDOM flew away faster than I could say Francis Scott Key.

I got a new golf bag. I keep it full of sad harmonica tunes that I hand out like Halloween candy to all the rainy-eyed players.

I'll bet playing classical music to plants would make them grow taller. When my ducks listen to Mozart, they become more cultured and have done things like taken up golf.

No one trash talked her golfer...only her.

People ask me if I like golfing, and I look at them and reply, "Does The Pope wipe his ass with tuna fish sandwiches?" That response is NOT sponsored by Subway.

Some men are dedicated to golf like I'm addicted to cheese. We have real problems, but somehow only the alcoholics get to claim a disease.

Golf is the only sport where you can't tell how good a player might be by glancing at their physical form. I've seen some real slobs shoot scores so low the number is almost their age.

Sometimes a strikeout means that the slugger’s girlfriend just ran off with the UPS driver. Sometimes a muffed ground ball means that the shortstop’s baby daughter has a pain in her head that won’t go away. And handicapping is for amateur golfers, not ballplayers. Pitchers don’t ease off on the cleanup hitter because of the lumps just discovered in his wife’s breast. Baseball is not life. It is a fiction, a metaphor. And a ballplayer is a man who agrees to uphold that metaphor as though lives were at stake. Perhaps they are. I cherish a theory I once heard propounded by G.Q. Durham that professional baseball is inherently antiwar. The most overlooked cause of war, his theory runs, is that it’s so damned interesting. It takes hard effort, skill, love and a little luck to make times of peace consistently interesting. About all it takes to make war interesting is a life. The appeal of trying to kill others without being killed yourself, according to Gale, is that it brings suspense, terror, honor, disgrace, rage, tragedy, treachery and occasionally even heroism within range of guys who, in times of peace, might lead lives of unmitigated blandness. But baseball, he says, is one activity that is able to generate suspense and excitement on a national scale, just like war. And baseball can only be played in peace. Hence G.Q.’s thesis that pro ball-players—little as some of them may want to hear it—are basically just a bunch of unusually well-coordinated guys working hard and artfully to prevent wars, by making peace more interesting.

A good golfer’s métier is his or her golfing skill. A great golfer’s métier is his or her golfing skill, coupled with the mastery of good sportsmanship, rendering him or her an ambassador for the sport.

I was allowed exclusive access to Project Looking Glass' future-viewing telescope, and there's good news and bad news. The good is the game of golf manages to live on after you starve to death, and the bad is you'll never get to realize just how meaningless you are to the sport.

Consider the value of doing what you love and being paid for it! This is truly a golfer’s dream.

When we watch pro golfers, we expect them to play well, to make the shots we know we can’t, and to be entertaining. Their expectation, however, is very different. They expect to succeed!

Golfers flexing on other golfers for having Androids will never not be inadvertently hilarious. iPhones are also owned by Janitors, the job that's at the bottom of the perceived status pile, and I'd rather golf with a man who spends his time cleaning than a dirty pseudo snob.

The good citizen when he opens his door in the evening must be banker, golfer, husband, father; not a nomad wandering the desert, a mystic staring at the sky, a debauchee in the slums of San Francisco, a soldier heading a revolution, a pariah howling with skepticism and solitude.

Musicians, like golfers, have to put their minds in the right place – trusting, confident, enjoying the pressure, being in present. And so forth. Otherwise, no amount of practice or “Time management” will make them better. The same is true in all professions: if you’re stuck in the Training Mindset, evaluating yourself, or thinking in the past or future, you will not perform up to your potential. You will waste a lot of time, be an inefficient performer, and likely assume you need to manage your time better. In reality you need to manage your thinking better.

There's a thought process that says if you don't use every club in your golf bag every round, you're doing your game a disservice. Bryson DeChambeau could use every club in a golf bag from the 1800s and still make you look like a beginner.

I love cola-flavored soda—especially if it's authentically brown colored and manufactured by the government. It reminds me that Soviet Russia never produced any great golfers, and that is the only mistake made by the game over the centuries.

It’s been said that golf is a Zen activity. I’d argue that if golfers were practicing Zen, they wouldn’t keep score.

Tiger is born into the home of an expert golfer and confessed “golf addict” who loves to teach and is eager to begin teaching his new son as soon as possible.

Other golfers may outplay me from time to time, but they’ll never outwork me.

There's a reason why golfers walk forward to their next shot. It's to move on.

Hidden Valley is a golf course in Springfield. Hidden Valley is also the name of a brand of ranch dressing, and that’s more suited to my game.

I play golf like a machine. That machine is a tractor.

I created an Excel spreadsheet full of golf terms like eagle and birdie. I’m surprised one under isn’t called duck, because isn’t that what you do when you go under, duck?

My golf swing is like a James Cagney smile. It curves with sincerity, but it's also slightly sinister.

When a golfer has completed his left-hand grip, the V formed by the thumb and forefinger should point to his right eye.

Inflation hurts us all. Today I'm seeing inflation at the grocery store, the leisure sector, and even on my golf scorecard. Yes, The Central Bank is to blame for my horrendous game.

Replacing the divot is “an exercise for the public good.” It is also a reminder that “we are all one golfer.” There would simply be no game if every golfer turned his back on the damage he did.

...I tended to be perfectly comfortable hitting shots from places where no other golfer ever wanted to be. It turned out to be an important lesson about the game: you've got to learn to live with trouble, and you've got to learn how to get out of it.

Every individual has some qualities that endear him to some other. And per contra, I doubt if there is any class which is not detestable to some other class. Artists, police, the clergy, "reds," foxhunters, Freemasons, Jews, "heaven-born," women's clubwomen (especially in U.S.A.), "Methodys," golfers, dog-lovers; you can't find one body without its "natural" enemies. It's right, what's worse; every class, as a class, is almost sure to have more defects than qualities. As soon as you put men together, they somehow sink, corporatively, below the level of the worst of the individuals composing it. Collect scholars on a club committee, or men of science on a jury; all their virtues vanish, and their vices pop out, reinforced by the self-confidence which the power of numbers is bound to bestow.

I watch people play golf in silence. Even after they hit I remain quiet, because my commentary won't help the ball roll into the hole, but it will saturate the air with unwanted pressure. Spoken words are like direct energy weapons, and I don't deploy them at an unarmed target.

Like the statue of David, our Authentic Swing already exists, concealed within the stone, so to speak.” Keeler broke in with excitement. “Then our task as golfers, according to this line of thought…” “…is simply to chip away all that is inauthentic, allowing our Authentic Swing to emerge in its purity.

John Daly is all the Caddyshack characters in one body. He's a caricature of a person, and that's why I'm a fan.

Alan Shepard was the first and only interplanetary golfer,” Coke told his sister. “He was also the first and only interplanetary litterbug,” Moe said. “What he did was disgraceful.

You hate the golfers,” he reminded me. “You once said, and I quote, ‘Golf isn’t much different than glorified fly swatting.

Hasidim are more open to change than golfers,

The sweep of his arms was wide and athletic, more like a quarterback than a middling golfer who had dropped off the tour.

No one gets to the top alone. A golfer needs a good swing coach and a spouse, family, and friends who believe in him and encourage him.

Keys to the Effortless Golf Swing Curing

The nurses at River Bend reported that Nana sometimes shouted at the golfers. “If you’re doing this for exercise, just keep walking—don’t keep stopping!” my grandmother yelled at them. It

Up to a considerable point, as I see it, there’s nothing difficult about golf, nothing. I see no reason, truly, why the average golfer, if he goes about it intelligently, shouldn’t play in the 70s

All kinds of people, from professional golfers to successful entrepreneurs, can tell you that if you concentrate on avoiding obstacles instead of concentrating on your goals, then you’ll run straight into the obstacles.

The Sometime Sportsman Greets the Spring by John Updike When winter's glaze is lifted from the greens, And cups are freshly cut, and birdies sing, Triumphantly the stifled golfer preens In cleats and slacks once more, and checks his swing. This year, he vows, his head will steady be, His weight-shift smooth, his grip and stance ideal; And so they are, until upon the tee Befall the old contortions of the real. So, too, the tennis-player, torpid from Hibernal months of television sports, Perfects his serve and feels his knees become Sheer muscle in their unaccustomed shorts. Right arm relaxed, the left controls the toss, Which shall be high, so that the racket face Shall at a certain angle sweep across The floated sphere with gutty strings—an ace! The mind's eye sees it all until upon The courts of life the faulty way we played In other summers rolls back with the sun. Hope springs eternally, but spring hopes fade.

New Rule: Now that liberals have taken back the word "liberal," they also have to take back the word "elite." By now you've heard the constant right-wing attacks on the "elite media," and the "liberal elite." Who may or may not be part of the "Washington elite." A subset of the "East Coast elite." Which is overly influenced by the "Hollywood elite." So basically, unless you're a shit-kicker from Kansas, you're with the terrorists. If you played a drinking game where you did a shot every time Rush Limbaugh attacked someone for being "elite," you'd be almost as wasted as Rush Limbaugh. I don't get it: In other fields--outside of government--elite is a good thing, like an elite fighting force. Tiger Woods is an elite golfer. If I need brain surgery, I'd like an elite doctor. But in politics, elite is bad--the elite aren't down-to-earth and accessible like you and me and President Shit-for-Brains. Which is fine, except that whenever there's a Bush administration scandal, it always traces back to some incompetent political hack appointment, and you think to yourself, "Where are they getting these screwups from?" Well, now we know: from Pat Robertson. I'm not kidding. Take Monica Goodling, who before she resigned last week because she's smack in the middle of the U.S. attorneys scandal, was the third-ranking official in the Justice Department of the United States. She's thirty-three, and though she never even worked as a prosecutor, was tasked with overseeing the job performance of all ninety-three U.S. attorneys. How do you get to the top that fast? Harvard? Princeton? No, Goodling did her undergraduate work at Messiah College--you know, home of the "Fighting Christies"--and then went on to attend Pat Robertson's law school. Yes, Pat Robertson, the man who said the presence of gay people at Disney World would cause "earthquakes, tornadoes, and possibly a meteor," has a law school. And what kid wouldn't want to attend? It's three years, and you have to read only one book. U.S. News & World Report, which does the definitive ranking of colleges, lists Regent as a tier-four school, which is the lowest score it gives. It's not a hard school to get into. You have to renounce Satan and draw a pirate on a matchbook. This is for the people who couldn't get into the University of Phoenix. Now, would you care to guess how many graduates of this televangelist diploma mill work in the Bush administration? On hundred fifty. And you wonder why things are so messed up? We're talking about a top Justice Department official who went to a college founded by a TV host. Would you send your daughter to Maury Povich U? And if you did, would you expect her to get a job at the White House? In two hundred years, we've gone from "we the people" to "up with people." From the best and brightest to dumb and dumber. And where better to find people dumb enough to believe in George Bush than Pat Robertson's law school? The problem here in America isn't that the country is being run by elites. It's that it's being run by a bunch of hayseeds. And by the way, the lawyer Monica Goodling hired to keep her ass out of jail went to a real law school.

A golfer can’t force results to happen. He can only do everything possible to give those results a chance to happen. As Tom Watson once put it, to become a really good golfer, you have to learn how to wait. But you have to learn to wait with confidence.

Just as I do, Bill was always telling pupils to relax their elbows, since the elbow is the most important joint we have in the movement of the golf swing. Bill and I were in total agreement that the attempt to keep a straight left arm means ruination for most golfers.

But imagine if we were the only people left. The last men on earth. I’d be the best golfer in the world right now. You’d be the only priest. And Ghost would be the only Sikh. Imagine that. A four-hundred-year religion terminating in a dope-head grease monkey.” “I thought you liked the bloke.” “I do. But think about it. All the people that made you feel worthless and small down the years. The bullies and bosses. All gone. It’s exhilarating, if you think about it. Freedom from other people’s expectations. We can finally start living for ourselves.

Sandy: Carl I want you to kill all the gophers on the golf course. Carl Spackler: Correct me if I'm wrong Sandy, but if I kill all the golfers they'll lock me up and throw away the key. Sandy: Not golfers, you great fool. Gophers. The little brown, furry rodents. Carl Spackler: We can do that. We don't even need a reason.

More than six thousand people reported which sporting activities would make a member of the opposite sex more attractive. Results revealed that 57 percent of women found climbing attractive, making it the sexiest sport from a female perspective. This was closely followed by extreme sports (56 percent), soccer (52 percent), and hiking (51 percent). At the bottom of the list came aerobics and golf, with just 9 percent and 13 percent of the vote, respectively. In contrast, men were most attracted to women who did aerobics (70 percent), followed by those who took yoga (65 percent), and those who went to the gym (64 percent). At the bottom of their list came golf (18 percent), rugby (6 percent), and bodybuilding (5 percent). Women’s choices appeared to reflect the type of psychological qualities that they find attractive, such as bravery and a willingness to take on challenges, while men appeared to be looking for a woman who was physically fit without appearing muscle-bound. No one, it seemed, was attracted to golfers.

lives of a number of English citizens. Churchill told the story, possibly apocryphal, of an ill-starred golfer who managed to direct a golf ball onto an adjacent beach. Colville summarized the denouement in his diary: “He took his niblick down to the beach, played the ball, and all that remained afterward was the ball, which returned safely to the green.

be a mind beater-not a ball beater.

If it were possible for a metaphysician to be a golfer, he might perhaps occasionally notice that his ball, instead of moving forward in a vertical plane (like the generality of projectiles, such as brickbats and cricket balls), skewed away gradually to the right. If he did notice it, his methods would naturally lead him to content himself with his caddies's remark-'ye heeled that yin,' or 'Ye jist sliced it.' ... But a scientific man is not to be put off with such flimsy verbiage as that. He must know more. What is 'Heeling', what is 'slicing', and why would either operation (if it could be thoroughly carried out) send a ball as if to cover point, thence to long slip, and finally behind back-stop? These, as Falstaff said, are 'questions to be asked.

Tennis is the sport in which you talk to yourself. No athletes talk to themselves like tennis players. Pitchers, golfers, goalkeepers, they mutter to themselves, of course, but tennis players talk to themselves—and answer. In the heat of a match, tennis players look like lunatics in a public square, ranting and swearing and conducting Lincoln-Douglas debates with their alter egos. Why? Because tennis is so damned lonely. Only boxers can understand the loneliness of tennis players—and yet boxers have their corner men and managers. Even a boxer’s opponent provides a kind of companionship, someone he can grapple with and grunt at. In tennis you stand face-to-face with the enemy, trade blows with him, but never touch him or talk to him, or anyone else. The rules forbid a tennis player from even talking to his coach while on the court. People sometimes mention the track-and-field runner as a comparably lonely figure, but I have to laugh. At least the runner can feel and smell his opponents. They’re inches away. In tennis you’re on an island. Of all the games men and women play, tennis is the closest to solitary confinement, which inevitably leads to self-talk, and for me the self-talk starts here in the afternoon shower. This is when I begin to say things to myself, crazy things, over and over, until I believe them. For instance, that a quasi-cripple can compete at the U.S. Open. That a thirty-six-year-old man can beat an opponent just entering his prime. I’ve won 869 matches in my career, fifth on the all-time list, and many were won during the afternoon shower.

Les,” he remarked, “have you ever noticed that a mediocre typist is very likely to express dissatisfaction with the typewriter? And that a poor golfer is always blaming a poor shot on his sorry golf clubs? You’ll also find that people with little skill in human relations are the ones who are always cussing human nature—and blaming all their troubles on the fact that other people are so ornery.

I think having faith and believing that things are ultimately in God’s hands is very close to trusting your ability in sports such as golf. When a golfer is in the right frame of mind, he’s confident that he can produce the shot he sees with his mind’s eye. He trusts that the skills he has ingrained through practice are going to work for him if he just lets them and doesn’t try to guide or steer the ball. But at the same time, part of his thinking is acceptance of whatever happens to the golf ball once he hits it. He knows that because he’s a human being, not every shot will come off the way he intends it. He knows that because golf can be a capricious game, his ball is sometimes going to take a weird hop into the woods. He knows he can only do his best and wait to see what the outcome is.

I privately refer to this attitude in my clients as the “dramatic narrative fallacy”—the notion that we have to spice up our day by accepting more, if not all, challenges, as if our life resembled a TV drama where the script says we overcome seemingly insurmountable odds rather than avoid them. That’s okay for recreational pursuits, like training for a triathlon. But life becomes exhaustingly risky if we apply that attitude to everything. Sometimes the better part of valor—and common sense—is saying, “I’ll pass.” Golfers

People who don’t play golf pro to envy their golfing neighbors, admiring it as a nifty game you can play to a ripe old age. What they don’t understand is that we don’t keep playing because we can; we play because we don’t know how to stop. It lands in our hands for just a moment before slipping through our fingers, and we grab for it again and again. It’s a shell game, a music man, a three-card monte from which we can’t walk away. Once in a while it glances back at us, and it’s achingly beautiful. A siren? Perhaps. But those sailors at least got the closure of wrecking on the rocks. Golfers find the rocks and just drop another ball.

I want to believe all of that, just as I want to believe that one morning in the ninth century a Scottish king looked up and saw St. Andrew’s diagonal cross in the sky above—white clouds against a blue sky—and took it as a sign to march outnumbered against the Angles. His vision and victory gave birth to the Scottish flag—white × against a blue backdrop—and is too good a story to not be true. And I want to believe that the patron saint of golfers did actually utter St. Andrews’ town motto as his final words, the Latin phrase now stitched into my putter cover and the only tattoo I might ever get: Dum Spiro Spero. While I breathe, I hope.

Or when you keep a sex-addiction meeting under surveillance because they’re the best places to pick up chicks.” Serge looked around the room at suspicious eyes. “Okay, maybe that last one’s just me. But you should try it. They keep the men’s and women’s meetings separate for obvious reasons. And there are so many more opportunities today because the whole country’s wallowing in this whiny new sex-rehab craze after some golfer diddled every pancake waitress on the seaboard. That’s not a disease; that’s cheating. He should have been sent to confession or marriage counseling after his wife finished chasing him around Orlando with a pitching wedge. But today, the nation is into humiliation, tearing down a lifetime of achievement by labeling some guy a damaged little dick weasel. The upside is the meetings. So what you do is wait on the sidewalk for the women to get out, pretending like you’re loitering. And because of the nature of the sessions they just left, there’s no need for idle chatter or lame pickup lines. You get right to business: ‘What’s your hang-up?’ And she answers, and you say, ‘What a coincidence. Me, too.’ Then, hang on to your hat! It’s like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get. Most people are aware of the obvious, like foot fetish or leather. But there are more than five hundred lesser-known but clinically documented paraphilia that make no sexual sense. Those are my favorites . . .” Serge began counting off on his fingers. “This one woman had Ursusagalmatophilia, which meant she got off on teddy bears—that was easily my weirdest three-way. And nasophilia, which meant she was completely into my nose, and she phoned a friend with mucophilia, which is mucus. The details on that one are a little disgusting. And formicophilia, which is being crawled on by insects, so the babe bought an ant farm. And symphorophilia—that’s staging car accidents, which means you have to time the air bags perfectly

That afternoon, I went to Henry with a suggestion. Michael and Graham were still ill. But I was feeling almost fit again. “Why not let Geoffrey and me head up to camp two, so we can be in position just in case the typhoon heads away?” It was a long shot--a very long shot--but as the golfer Jack Nicklaus once said: “Never up, never in.” Sure as hell, I wasn’t going to stand any chance of the summit, sitting here at base camp twiddling my thumbs, waiting. In addition, at camp two, I could be a radio go-between from base camp (where Henry was) and the team higher up. That was the clincher. Henry knew that Michael and Graham weren’t likely to recover any time soon. He understood my hunger, and he recognized the same fire that he had possessed in his own younger days. His own mountaineering maxim was: “Ninety-nine percent cautiousness; one percent recklessness.” But knowing when to use that 1 percent is the mountaineer’s real skill. I stifled a cough and left his tent grinning. I was going up.

I will stress here—and this is vital—that a Seasoned Citizen must let the left heel come off the ground in the backswing. Let the left heel come up and the left arm bend for a longer, freer swing. Some modern teachers demand that their students keep the left heel on the ground. I don’t agree with that teaching for players of any age, but especially not for a Seasoned Citizen. One of the most important factors in an older golfer’s swing is the body turn. The older one gets, the harder it is to turn. Keeping the left heel down makes it all the harder. Don’t raise the heel, just let it come up as it will want to do. A straight left arm inhibits the turn. If a Seasoned Citizen has become heavy in the chest and stomach, there should be no effort made to keep a straight left arm at the top of the backswing. A player should try to swing longer, not shorter, as the years go by. Another block to the swing is keeping the head down too long. I doubt I tell one student a month to keep his head down, and I almost never say it to an older player. Keeping the head down prevents a good follow-through because the golfer can’t swing past hip-high with the head still down and not give up something good in the finish to do it.

How I Turned a Troubled Company into a Personal Fortune. How to ________ This is a simple, straightforward headline structure that works with any desirable benefit. “How to” are two of the most powerful words you can use in a headline. Examples: How to Collect from Social Security at Any Age. How to Win Friends and Influence People. How to Improve Telemarketers' Productivity — for Just $19.95. Secrets Of ________ The word secrets works well in headlines. Examples: Secrets of a Madison Ave. Maverick — “Contrarian Advertising.” Secrets of Four Champion Golfers. Thousands (Hundreds, Millions) Now ________ Even Though They ________ This is a “plural” version of the very first structure demonstrated in this collection of winning headlines. Examples: Thousands Now Play Even Though They Have “Clumsy Fingers.” Two Million People Owe Their Health to This Idea Even Though They Laughed at It. 138,000 Members of Your Profession Receive a Check from Us Every Month Even Though They Once Threw This Letter into the Wastebasket Warning: ________ Warning is a powerful, attention-getting word and can usually work for a headline tied to any sales letter using a problem-solution copy theme. Examples: Warning: Two-Thirds of the Middle Managers in Your Industry Will Lose Their Jobs in the Next 36 Months. Warning: Your “Corporate Shield” May Be Made of Tissue Paper — 9 Ways You Can Be Held Personally Liable for Your Business's Debts, Losses, or Lawsuits Give Me ________ and I'll ________ This structure simplifies the gist of any sales message: a promise. It truly telegraphs your offer, and if your offer is clear and good, this may be your best strategy. Examples: Give Me 5 Days and I'll Give You a Magnetic Personality. Give Me Just 1 Hour a Day and I'll Have You Speaking French Like “Pierre” in 1 Month. Give Me a Chance to Ask Seven Questions and I'll Prove You Are Wasting a Small Fortune on Your Advertising. ________ ways to ________ This is just the “how to” headline enhanced with an intriguing specific number. Examples: 101 Ways to Increase New Patient Flow. 17 Ways to Slash Your Equipment Maintenance Costs. Many of these example headlines are classics from very successful books, advertisements, sales letters, and brochures, obtained from a number of research sources. Some are from my own sales letters. Some were created for this book.

We were happily married for eight months.  Unfortunately, we were married for four and a half years. ~ Nick Faldo, professional golfer

I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father. ~ Greg Norman, professional golfer

I played as much golf as I could in North Dakota, but summer up there is pretty short.  It usually falls on a Tuesday.  ~ Mike Morley, pro golfer from North Dakota

Pete Rose warned, “When you mess with my pride you’re going to get into trouble.” Michael Jordan is another prideful man. When challenged on the basketball court he exhibited what golfer Sam Snead called a “cool mad.” In the playoffs, Jordan was always the smiling assassin.

The best golfers are the ones who are good at forgetting, the ones who realize the only thing they can control is their attitude toward the next swing.

The West African state of Benin had its entire air force destroyed in 1988 by a single errant golf shot. Metthieu Boya, a ground technician and keen golfer, was practising on the airfield during a lunchtime break when he sliced a drive. The ball struck the windscreen of a jet fighter that was preparing to take off, causing it to career into the country’s other four jets neatly lined up by the runway.