EDITOR'S NOTE:—The following article by the National Amateur Champion is published in Vanity Fair by permission of the Bell Syndicate, Incorporated.

GOLF is assuredly a mystifying game. I Even the very best players cannot step on to the first tee with any assurance as to what they are going to do. Abe Mitchell may drive flawlessly today, but lit' cannot be sure lie will do so tomorrow. Even Walter Hagen may have a putting slump from which be cannot recover in an entire round. It would seem that if a person has hit a golf ball correctly a thousand times be should be able to duplicate the performance almost at will. But such is certainly not the case.

Mr. Harold H. Hilton advanced the opinion that we give too little attention to the "Dos" and too much to the "Don'ts". In other words, when everything is going smoothly we accept our good fortune complacently with no questions asked. We only puzzle ourselves over the wheres and wherefores when we are having our troubles.

He says that we have no worries when we are playing well. That statement involves the concession that we give no thought to our method because we are playing well. But it seems to me that he has put the cart before the horse for I should rather say that we play well because we are able to play without giving thought to our method.

THE golf swing is a most complicated combination of muscular actions, too complex to be controlled by objective, conscious mental effort. It is impossible to direct every muscle in its peculiar sphere of activity. Consequently we must rely a good deal upon the instinctive reactions acquired by long practice. It has been my experience that the more completely we can depend upon this instinct—the more thoroughly we can divest the subjective mind of conscious control—the more perfectly can we execute our shots. I have even had the experience that when I played some of my best shots in trying situations I had not the slightest recollection of bitting the ball. That intense concentration upon results (to the absolute exclusion of all thoughts as to method) is the secret of a good shot. Few great shots are played when the mind is Fixed on the position of the feet, the behaviour of the left arm, etc.

Since I began playing golf. I have played three iron shots that I shall always remember. Each of them won an open championship for me—at In wood, at St. Andrew s and at Columbus. Of the shot at Inwood I have no recollection whatever other than that of seeing the ball in the air against a black cloud on the horizon. But I remember distinctly that on the two other occasions my knees were actually knocking together as I addressed the ball. I think it may have been pure nervousness and unadulterated fright that made me hit those shots correctly.

The great match-players among the amateurs are of the nervous type. Von Elm and Sweetser are as high-strung as thoroughbred race horses. It is that quality which makes it certain that they will never descend to plodding mediocrity.

Almost every contestant leaves the first tee with a certain amount of apprehension in his soul. But a lot of them make the mistake of trying to assume an indifferent attitude. In trying to quiet a pounding heart or still a trembling hand, it is quite possible to fall into a lazy slackness which cannot he shaken. The competitor who can keep himself concentrated and "on edge" is the hard man to heat.

In playing any golf shot it always helps if the player can shut out from his mind all worry over the result of the effort, at least while he is in the act of playing the shot. It is well to he apprised of all dangers, and the chances of failure (and the penalty likely to he incurred in the event of such a failure) ought to he weighed carefully before deciding upon the shot. But, after taking the stance, it is too late to worry. The only thing to do then is to hit the ball.

I DO not believe it is possible to stress this point unduly. It is not easy, even with the assistance of a first-class teacher, for a man to develop a sound golfing style. But it is possible and practicable for a person to cultivate a mental attitude toward the game which will enable him to get everything possible out of his own capabilities.

Medal competition is the most diabolical sort of golf because it puts so many worries into the player's head. Unseen rivals are pictured as never missing a shot. W hen we ourselves make a slip, we feel that every man in the field is going to take advantage of it. We cannot conceive that the others are also having their difficulties. Strangely, too, every report borne about among the gallery which reaches the player's ears has to do with some other man's marvellous start, or his "three birdies in a row'. If a man listens to all these reports he can hardly he blamed for stumbling a hit.

Suppose your opponent, in match play, plays a fine shot dead on the flag and, from the place where you stand, his ball appears to he within a few inches of the hole. What will you do? Very likely you will strain every muscle and nerve to lay your ball inside of his. You will try so hard to do this that you will probably hook or slice into a hunker and permit your opponent to win the hole without the necessity of holing his putt.

What you should do is to tell yourself that your opponent's ball is not likely to he as close to the hole as it appears to he. Probably lie is short, and at least he may have left himself a very missable putt. Tell yourself also that you are going to try to hit your shot well in order to get close to the hole, hut that you will make sure that you get on the green somewhere within reasonable holing distance so that your opponent will at least have to hole out his putt in order to win the hole.

An approach may stop only six or eight feet away from the hole, yet there still remains the putt to he holed, which is not always a simple procedure. The man who, in playing his approach, keeps one eye on the ball of his opponent which is already on the green is simply looking for trouble.

On the putting green, too, it is often hard to keep from thinking about the importance of the putt rather than about hitting the ball properly. The thought that a miss may mean defeat or at least an almost hopeless position is often an absolute bar to concentration. The observer can usually tell what is in the player's mind by the way the player strokes the ball, even when the putt, by good fortune, tumbles in. A quick, nervous jab betrays the anxiety in the player's mind.

I shall always remember Johnny Farrell's marvellous composure and concentration on the thirty-sixth green at Olympia Fields. Confronted by a putt of about ten feet (over a sloping green) on which the championship depended, he was all set to putt when the cameras at the edge of the green began to grind loudly. The strain showing in his face, Johnny stepped away from his ball while the machines were silenced. After some delay, he putted and down went the ball. The fact that the putt was holed was by no means the impressive part of it. That might have happened in a number of ways. But whatever strain w-as reflected in Johnny's face had no visible effect upon the smooth, beautifully timed stroke which rolled the ball gently into the hole. It was as fine an example of true concentration as I have ever seen.

I AM sure it has been a source of wonder A to many how even a first class golfer can go out in an exhibition match on a course he has never before seen, and equal or beat the par for the course the first time around. I remember watching Leo Diegel shoot a sixty-five over the Louisville Country Club course the day after the National Open at Detroit, lie had never played the course before, yet his score was two or three strokes better than the existing course record.

In playing various charity matches I myself have gained a little experience along that line. I have found that if the putting greens are good and the distances not too hard to judge, I usually play better on the first round than I do on the next four or five. It is one of those phenomena which are hard to explain.

When a player is familiar with the course and has played it many times, as each hole comes up to be played, it is natural, I think, for him to conjure up in his mind visions of the way in which he has usually encountered trouble on that hole. He will, perhaps, remember how he sliced his shot into a trap and took a six or seven. Then, as he hits the ball, he will he determined to avoid that trap at all costs—and usually with disastrous consequences. Already a part of his concentration has gone and a part of his ability to play the stroke correctly.

When playing a course for the first time there are no unpleasant recollections coming up to spoil the shot. The player usually sees only the flag and the green, and if his glance does fall upon a guarding hunker it is only for a moment. I he hazards are all a part of the background, instead of being in the centre of his mental picture.

The ability to hit the shot for the flag and to let trouble take care of itself is a rare attribute among golfers. I think it is one of the chief fortes of Walter Hagen and Harry Cooper. Neither appears to give a thought to what may happen to the shot. I am sure that they see only the green as the inevitable destination of the ball.

I suppose it is some complex of this sort that has caused me to find, upon every course, at least one hole that I simply cannot play. I get into trouble on it once and after that I always get into trouble on it again, and almost always in a different way. There are four bunkers around the sixth green at Oakmont. I think I got into all of them during the four rounds of the tournament there.

I shall not soon forget how I struggled, at Olympia Fields, to overcome a fear of getting off the course. The fairways of that course appeared to be impossibly narrow, and in trying to guide the ball down the restricted lanes, I would alternately push it off to one side or the other. And, try as I would, (although I knew my trouble was purely a mental one) it was not until the last round of the play-off that I was able to swing freely and without a feeling of tenseness. That in a nutshell explains the difficulty experienced by ranking players, when opposed to men of less reputation, in an eighteen hole match. Afraid to allow his opponent to gain encouragement and inspiration by an early lead, the seeded player begins by being over cautious, attempting to keep meticulously to the paths of virtue and thus give his adversary no openings. The other man, feeling that he is to be beaten in any event, starts off in an aggressive frame of mind, intent only upon playing his best, or better than his best if possible.

Even the narrowest fairways are wide enough for a well-hit shot. The difficulty arises when we allow the sight of them to upset our manner of hitting. If we ease off at the last minute, or whip the club through with a jerk, no fairway in America will be wide enough to hold the ball.

On the seventeenth hole at Brae Burn, in the first qualifying round, I hit one of the worst shots I can ever remember hitting. The seventeenth hole is 255 yards and requires a very accurate brassie shot. The more serious difficulty there lies to the right, and this was the side I determined to avoid. But, as I addressed the ball, I was thinking more about keeping away from the danger on the right than about driving to the green, and, as I hit the ball, I did something—Heaven knows what—that sent the ball an inconceivable distance into the very woods I was trying to avoid. I was very lucky to get out of that scrape with a four. This desire to guide the shot is the most difficult fault in golf to overcome.

To think too much of the swing while playing a golf shot is usually disastrous. It is a difficult matter to be conscious of every detail of the stroke and still retain a modicum of concentration upon driving the ball to a desired spot. It is this difficulty which leads the average golfer to believe that the expert player must have nothing to worry about except hitting the ball.

We hear so much talk of "machine-like play" that it is no wonder that a good player is often thought of as an automaton who keeps swinging his clubs in the same groove day after day. It would be an exceedingly happy circumstance if such were the case, but it is unfortunately not so, and not likely to be so as long as the mortals who struggle with the game remain in their present stage of earthly advancement. The expert has to make use of his golfing intelligence and experience every time he strikes a ball, and it is his ability quickly to discover, and remedy, the defects in his swing which enables him to widen the space that separates him from the ordinary player.

That is the one great reason that I always try to manage five or ten minutes practice before starting out on a competitive round. The practice is not, as some may think, indulged in for the purpose of learning something newT, nor yet in the hope of substantially increasing any skill I may already possess. My sole and only purpose is to make whatever adjustments may be necessary to gain confidence and control. W7hen a player steps to the first tee without having hit a ball that day, he is taking a step in the dark. In such a case he must feel his way for the first few holes until he can become oriented, and discover whether bis clubs are going to feel like broom handles, fish poles, or golf clubs in his hands.

I do not think it matters a great deal whether the preliminary practice is satisfying or not, although, if time permits, it ought to be continued until the shots begin to go. In five minutes one can hit as many shots on a practice field as in five or six holes of actual play, and that should give us an ample opportunity to "get the feel" of our clubs. In this little workout, or warming-up skirmish, I personally like to give every club a little attention— that is, a few shots each with driver, spoon, mid-iron, mashie, and mashie-niblick, followed by a half-minute or so on the putting green with three or four balls.