NiftyNiblick

Not using a glove, I only use wrap-style grips. This one website is running badly on my laptop for some reason.

I'm buying new grips for old clubs, Foz. Lots of them!

This gorgeous autumn that we're having in New England is mocking me because my 2015 season was shortened by a dog bite. This forced inactivity would normally have me looking at the latest and greatest offerings from the OEMs, despite my having gone for my stones for new Hogans this summer. Instead, I'm becoming enamored of formulating combinations from the multitude of my retired sets, dating back to 1959 and before if we include the birth date of hand-me-downs. I may have mentioned before that in addition to fighting a club ho inclination, I'm also a horder. I never had the good sense to sell anything that's not a house or a car. If its not golf stuff, I give it or throw it away. Golf stuff is kept forever. The circumference of my generously proportioned man cave is either littered or decorated, depending on your sensibilities, with old golf bags filled with old clubs. I've even got them leaning on four foot high JBL loudspeakers. Since my recently becoming very active bullshitting with new buddies on these pages, I've had the epiphany that I'm not crazy about a lot of the modern offerings, and also that I have a lot of old gear that's just a re-gripping away from eyeing comebacks. Some people are doubtlessly bored to death with my pictures, but I imagine that some are amused by them. Here's yet another possible set for next spring.

My coach died in the late eighties. God rest his kind soul. Can't imagine finding a coach now who's willing to work with what's left of me.

I'm a weekday afternoon player because I have to walk my dog every morning. I'm sixty-nine, and one good walk each day is enough. Without carts, I'm not sure that I could play except for the little pitch and putt course. I always walked the course in younger days, however. It's probably the better way to play.

Mr. Seliano had better not offer a face-balanced model. I'll be five hundred bucks closer to the homeless shelter.

I started out as a preteen with the interlocking grip and then switched to the overlapping. The only place that I ever tried the ten-finger grip was on the driving range with unimpressive results. I also played baseball as a youth, way back when kids played with heavy wooden bats, but it was different; the bat handle was much thicker than a golf club grip, the swing horizontal with at most an imperceptible uppercut, and the bat angle at contact less critical. Hitting foul pole to foul pole was good in baseball. People have enjoyed success with the ten finger grip, so it can't be completely biomechanically unsound. In my case, however, I can't make contact the same way twice in succession. My hands compete rather than work together.

I envy you guys. At 69, my brain has only room for two thoughts at a time: 1. closest food / drink concession. 2. nearest bathroom.

I walk two tracks regularly. Recliner to refrigerator. Recliner to bathroom. Less frequently, I walk from recliner to where the replacement batteries for the remotes are. Doesn't leave enough in the tank to walk at the golf course.

I can live with that. I'm already an outlaw with my fifteen slot bag. Not really illegal, though. At least none of the New England states have statutes demanding compliance with the rules of golf!

Foz, this is the key to playing well while taking oxy or other opiates: swallow them with either screwdrivers or bloody Marys. Then clear your head with a strong cup of coffee. Skip the cream and sugar in favor of Sambuca. That will help you play relaxed. A bonus is that even if you play badly, you won't care a whole lot. Just be careful driving the cart. No need to thank me. I'm happy to share my personal experience.

Thanks.

Interesting. I will look into that tool.

I played like a mutt this morning. You don't want to hear about it. My fault for playing on Saturday. I should leave the course to working people on the weekend and just play with the other geriatrics during the week.

RB7 opines that the type of steel doesn't matter. That's not my experience, but I wouldn't claim to be an expert on the subject. Just try it, I guess.

Groove sharpeners work well on forged clubs because when you use them, rust develops in the grooves and from then on, they're easier to gauge out. A machine shop works best on stainless clubs which won't wear nearly as quickly. It's a sore subject with me. The USGA will remain clueless forever, it seems. All the rule changes are geared to tournament players when recreational players are the heart of the game. They decided the old 1.62" R&A size ball was insufficiently influenced by the wind. They not only banned it from their competitions, but bullied the R&A into adopting 1.68" as well. They decided that playing with a complete set was too easy, so they came up with the fourteen-club rule. (I love having to leave clubs that cost me three figures each in my locker when I play in a member-guest.) They came up with the 2010 groove rule, but not because the box grooves were making the game too easy for us. Somehow, they allowed drivers to swell to a cartoonish 460cc, but when they realized their mistake, they established COR limits just not to admit that they were asleep at the wheel while somebody was impregnating the titanium drivers. Finally, they set up the US Open venues so that a good, single digit club player couldn't break 100. It's OUR game. Let the tour guys play at 6000 or 6300 yards so we can actually see how much better than us they are! 7200 yards with burnt out brown greens that have elephants buried under them doesn't even allow us a reference point. As a boxing fan, I often lament the number of ridiculous, alphabet soup sanctioning bodies that have cheapened the sport. Golf seems to have the opposite problem. I think that the USGA really needs a competitor. It's not the R&A which, despite being the senior body, seems content to be the USGA's lap dog.

When I was a kid we called a 77 score a "Red Grange." Two weeks ago, I shot what could probably be the last one of my life. They were very hard to come by when I was an eight, but as a thirteen, they're more rare than a mullet on a mackerel. It was quite hot, my flexibility was not as pathetic as it usually is, I putted like I did when I was thirty-five (meaning fair instead of laughable), and I killed the five par fives--three pars, a birdie, and an eagle. All of them were short, confidence-building birdie holes, but they're legitimate par fives for any senior this far south of the Champions Tour. (My ancient Titleist PT fairway woods came through, even though I can barely see the tiny heads anymore!) Reality has set in with a vengeance since then, but I'm still riding the high. Perhaps I'm lucky that fozcycle is too far away to relieve me of my social security check.