Wishing to dispel a myth. My thoughts after many years experience in this field.
|As the golfball scurries and scampers across the mown lawn like surface, known to any who play the game as the "fair way", it's despondent master asks it why it may do this.|
He, himself, told it not to make headway along the grounds of the course, but to soar through the air so as not to be distracted upon it's path towards the destiny he so wishes it to reach.
Of course the ball renders no explanation or apologies for the actions of itself and so his master looks around himself in search of the knowledge he seeks and desperately requires.
Anyone in accompaniment of this avid golfer cry in unison "keep your head down".
It has been this way since anyone began to think about why the "topped" golf shot occurs.
Upon reaching his ball the master, once again, takes a swipe whilst heeding the good advice of his companions. Sorrily, again the ball scurries.
"Keep your head down" he hears again ringing in his despondent ears from all sides of the golfing universe.
Repeating his efforts again and again, the master of his ball, achieves the very same unwanted result . He is now desperate. With sagging shoulders and an aura of despondancy he tries a final time to hit a good shot.
This time clearing his mind of any advice. He swings his weaponclub to the rear as always he does and begins his downward blow to the ball he so wishes to fly.
As he enters the hitting zone he purposes to move himself this time otherwise. As he reaches the ball he lifts his, apparently, unruly head just a slight. Low and behold he feels a refreshingly supple movement of his body as it is allowed at last to turn freely forward, once having being blocked completely from his attempts to hold his head down.
Whilst raising himself a slight he also feels that wonderful stretching of his wrists seeking the underside of the ball, replacing such horrible pulling up action of said wrists trying to protect the backmuscles and spine of the, once, abominably static man.
His head raises in a anarchic way, defying all and sundry and their advices. He feels the purity of his hitting motion kicking in and the gorgeous strike of a wonderful shot and in this moment he knew.
That he himself and also his poor scurrying golfball were victims of bad advices, his will to obey them and his head which stayed down.