Surrender to Gravity

It was a beautiful thing to watch. Each ball seemed to dance after landing, each to the same gentle beat. It didn’t appear the ball had even been struck, but rather, cast, still on a string as it came to rest near the hole.

I studied his technique, and noticed his body stayed still; not perfectly still, but relaxed.

His hands were passive, yet athletic and agreeable. He didn’t appear to be staring at any part of the ball before he hit it, and certainly made no effort to keep his head down after.

With obvious comfort, Smiley spun pitch after pitch over the bunker, and did so until there were no more balls at his feet.

“Hey Smiley,” I said. “What do you say I pick those balls up for you?”

“Be my guest,” he said. “I’m done practicing.  Gather ‘em up and they yours.”

As Smiley made his way to the parking lot, I gathered the balls from around the hole. I was eager to pitch the ball from the same place I’d watched him pitch it, as I thought the area around the cup must be pretty soft, and maybe Smiley had found an especially good place from which to spin a short pitch. I poured the small pile out at my feet and hit the first ball several feet past the hole. I then pitched two or three that only went a little ways past. Soon, I knew where I needed to land the ball for it to roll up close, but found it discouraging that I couldn’t send it all the way to the hole and stop it like Smiley did. It seemed impossible to create so much spin on such a short shot. I turned around to find Jitterbug watching me from under a shade tree near the small practice area.

“How long have you been watching me?” I asked. “Long enough to know what you’re up to.”

“How in the heck does Smiley get the ball to spin like he does?”

Jitterbug walked down from beneath the tree. This was sure to be a lesson in philosophy, probably something along the lines of “play your own game and don’t worry about what other people do.”

“You get backspin from acceleration,” Jitterbug said.

“Oh, so I gotta swing harder at the ball?”

 “Nah, nah, don’t confuse swinging harder with accelerating through impact.” I tried to imagine what one must do in order to have the club pick up speed without swinging harder before Jitterbug said, “There’s only one way to achieve true and consistent acceleration.”

“And how is that?”

“Gravity,” he said. “You have to be willing to give the club to gravity if you want the club to truly accelerate.”

“All right,” I said. “I’m willing.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jitterbug said. “You can’t just decide you’re going to do it and think suddenly it’s done. It takes a little faith and a little time.”

I didn’t feel like waiting to acquire either one. Before he could finish his sentence, I was already giving it another go, but my pitches had even less stopping power than before.

“You don’t try to give the club to gravity,” Jitterbug said. “You can only offer it, you know. Let it happen.”

Jitterbug reached down to adjust my grip. Holding the shaft of my club with one hand, he rotated my hands counter- clockwise with the other. With my hands repositioned, he put two fingers on my club and began to swing it back and through, creating a slightly longer motion with each pass by the ball.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Soft hands. Loosen them arms. Left shoulder back, right hip through. Gravity, Bobby. Surrender to gravity. Gravity knows what to do with it. Left shoulder back, right hip through.”

After several passes back and through, I placed my wedge behind a ball. Jitterbug’s words echoed as I glided through the motion. Gravity, Bobby. Loosen them arms. Surrender to gravity. Left shoulder back, right hip through. The ball left my wedge much softer than before – as if I’d hit no more than a pocket of air – ballooned high and landed near the flag where it stopped within a foot.

“That felt better,” I said. “But, it didn’t grab the green and jump back like Smiley’s. What’d I do wrong?”

Shaking his head, Jitterbug said, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re just not there yet. Learning to surrender is the timeline, Bobby; the long, often painful journey from beginner to expert. You can’t learn it in a day.”

“How long does it take?”

“That depends on you,” he said. “But, believe me, there will come a time when you have the faith to surrender that club. When you do, your body will work with gravity and the motion will feel like nothing more than a club attached to a smooth, turning body, and the grooves on the club will grab the ball and make it dance the way Smiley’s balls do.”

Not a day on the course goes by that I don’t think of Smiley hitting those pitch shots. It was, indeed, a beautiful thing to watch.