The Whispering Death

A couple of years ago, I wrote this article for iseekgolf.com, Australia's premier on-line golf website. I enjoyed writing it then, hopefully it provides some reading enjoyment now as well,

One of my very first memories of golf was of watching an Australian tournament on TV in the late 1970’s (as a young child, I respectfully – and defensively – wish to add). It was the era of Bob Shearer, Terry Gale, Ian Stanley, Rodger Davis and a young Greg Norman, when fields had a over-riding local flavour, salted with the occasional foreigner recruited to mollify the cultural cringe.

Little memory remains of the action or result. I had no interest in the game at all, but one player in particular did pique my curiosity at the time. His name was Ted Ball, a Sydney based professional who would have caused more than one armchair sportsman to snap to attention every time he made a pass at the ball.

The reason the late Ted Ball made such an impression was because he may have had one of the strangest ( others would use the less judgmental term, ‘unusual’) golf swings ever to find its way into a professional event. Even the best part of three decades hence, it is hard to forget the sight of Ball, his backswing and follow through an ungainly, whizzing blur, the club head appearing to venture little further than his waist in either direction.

Ball was no novelty act. In fact, he was a serious contender, and had won numerous events, including two South Australian Opens. Nonetheless, his appearance on TV provided great fodder for commentators, no doubt thankful for the opportunity to compare and contrast his aberrant swing with that of his rivals.

Looking retrospectively at the trends of the time (let’s not mention the flared, checked pants and wide lapel shirts) brings clarity to just how much golf has changed in the interim. Shearer, one of the dominant players of the day, was held up by many to be a model in terms of swing technique. But in the pre-video analysis era, rhythm, tempo and aesthetic‘style’ were the parameters upon which such an assessment were based. The classic ‘reverse c’ follow through, dynamic leg drive and high finish typical of many were considered aspirational qualities. It was the method du jour, and one both admired and copied by many in the absence of advice to the contrary.

As mentioned, much has changed in the decades hence. Ted Ball type swings on tour are almost extinct, and, as great a player as he was, few modern coaches are using Bob Shearer (or for that matter, any player from that era) as a model upon which to base a swing philosophy. Thirty years ago concepts like swing overhauls and redesigns were yet to register in the professional golf consciousness, hence the varied interpretations of the best way to golf one’s ball.

Spend any time at an Australian Tour event these days and you will observe uniformity in all its glory. Efficient uniformity, mind you, but a sense of sameness nonetheless.

The evolution of golf coaching over the past two decades through the use of sports science, video technology and computers has revolutionised the way the game is taught. Players and coaches are now acutely aware of what they perceive as technical flaws and of the reasons why poor shots occur.

As a result swings have become more structurally homogenous. It has been positive in that better technique (aided by more forgiving equipment) has seen the quality of play and scores under par increase exponentially. Whether the game is more interesting as a result is a debate best left for another time.

This train of thought arose as I sat watching the 2008 Open Championship, and once again had the opportunity to marvel at the idiosyncratic golf swing of the brilliant Jim Furyk, another technician who might also qualify for the ‘unusual’ classification with regard to swing motion.

Furyk, both a US Open champion and perennial major contender, once had his golf swing described by commentator David Feherty as like “an octopus falling out of a tree”. Feherty’s conceit was neither designed to diminish or to be taken literally but it has now found a home in the lexicon, a favourite that is trotted out by punters and pundits alike when discussion veers in the direction of the American.

It hasn’t seemed to have made any difference to him, however. Furyk has cemented a place in the top handful of golfers in the world, the clinical precision of his game a matter of respect and admiration from his peers. It is of great credit to Furyk that despite being the subject of backhanded compliments and damning with faint praise for much of his career he has changed little about the approach that has bought him so much success.

In a way, Jim Furyk’s golf swing is like a fossilised remain bought to life, a carbon 14 escapee of a bygone epoch. It seems to belong of an age where assay was an afterthought, where golfers picked up the sticks and, as the great Sam Snead once said, ‘danced with who they brung’. A reminder, if you like, that there was a time when artistry, self expression and individuality might have been considered foundation principles of the game of golf.

The octopus analogy may have stuck, but the moniker that commentator and former Australian PGA champion Andrew Coltart threw Furyk’s way last week is more appropriate. Furyk, methodically and insidiously plotting his way around a brutal Royal Birkdale was tagged by Coltart as the ‘whispering death’.

The insinuation inherent to such a description seems a more respectful and appreciative way of capturing his inimitable approach to the game.