Bob Rotella: words of hope on whining partners, pushy parents and the chipping yips. We feel better already

Golf Digest, Jan, 2003 by Guy Yocom

Age 53, sport psychologist, Charlottesville, Va.

Could I talk a guy down off a ledge? I don't know. I'm not a psychologist, I'm a sport psychologist. Big difference. The one thing I wouldn't tell the guy is, "Don't jump." That would be like telling a golfer, "Don't hit it out-of-bounds."

You know how the crowd gasps when a player misses an important putt? A tour pro came to me once with a serious problem: He told me that whenever he had a putt that mattered, he heard the crowd gasp twice--before he stroked the putt, and then, of course, after he missed it. Now that's fear. It took some doing to straighten that guy out.

People think about the yips in the context of putting, but that's nothing compared with chipping and pitching yips. I've seen professionals actually whiff chip shots by hitting the ground eight inches behind the ball. It's a scary thing to see. They're morbidly fascinated by their problem and want to show me again and again and again. I say, "No, no . . . I think I get it."

More and more parents are shipping their kids off to junior golf academies. If the kid is from a foreign country and stands to derive a cultural benefit, fine. For the most part, though, I think it's nuts. The academies are mass producers of mediocrity, because everybody is taught the same thing. If you want to be great, you have to find your own way. Another thing: I thought the point of parenting was to raise well-rounded children and to spend time with them.

The pushy-parent syndrome is not nearly as pronounced as you might think. It's certainly not as bad as in tennis, which is enough to make you cry. Very often, when parents get on edge, it's because they know the child is going to be a monster that night if they play badly, and they dread having to deal with them.

For the most part, the mother has a smoother touch with the junior golfer than the father does. Her love is unconditional; she behaves the same regardless of what the child shot that day. The father, who often feels he must be tough on his kid to prepare him for life, can be much more difficult. Having said that, the 1 percent of mothers who are demanding and controlling tend to be much worse than any man. I've seen mothers who make Joan Crawford look like your fairy godmother.

I charge everybody the same, world-class players or amateurs. That ensures that I treat everybody the same.

Players have described to me some golf dreams that would curl your hair. I've never forgotten the dream Donna Caponi had on the eve of the final round of the 1969 U.S. Women's Open. In her dream, Donna has the lead walking down the final fairway. When she gets to her ball, she finds it embedded in the front of a very deep divot. She swings away, and the ball pops straight up and comes down in the same divot, which is now deeper. She swings again, same thing. She keeps flailing away until she's dug a trench. At that point she woke up in a cold sweat. The next day, Donna is wide awake and is tied for the lead playing the last hole. From a distance she sees her ball is in a divot, and it hits her: That dream! But when she gets to the ball, she sees it's sitting in the middle of a very shallow divot. She was so relieved she thought nothing of it, and birdied the hole to win the first of her two Opens.

It's been said that the best golfers in history were selfish, that by necessity they neglected their wives and families so they could take their games to that top level. It's a compelling argument, but what about Jack Nicklaus or Juli Inkster? They blow holes through that argument, don't you think?

Tour wives have called me for advice on how to deal with their husbands who come back to the hotel after shooting 78. I tell them that listening is usually better than trying to assuage him. See, if the wife says, "You'll do better tomorrow," the player comes back with, "Don't tell me to be positive, because either I shoot 64 tomorrow or we're history." If the wife says, "Yup, you played badly," the player says, "How can I play well with you on my case all the time?" And if the wife says nothing at all, the player says, "I can tell you're upset because you're not talking to me, so go ahead, get it off your chest."

A former world-class player who can barely break 80 now, and whose name I won't mention, pulled me aside at Westchester a couple of years ago. He told me, "I used to cry when I walked off the 18th green, because there was no more golf to play. Now I cry when I walk off the ninth green, because I have to play nine more."

Everybody knows someone who whines after every shot and feels sorry for himself. If you're on the fence about playing with him anymore, my advice is to find another game. Life is too short to be dragged into another golfer's pity party.

I've never thrown a club in my life. Golf doesn't get to me that way. Electronic gadgetry, now that's another matter. When I buy a video camera, I expect the thing to be perfect. When it doesn't work, I have to admit I've come close to throwing the damn thing across the room.