Years ago, when the Art Hills course at Half Moon Bay was ready to open, I had the opportunity to play it with a local golf media guy named John Abendroth, who spent five years on the PGA Tour, and his son - a pretty good high school senior. There was nobody on the grounds that day as they had just completed a fly-over video of the golf course, where the pins had been set in the exact center of the putting surfaces for aesthetic purposes.
For some odd reason, the grounds crew went back after the shots were taken and removed all the flags, just as we were walking to the tee. Instead of insisting that they be replaced we thought it would be fun to play the course for the first time completely blind, simply hitting to the middle of the greens and seeing how it came out.
At the end of the round, simply looking at the yardage plates (to the middle of the green), our scores were 72, 75 and 76 by his son, who played to a six handicap . . . . pretty decent numbers on a fairly challenging golf course in the afternoon breeze along the Pacific. It occurred to me that it was much easier to hit the ball close to the pin because we had essentially eliminated one variable: the location of the hole. Therefore, we had the exact distances and it was only necessary to make solid contact without worrying about trying to place the ball on a particular spot on a large green with inaccurate yardages.
Interestingly, I once actually had the opportunity to play in a fun tournament where each green had two pins - and players were free to play for whichever one they chose. It was a nightmare for me because I found myself changing my mind in the middle of my backswing which one I was going to play towards. I'm a little quirky between the ears to begin with, but throwing in another variable drove me insane - even from the tee, where I normally try and look to see which side of the fairway will leave me with the easiest angle on the approach shot.
I hit the ball absolutely sideways all day long and nearly needed psychotherapy by the 18th hole - only made more traumatic by the cognitive dissonance on every green trying to decide which putt was easier, reading the line with the other hole nibbling into the corner of my eye.
The whole thing was a deliberate psychology experiment that I failed miserably - shooting 10 shots over my "usual game" and having little enjoyment in the process.
Lest you think I rely on yardages exclusively, several years ago before the roof caved in on my head, I had occasion to play the Ocean Course at Olympic in fairly soft conditions with a group of guests - the best of whom was a shaky 24. I made up my mind to simply babysit them around the golf course, invoking the "Mulligan Fairy" rule every time one of them topped it off the tee or fairway.
Thus, I stepped onto each tee box on complete autopilot, barely looking down the fairway. Not once that day did I so much as sneak a peek at a sprinkler head, but instead took a quick look at the target, pulled a club and hit it towards the hole. We ran around the golf course in well under four hours and by some bizarre twist of fate or fortune, I shot 65 - leaving at least three putts out on the golf course that might have dropped.
So, being a clever Armenian, I somehow deduced that if I was playing well enough to post a number like that purely by feel, going out the next day and looking at the markers would make me all the smarter. 78 swings later (it looked like an 82), I decided to have one more try at playing blind and set out the next day with my best friend, pulling a stick with only a glance and firing away. 68! Hey, I thought, this is no hill for a high stepper like me, right?
But the next time out, the doubts started to creep in . . . . am I sure it is really a six iron? Maybe a knock-down five? How to solve the conundrum? I know, I'll just sneak a quick peek at the sprinkler head, just this once . . . . maybe twice. Pretty soon, the same confusion crept in as if there were two pins on that green out there and before I knew it, vapor lock set in. Even my money shot, the feathered 6-iron, looked like Monty's last approach at Winged Foot with the Open on the line.
I'm sorry I even posted on this thread because a case of pre-shot indecision is as bad as the shanks - and I have reintroduced it into my delicate psyche.