2005_10_02_archive

Four Eyes, Four Putts

It's all I can do to bend down and get a sweater out of the bottom

drawer, so it goes without saying I no longer squat to lineup putts.

But it doesn't matter. Even if I could squat, I wouldn't. I'm content

to stand behind the ball and take a look. If the hole is more than six

feet away, I usually leave it short. In fact, I always leave it short.

I read a statistic: 100% of the putts that fail to reach the hole

don't go in. That's enough to convince me it's a waste of time to look

for a break. Does it matter if I leave it short left, or short right?

It's not that I'm a lousy putter, I don't have the yips. It's my

glasses. A while back, I went to the optical shop with a new

prescription and high hopes, expecting to emerge with lenses that make

a golf hole look as big as a satellite dish. The technician

recommended transition lenses AND progressive lenses. In case you

don't wear glasses, transition lenses darken automatically when the

sun comes out. It's a scientific miracle.

I walked around with a hand mirror so I could watch the lenses switch

from dark to clear. I wanted to make sure it was happening. I even

walked in and out of the garage to see if I could confuse them. Then I

timed how long it takes them to change -- with a stop watch. When the

lenses are dark the process takes exactly twenty four seconds -- just

enough time to race indoors, dash into a cocktail party, engage

someone in conversation and act nonchalant as the lenses, that appear

to be sunglasses, clear magically. I feel like an inventor showing off

his newest patent during a happy hour chat.

Anyhow, the transition lenses louse up my putting. Sometimes I get

over a putt in the brilliant sun and, just as I draw a bead on the

hole, a cloud goes by. Suddenly, I'm Stevie Wonder. (Do you know why

Stevie Wonder always smiles? His people tell him the theater is sold

out.)

Progressive lenses are the other thing that ruined my putting. The

bifocal part blends into the large distance lens so no one can tell I

need binoculars to read a menu. It's a cosmetic thing, I no longer

look like I'm one step away from following a guide dog. (Have you

heard about the blind man on the street corner whose guide dog peed on

his leg? The man pulled a cookie out of his pocket and fed it to the

dog. A pedestrian noticed what he had done, and remarked that it was

quite a kind gesture. The blind man said, "It wasn't a kind gesture, I

was trying to figure out which way he was facing so I could kick him

in the ass!")

I questioned the optician extensively to be sure the lenses won't be a

detriment to my putting. He used technical jargon that convinced me

that everything would be all right -- once my eyes adapted to the new

prescription. He also told me about his grandfather, who got his first

pair of progressive lenses just before Thanksgiving. The whole family

came over for dinner and the old man proudly carried the turkey to the

dining room and set it down on what he thought was the table.

Unfortunately, he missed by six inches and the bird suffered rug

burns.

Back to my putting. With the new lenses, when I look down, the ball is

out of focus. It looks like I'm putting a clump of Kleenex. If I putt

on my knees my vision would be perfect -- the field of focus is ideal

if you're a dwarf.