Natural Golf Swing

IN THE WINTER OF 1968 when I was still a teenager, I thought golf was all feel

and that there was no need to learn the basics. Having achieved a fairly low handicap for a golfer who relied on feel and instinct alone, I smugly thought that nobody could teach me anything about the swing. I wasn't willing to take the time to learn the swing, of course, but that's another story. My idea of instruction was a quick tip in a golf magazine. If it didn't work, I dropped it. Can't be right, I thought.

That winter of 1968 I was very aware of what George Knudson was doing on the U.S. professional circuit. It was my custom to borrow my father's car and drive to the corner of Bathurst St. and Lawrence Ave. in Toronto every night around nine o'clock to pick up The Globe and Mail and check the golf news. First came the news that Knudson had won the Phoenix Open. A week later, he had won the Tucson Open. Two in a row.

I'll never forget my reaction the Sunday night I learned that George had won in Tucson. Since he was four shots from the lead heading into the last round, I figured he might finish well up in the list, but surely he wouldn't win. I drove to the corner to see where he did finish.

Unable to wait until I got home, I turned the corner, stopped the car, and turned on the interior lights. There it was. Knudson had won for the second week in a row. I was ecstatic. I didn't know George at all then, but I felt so happy for him. I also felt he'd done something worth pursuing: he had evidently gotten the best out of himself. Somehow I imagined that this was what golf was all about and that maybe one day I too could perform to the best of my ability. George's wins gave me confidence.

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