The Sand Trap (41 page)

“There’s an all staff meeting at nine in the
clubhouse.”

As they walked into the staff meeting the
next morning, Doug told Burt his talk would be in Spanish since
most of the staff had only minor facility in English. The sales
staff, the others who interacted with the tourist public could all
get by in English, but the maintenance and grounds people had a
marginal facility with English, so all meetings were in Spanish. If
there was something that Burt missed, Doug said he would explain
later.

The meeting was the first ‘all staff’
meeting of the fall tourist season, so the first order of business
was to introduce the new employees who had recently joined the
Puertos staff. There was a new receptionist from Cabo, and a new
saleslady from Mexico City. There were several men new to the
grounds keeping crew and two new women for the gardening team led
by Maria Jimenez, the lady who Jose had told Doug to hire. Burt was
the last to be introduced and everyone was very welcoming. They all
laughed when an embarrassed Jimenez dropped her coffee cup on the
floor while Burt was being introduced and someone joked that she
had better stick to flowers. She scuttled off to get a broom to
clean up the mess. Doug closed the meeting with some updated news
about the development and the state of the economy in San Jose, how
they would have to work extra hard to attract the tourists away
from the town core and the other golf courses along the corridor.
After it was over Burt left the clubhouse to take his first look at
the golf course that would be his home for the next six months.

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Burt’s first client was already waiting for
him at the practice range at ten the next morning. The course had a
practice facility more suitable for the twin eighteen-hole champion
course that had been envisioned. In fact Burt had never seen a
better layout for teaching and practicing. The range itself was the
centrepiece of the facility with twenty-five stations. Each was
covered to protect the stations from the sun and the one rainstorm
a year, and a plant covered lattice along the sides kept each
platform private from the one next to it. Behind each mat there was
a round table and two chairs and behind those a piece of furniture
that looked like an entertainment unit. When opened, it exposed a
42-inch flat screen TV connected to a DVD unit, a small digital
movie camera and a computer. Burt recognized these as the
indispensible tools of the modern golf instructor. He correctly
assumed that the computer would be loaded with the latest golf
instructional software as well as hooked up to the satellite
system.

But his real surprise was the driving range
mat. Instead of the rubber or the outdoor indoor carpet he was used
to, it was a six ft. by six ft. mat of real grass. One of the
assistants would later take him to the back of the clubhouse where
they grew the grass in chunks of sod to replace the driving range
mats every couple of practice sessions or so, depending upon how
badly the student beat up the turf.

Beside the driving range was a short game
practice facility. It was fifty yards long and maybe a hundred
yards wide and had the same grass as the range. There were two
large greens surrounded by a half-dozen traps set at different
distances from the greens. The practice putting green was probably
twice the size of the largest green Burt had ever seen, with a
dozen holes, all located on the side of hills, in valleys and over
mounds. Burt figured that if he could not get good enough to
qualify for the open here he could never make it happen.

The whole thing was topped off when he
noticed the lights on the ceilings over the tee boxes and realized
that the driving range was lit for night use. This was going to be
fun he thought to himself as he approached his first student.

“Good morning!” he greeted the man warmly in
Spanish, “I’m Burt Van Royan, your instructor for this
morning.”

The man looked at him a little confused.

“Hables Ingeles Usted?" he offered in
mangled Spanish.

Burt laughed. He had forgotten for a moment
that most of his students would not be Mexican, but rather North
American tourists.

“I’m sorry! Of course we can work in
English. Where are you from?”

The other man accepted Burt’s outstretched
hand and introduced himself. “John Philips. Massachusetts.”

“Glad to meet you John.”

Burt figured John was in his mid to late
fifties. He carried at least 30 lbs. more than his six-foot frame
was designed for and Burt could see the package of Cuban cigars
sticking out of his back pocket. He had read from the form John had
filled out that he had a thirteen handicap, so Burt guessed this
was not his first lesson.

“So let's get to golf and we can chat
later?”

“Right, let’s do it,” John enthusiastically
replied.

Burt handed John a 7-iron and dumped a
bucket of balls on the grass beside the tee box. “Let’s see what
you can do. Hit ten shots like you would normally do.”

Burt could see right away that he had the
basics of the setup pretty much nailed. His stance was classic and
he made exaggerated moves to ensure that his ass and chin jutted
appropriately out as he looked down at the ball. His grip was
neutral and he took the club back on a good plane. But from there
he just seemed to lose it. His backswing was faster than his
forward swing and he hit the ball fairly square but with all arms,
his hips following the swing rather than leading them. The ball
went fairly straight, just not very far.

“So John, what is it you want to get from
some lessons?”

“I need to hit it further,” he paused. “Like
maybe twice as far.”

Burt agreed and was glad that John realized
his weakness.

“Put the club down and let’s go look at some
movies.”

When he was told he would be a teaching pro,
Burt had put considerable thought into how he would approach his
teaching and he had put together teaching aids that built on the
lessons Bruce had given him. This was his first chance to try them
on someone who was not a beginner. When they were seated at the
table Burt inserted a DVD and started the movie with the
remote.

“John I want you to watch this first
player.”

What John saw was a hockey player making
slapshots that rifled shots into the corner of the net.

“You ever watch hockey?” he asked a puzzled
John.

“Sure! I’m a real Boston fan. Even had
season tickets a couple of years ago.”

“OK, now watch this guy.” He advanced the
video to another player who took the same slapshot but with
absolutely no hip into the shot. The resulting shot hit the net but
with no speed.

“So would this kid make the team?”

“No, “John laughed. “Even a Boston goalie
could stop that shot!”

“Right, let’s look at another sport.” And
Burt showed John the same thing in baseball and tennis. The former
showing what happened when a baseball player swung with all arms
and a tennis player did the same. He took each of the hockey,
baseball and tennis swings and showed with mouse-made lines how the
spines of the swingers stayed relatively stable throughout the
swing. To finish he showed some golf swings that showed the same
action of the lower body through the shot.

“You, John, are the wimp in these shots.
Let’s fix that.”

They went back to the mat and as John
reached for a club Burt stopped him.

“Nope, not those. This.” And Burt reached
behind the entertainment unit and handed John a hockey stick. “When
you can hit a teed up ball one hundred yards with this we will move
to real clubs.”

John was incredulous. “Who do you think I
am? Happy Gilmore?”

“He won didn’t he? You have had lots of
lessons John and you’re still hitting like a wimp. What’s the harm
in trying something new?”

“Shit. What if someone sees me?”

“Just tell them you’re trying out for the
Ottawa Senators. Practice away and I’ll be back in half an hour,”
he said, pointing his head a couple of boxes away. “I have another
lesson over there I need to start.”

Burt left a puzzled John standing on the tee
box holding a hockey stick and he went over to another tee box
where his second student waited.

His second lesson would be more of a
challenge; a fifty something, recently retired woman from Minnesota
who wants to be able to golf with her golf fanatic husband, but who
has never golfed before. Burt figured his first piece of advice
should be to not do it. Most husbands who spend their free time at
the golf course are likely trying to get away from a wife, not
welcome her with their Saturday morning golf group. Learning the
game later in life is a challenge. He remembered what P.G.
Wodehouse once wrote, “... Golf, like measles should be caught
young, for if postponed to riper years could be serious...” But if
she can get over the notion of golf as a way to save her marriage,
she can enjoy the game so he’ll do what he can. As he reached the
tee box he was surprised to find a very athletic, impeccably
dressed and quite attractive woman, with her long blond hair done
up in a pony tail that stuck out the gap in the back of her
baseball cap. She greeted him in English with a huge smile.

“Hi. I’m Joanna Lundstrom.”

He gripped her hand. “My pleasure. I’m Burt
Van Royan. I’m the guy who is going to ruin your life by
introducing you to the game of golf.”

She laughed with a warm smile. “Golf has
already ruined my life so don’t worry.”

Burt wondered what man would leave this
woman for the golf course. “Well, then we have nothing to lose do
we?” He picked the 7-iron from the set of new Pings at the back of
the tee box. “Nice clubs.”

“A Christmas gift to myself.”

“You have good taste. Have you ever swung a
golf club before?” he asked looking at the unscathed iron.

“Only at my husband.”

Burt looked up in surprise.

“Just kidding. No, golf was never my sport
and I never had the time or inclination to try it.”

Burt sensed she wanted to talk a little.
“What is your sport?”

“I’m from Minnesota. What do you think? I am
a skier – downhill and cross country.”

That explained the great shape she was
in.

“When I was younger I raced and I’ve been a
ski instructor and patroller for the last twenty years. Do you know
what that is?”

It was Burt’s turn to laugh. “I’m Canadian.
We have the odd ski hill around!”

She returned his laugh. “Sorry. I’ve skied
many times in your mountains. Whistler. Louise. Blackcomb. I’ve
done them all. That is, when I was not working. I just retired as
V.P. of a marketing firm in Minneapolis and my husband and I bought
a place on the sixth fairway. So I guess if I’m going to live on
the course, I’d better learn something about the game. My friends
told me to never, never learn golf from your husband.”

“Is he down here as well?”

“No, he hasn’t retired He’s a banking
executive so he doesn’t figure he has to retire to get in all the
golf he wants. He’ll be down for a couple of weeks in March, but
other than that it will be just me and the girls.”

“Girls? You have some friends or children
with you?”

“My three cats. With our careers we never
had the time for children.”

Burt figured the conversation was getting
personal enough so he brought it back to golf. “Ok Joanna, if you
have taught skiing you know how difficult it is to learn sports
later in life. How would you approach teaching someone your age
skiing for the first time?”

“Well, the first thing I would do is ensure
they have the right expectations. I can teach them not to fall down
and give them the skill to enjoy the out of doors, but they will
not likely ever be doing double black diamonds.”

“Right. It is the same with golf. You
obviously have some athletic ability so I will make sure you can
enjoy the game but you have to have realistic expectations of the
game you will have. Only five percent of all golfers break a
hundred, and you’re not likely to make that group, at least
following the regular rules of golf. But I’m getting ahead of
myself here. Let’s start learning the swing.”

He went over to her golf bag, put the 7-iron
back and pulled a pail with a long stringy mop in it from behind
the entertainment unit. He stuck a tee in the ground where it would
be placed to practice drives, pulled the mop from the pail and
wrung it out a bit. “I want you to take one hundred swings at the
tee with this mop. Full swings. Take the mop all the way back and
all the way forward. Like this.” He took the mop and made a few
full swings with it and handed it to her.

“I can see that I could have saved a lot of
money by getting my clubs at Home Hardware instead of Nevada
Bob’s,” she suggested as she hefted the mop in her hands. “Nice
balance. This must be a custom grip?” She took a swing. “I assume
there is a purpose to this? Is there a grip or a stance I am
supposed to use?