The Haunted Major
by Robert Marshall

Grade: A
Teacher’s Comments: A wonderful tale.

Written in 1902, and republished in 1999, The Haunted Major is a delighful fantasy of a golf match played for the love of a woman between Major John “Jacky” Gore and Jim Lindsay, winner of the Open Championship.

Gore, the pompous narrator of the tale, describes himself as “the finest sporstman living,” having managed to excel at polo, cricket, tennis, rugby, hunting, billiards, whist, piquet and poker. He has, however, never played golf, regarding it as an inferior activity:

Now golf is a game that presents no attractions to me. I have never tried it, nor even held a golf-stick in my hand. A really good game, to my mind, must have an element, however slight, of physical danger to the player. This is the great whet to skilld performance. It is the condition that fosters pluck and self-reliance and develops out perception of the value of scientific play. It breeds a certain fearlessness that stimulates usnot merely to the actual progress of the game, but unconsciously in the greater world, where we play Life with alert and daring opponents.

Still, when he comes to the conclusion that Jim Lindsay is a rival for the affections of the beautiful and wealthy American widow Katherine Gunter, Gore challenges the Open Champion to a winner-take-all golf match.

After all, for the master of so many sports, how hard can it be to excel at golf?

Gore soon finds out. In spite of practice in his hotel room, and the aid of a Scottish pro, Gore fails to master the sport in the week between the challenge and the match. Gore becomes resigned to a loss, but that’s before he gets a little ghostly intervention.

The Haunted Major reminds me of the very best of P.G. Wodehouse—although it predates him by some years. It’s good natured, with quirky characters and humorous situations. Author Robert Marshall takes more than a few pokes at the British class system of the time through the antics of the impossibly stuffy Major, but never stoops to meanness.

This is a charming book that, while not rolling-on-the-floor funny, is sure to put a smile on your face.

How to Really Stink at Golf

by Jeff Foxworthy and Brian Hartt

Grade: D

On the strength of his “You Might Be A Redneck” schtick, Jeff Foxworthy has sold more comedy recordings than any artist in history. His Comedy Channel shows and “Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader” are television hits. Foxworthy’s also written twenty books, all of which are presumably funny.

But you wouldn’t know it from his latest effort, a slim volume called How To Really Stink At Golf.”

The basic premise of the book is that if you’re already bad at golf (and most are), then why not be REALLY bad at it. To that end, Foxworthy advises players (among other things) to not warm up, avoid practice, aim for the rough, misjudge your distances, drink alcohol and play with rental clubs.

Meh.

This is not the sort of naturally funny golf material that you might find from PG Wodehouse, or Dan Jenkins. Foxworthy’s golf humor is strained, too obvious, and in the end, not very good. I’d even venture to say that Foxworthy probably hasn’t had a lot of exposure to the game.

And that’s too bad, because there’s a lot in golf that really is very funny.

The book also is not a particularly good value. It’s got a hundred and thirteen pages, and half of those are cartoons. I finished reading it in about twenty minutes.

Skip this one.

A Golfer’s Education

by Darren Kilfara

Grade: C
Teacher’s Comments: It’s just ok. A pleasant enough read.

As I’ve mentioned in other book reviews, there’s a subset of golf literature in which expatriate American golfers write of their experiences living in Scotland and playing golf. Most seem to use the excuse of writing a book—or magazine articles—to justify uprooting their families. We all know, however, that it’s really about having the chance to play endless Scottish golf.

The best of these expats in Scotland books, I think, was Lorne Ruberstein’s A Season In Dornoch: Golf and Life in the Scottish Highlands, which had charm and insight; the worst, George Peper’s Two Years In St. Andrews, which is marred by a smarmy intellectual elitism (the central message of that book seemed to be “ha ha look at me I was smart enough to get away from George Bush’s America and you weren’t"); Kilfara’s A Golfers’ Education fall somewhere in between.

Kilfara’s escape to Scotland came via a program at Harvard that sends students abroad for a year to further their education. According to Kilfara, many take advantage of that to spend a year on a tropical island at their parent’s expense. He chose to spend a year at St. Andrews, playing golf, and attending the university (in that order).

The usual formula for these books is that the poor American has a difficult time at first adjusting to the local customs, but finally sees the wisdom of their ways, thanks to the aid of local coots. What sets this book apart from the other travelogues is that it focuses primarly on the courses he played and his developing love interest with a Scottish lass.

The major part of Kilfara’s plan for his year involved playing as many of Scotland’s great courses as possible. Kilfara’s descriptions of his rounds and the courses are adequate, not inspired. I think I understood what he was describing, but the images never quite came alive for me.

An undercurrent that pulled throughout the book focused on Kilfara’s transition from a golfer obsessed by scores and statistics, to one who plays for the enjoyment of the game. It’s an interesting metamorphosis but one that I suspect that he would have arrived at with age and maturity. No trip to Scotland was necessary. A year in midwestern America might well have done the same thing.

As for the end result of his romance with the local girl, I refuse to spoil the ending.

In the end, this is not a book that I’d suggest that anyone run right out and get. But if you see it in the library, or at a used book store, give it a go.

Arnie & Jack: Palmer, Nicklaus, and Golf’s Greatest Rivalry
by Ian O’Connor

Grade: B
Teacher’s Comments: It’s supplemental reading for those who already have a passing knowledge of the two greats. Others may get a distorted picture.

I think that it would be safe to say that more words have been written about Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus—both individually and combined—than any other golfers in history (even considering Tiger Woods). Given that, it has to be hard for any author to come up with a new angle for a book on either of these men.

In Arnie and Jack, Ian O’Connor tries to explore new territory by focusing on the rivalry between the two golf legends. Aside from some necessary background, It’s a biography only as the lives of the two intersect.

The author’s premise is that each of the two men had what the other wanted. Arnie had the adoration of fans, and the endorsements, but wanted the victories. Jack had the victories, but wanted to be well-liked

It’s an interesting premise, and for the most part, O’Connor backs it up with quotes and other evidence from the principles, their family friends, and associates. I’m normally not a fan of such amateur psychoanalysis, but in this case, it seems to be well founded.

Even casual golf fans know of the Nicklaus-Palmer rivalry, but it might come as a surprise to some just how deep it went. They competed, apparently, in nearly everything. For example, since Arnold had an airplane (which he flew himself), Jack had to have his own plane, and even flirted with taking taking flying lessons himself.

Today, their playing careers over, the two continue to compete through their course design companies and their endorsements.

O’Connor is respectful of his subjects throughout—this is is by no means a hatchet job. But I also thought, that by focusing exclusively on the rivalry, both Palmer and Nicklaus came across as much less attractive figures than in any of the single biographies that I had read.

Among the les flattering aspects of their intertwined lives was the rift between the two that grew through the eighties. There is really no way to describe it other than pettty. Fortunately for golf—and for their own souls—Arnie and Jack seem to have patched things up in more recent years.

I’m going to recommend this book primarily for readers who already know something of the lives of Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus. It’s a supplemental book, really, and if read without background knowledge, will give you a somewhat distorted view.

The Rotary Swing
by Chuck Quinton

Grade: B
Teacher’s Comments: A good volume, but much of the philosophy can be found in other books.

Chuck Quinton’s The Rotary Swing is a slender volume with big ideas. A teacher from Windemere, Florida, Quinton believes that his Rotary Swing offers a set of simple fundamentals that can make golf easier and more fun for the masses.

In many ways, the Rotary Swing resembles Jim Hardy’s “One Plane Swing”: There’s the well balanced stance, with the shoulders moving fairly level, and no pronounced tilt. And there is the basic idea of rotating the body, with the arms and hands following the rotation, not initiating it.

Quinton’s approach to learning the swing is somewhat different, however. He begins with the idea of a swing in motion. It’s not until more than halfway through the book that he turns to the issues of grip, ball position and stance.

Golf, he says, is not a series of static positions, but a dynamic motion. “Always Be Turning”—ABT—is his oft repeated mantra.

That make sense to me. My best shots always seem to come when I forget about all those ball, body and club positions and just swing through.

As thin as it is, the book is quite wordy, but Quinton thankfully offers some very good drills to help you “feel” your way through his ideas. It also includes a smattering of photographs.

Production values on the book are not the greatest. The cover just screams “self-published, with its weirdly distorted photos of a guy at the top of his swing. (It’s also an interesting photo, since Quinton has de-emphasized set positions in favor of ABT). The internal photos also are not particularly good, tending toward the dark.

I was intrigued by Quinton’s thoughts. I’ve wasted the last several summers switching back and forth between the more traditional two-plane, and the one-plane swings. Both work for me, but only for little while. Neither has permanently elevated my game.

Chuck Quinton’s Rotary Swing manual has me almost convinced that I should make a permanent switch back to the one plane. It’s simple and powerful. I just wonder how my 46-year-old body will stand up to that motion. I’m very fit and flexible now ... but for how long?

What I really need to do is to find a teacher who can take a look at what I’ve got physically and tell me which one I should pursue. It’s too bad Quinton is in Florida. I have a feeling he could do the job.

Maybe he has a disciple in Michigan ...