Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve developed a swing flaw that caused all of my shots to fly very high, left and not very far. I kept working on it, but no matter what I did, it just seemed to get worse.

As a coach, I’m pretty good at analyzing what’s wrong with someone else’s swing, but I have a hard time figuring out my own. Finally, I decided to seek professional help. I called my pro friend and he promised to squeeze me in after a juniors clinic he was putting on Monday.

I showed up at his club and we drove out to an isolated hole. I teed up the ball and took a swing. High, leftt and short.

And that was all he needed to see. He had me make a couple of adjustments and my next shot was lower, straighter and much, much longer. So was the next one. And the one after that.

The whole “lesson” took about five minutes.

Now I have to say that he as a real advantage when it comes to giving me a lesson. He’s the guy who taught me to play. He also taught me how to coach golf, and for a while he coached golf at our district’s one high school while I coached at the other. He knows my swing so well because it’s an imitation of his own.

So what was I doing wrong? A couple of things:

First, my ball was too far forward in my stance. I moved it back. That cured the height problem.

Second, I was bringing the club back too far inside on my backswing. He laid down a yardstick and had me bring the club back along the line until my shoulder rotation naturally pulled it in. He also had me shorten the backswing so my arms wouldn’t collapse at the top. That cured the distance problem.

And finally, I was going too fast on the whole process. That apparently was causing me to snap it left. So I slowed it down and the ball went straight again.

That was Monday. I went out Tuesday to play a round and work on my revised swing. The first couple of holes were not very good. I dribbled the ball off the first tee and popped the ball up on the second. But on the third, I striped it down the middle 250 yards. My drives for the rest of the round also were good ... at least until the 18th hole, where I snapped two straight balls left into a pond. I slowed down and the third sailed long and straight.

On Wednesday, I’m going to play at a very tough local course. We’ll see if the lesson sticks.

My swing has become a total mystery to me. I am hitting the irons well—I planted a seven iron in the middle of an elevated green today from 160. Not as good as many of you, but quite good for me. And I am hitting my fairway woods well. I hit a three wood today to a green from 210.

But my play with the driver is pathetic. I am barely breaking 200 yards off the tee. My shots go WAY up into the sky and then fall with no roll whatsoever. They’re straight enough ... I’m splitting fairways ... but I’ve got to get more distance. I’ve tried widening my stance, and using a flatter swing plane. No luck. I’ve also move the ball back a bit in my stance. Again, nothing.

I hate to say it, but I may have to out and pay for professional help.

On the bright side, because my iron play has been so good, I’m playing well. Today, I shot an 87 on a course with a 69.7/128 rating.

My Father’s Day gift to myself: I’m spending the entire day in my lazy boy, watching the US Open, with a big plage of cheese cubes, celery sticks, broccoli, carrots and hot ranch veggie dip. 

The GolfBlogger will be out all day at the annual 36 hole school district teacher’s tournament. I’ll miss the first round of the US Open. Thank heavens for Tivo.

Tonight, my four year old told me that he wanted a driver on his head.

Like much of what he says, that didn’t make much sense, so I began to ask him ask him a seriesof questions to see if I could figure out what he was talking about: “Do you want to go for a bike ride?,” I asked, thinking that he wanted to put on his helmet.

“No,” he said. “A driver!”

“Do you mean a car ride?”

“No!, not a car ride.”

Finally, growing exasperated with me, he put a hand on his head and began saying “Buzz Buzz"."

“Aha,” I said, finally understanding. “You want a haircut.” He wanted me to drive the clippers over his head. That made some sense. His hair was a bit long.

He nodded and ran off to get his haircutting stool. I went to get the electric clippers.

When I got back, his face lit up and he pointed at the clippers.

“That’s the one,” he said. “That’s the TaylorMade Driver.”

I think there may be too much golf in our house.