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Golf has bigger problems than the 'wimpy' belly putters

This column is also award-winning writer Frank Deford's weekly sports commentary on NPR. When did "issues" become such an all-purpose, often euphemistic word
Golf has bigger problems than the 'wimpy' belly putters
Golf has bigger problems than the 'wimpy' belly putters
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This column is also award-winning writer Frank Deford's weekly sports commentary on NPR.

When did "issues" become such an all-purpose, often euphemistic word for anything disagreeable? We have issues now where we used to have problems and concerns and troubles and hornet's nests. Like for example, the American and British big wheels who run golf have issues with putting.

Now understand, modern golfers have kryptonite drivers with clubheads as large as prize pumpkins and steroid balls that would not pass the drug test even if the hapless International Cycling Union was doing the random sampling. Golfers are slugging the dimpled rockets so far that all sorts of classic courses have had to be lengthened. Even the sacred Old Course at St. Andrews. This is like if baseball bats and balls had been super-charged so much that Bud Selig decreed that now it had to be a hundred feet instead of ninety between bases.

But never mind the bazooka transcontinental drives. No. The golf honchos have issues with the little itty-bitty part of the game called putting. If the US Golf Association and the Royal and Ancient were in charge of nuclear proliferation they would handle things by legislating the size of bayonets.

The issue is what are called belly putters, which certainly is an ugly name, but nomenclature is not the issue here. What is, is that golfers employ these belly putters by stabilizing them against their gut, their pot, their tummy, their corporation. The golf Solomons have decreed that anchoring your putter against a substantial body part is just not proper golf. Plus... it looks wimpy. You gotta stroke.

Now, even the best golfers -- especially the graybeards who get what are called the "yips" on the green -- have been monkeying around with various desperate putting styles forever. Even the great Sam Snead experimented with croquet-like putts a half-century ago. But so many unconventional putting styles were deemed legitimate because the golfers were stroking with their arms. Presumably you could putt with a pool cue or a bolero. You just can't belly up to the ball.

Golfers have never looked as athletic as other, uh, athletes, so why aesthetics are suddenly an issue is a mystery. Especially this is true because golf costs so much and takes so long, that it's having trouble attracting new, young players. But the fact is, a great many golfers are distinguished by what?

By their bellies. Hey, go with what you got. It's really the equivalent of the dumb decision in 1967 when the NCAA outlawed dunking because basketball attracts tall players who used their height to dunk.

That was so stupid that it was a slam dunk that basketball would change the rule back, which it did. Likewise, it should be a gimme for the bodies who run golf to stomach bellies.

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Frank Deford
FRANK DEFORD

Frank Deford is among the most versatile of American writers. His work has appeared in virtually every medium, including print, where he has written eloquently for Sports Illustrated since 1962. Deford is currently the magazine's Senior Contributing Writer and contributes a weekly column to SI.com. Deford can be heard as a commentator each week on Morning Edition. On television he is a regular correspondent on the HBO show Real Sports With Bryant Gumbel. He is the author of 15 books, and his latest,The Enitled, a novel about celebrity, sex and baseball, was published in 2007 to exceptional reviews. He and Red Smith are the only writers with multiple features in The Best American Sports Writing of the Century. Editor David Halberstam selected Deford's 1981 Sports Illustrated profile on Bobby Knight (The Rabbit Hunter) and his 1985 SI profile of boxer Billy Conn (The Boxer and the Blonde) for that prestigious anthology. For Deford the comparison is meaningful. "Red Smith was the finest columnist, and I mean not just sports columnist," Deford told Powell's Books in 2007. "I've always said that Red is like Vermeer, with those tiny, priceless pieces. Five hundred words, perfectly chosen, crafted. Best literary columnist, in any newspaper, that I've ever seen." Deford was elected to the National Association of Sportscasters and Sportswriters Hall of Fame. Six times at Sports Illustrated Deford was voted by his peers as U.S. Sportswriter of The Year. The American Journalism Review has likewise cited him as the nation's finest sportswriter, and twice he was voted Magazine Writer of The Year by the Washington Journalism Review. Deford has also been presented with the National Magazine Award for profiles; a Christopher Award; and journalism honor awards from the University of Missouri and Northeastern University; and he has received many honorary degrees. The Sporting News has described Deford as "the most influential sports voice among members of the print media," and the magazine GQ has called him, simply, "The world's greatest sportswriter." In broadcast, Deford has won a Cable Ace award, an Emmy and a George Foster Peabody Award for his television work. In 2005 ESPN presented a television biography of Deford's life and work, You Write Better Than You Play. Deford has spoken at well over a hundred colleges, as well as at forums, conventions and on cruise ships around the world. He served as the editor-in-chief of The National Sports Daily in its brief but celebrated existence. Deford also wrote Sports Illustrated's first Point After column, in 1986. Two of Deford's books, the novel, Everybody's All-American, and Alex: The Life Of A Child, his memoir about his daughter who died of cystic fibrosis, have been made into movies. Two of his original screenplays have also been filmed. For 16 years Deford served as national chairman of the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, and he remains chairman emeritus. He resides in Westport, CT, with his wife, Carol. They have two grown children – a son, Christian, and a daughter, Scarlet. A native of Baltimore, Deford is a graduate of Princeton University, where he has taught American Studies.