Our Village
A well worn golf pencil was picked up by your correspondent. What scores it could tell of.
Brand Whitlock writes from St. Andrews that he had a fine time on the most famous links in the world, he especially enjoying the Scotch of the caddies.
In the great fourth-estate golf tournament, Old Pop Wells and Ye Ed qualified as captains of canal boats. We out-cussed Pop on the first round, but he more than evened things up on the second, we being two down at the end.
Ye scribe shot a game of golf with Chick Evans, who allowed that our clubs, bag, shoes, and hat are all o.k., and that all we need is a little skill.
Many are complaining that the golf season is at a conclusion; but, as the native at Lake George said, Hell, did you think it was going to be summer all the time?
The frost is on the niblick and the putter’s in the shock. When a man has to play in a couple of undershirts, flannel shirt, sweater, paper vest, and a mackinaw coat, it is time to hang up the fiddle and the bow, for as a fellow said, hownl can you play if you can’t follow through?
Ed Beck and Homer Chandler, accompanied occasionally by their wives, are motoring through the effete east, tearing up the golf courses en route.
Mr. Jack Hoag, for whose golfic opinions we entertain unmitigated respect, writes that “to hit a ball with a wooden club with the wrists loose is to have a feeling that the club itself is stopped when the ball is hit.” Therefore he advises tightening the grip at the impact. It pains us to differ with Mr. Hoag. A golf ball opposes to the clubhead hardly more resistance than a puff ball, as two minutes experimenting will show. Sounder advice, we think, is this: grip loosely or grip tightly, but never change throughout the stroke.
The mother of Hamilton Post, the golfer, was a Miss Stump; the wedding took place in Garrett Woods’ chapel, and the clergyman was Dr. Bockwood. Pass the matches.