Out-door Games: Cricket and Golf/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII
Style
There is a tendency in these days to cultivate in most games a brutal, effective style of play. Our forefathers used to play a gentler game, with more regard to grace and style and form. At cricket it used to be considered bad form and bad play to hit an of-side ball to the on; now it is done whenever there is an opportunity, but it is an ugly stroke. At tennis the railroad service was practically never attempted except when the server had to defend a hazard side chase or a very long one on the service side. The common service was the ordinary side wall pent-house and back wall service, giving the striker-out scope for that lovely and graceful cut stroke into the left or right-hand corner which was a joy to behold. The whole principle of the game was the chase, and to succeed in making a series of good chases depended either on great knowledge of length or the power of cut. It was finesse and science. There was plenty of opportunity for strong and vigorous hitting when the position of affairs made the dedans and tambour the desired object, but the general character of the game was scientific placing of the ball, accurate length, strong cut, and head play. All this is changed with a vengeance, and our American cousins were the pioneers of a hard, fast, brutal, but terribly effective style of play. Pettitt was the individual who proved to a sorrowing English public that for the purpose of winning games a fast underhand service running along the pent-house, often nicking, and if not a dead nick, sticking to the side wall was more effective than the old graceful method. It was impossible to play the old cut stroke off such services. All that could be done was to boast and force. Similia similibus curantur, and once begin a hard and fast attack, the only way to win the rest is to meet severity with severity. Chases are forgotten, each player rushes all over the court trying to find a winning opening, and the game as an exposition of scientific graceful play came to an end when Pettitt took this country by storm with the underhand railroad service.
At cricket, as has been said, the reason for the modern style of play is principally to be found in the perfection of modern wickets. Bowlers have to resort to ungainly dodges, the field are all crammed in the slips and on the off-side, and the batsman in order to get the ball away hits across the wicket. There is not altogether the same state of things in the world of golf, but even here there are dangers ahead, and as has been said before, the chief danger is the unhealthy predominance given to playing for a score. But there is another thing which rather strikes an observer of the game, and that is the length of course. The modern clubs, with their odd shapes and sizes and heavy bullet heads, really exist to satisfy the players to whom length seems everything; but it is impossible to wonder at this when the new links seem to be laid out on the principle that the really good hole is one where it is possible for the long player, by a tremendous drive and very long second shot, to get his ball hole high. It is quite true that these holes may be conceded to be on the whole the best sort to produce the finest golf, but still it should be remembered that if long holes predominate to an undue extent the test of excellence is being confined to the youthful. There is nothing more certain than that in golf, as in cricket, great length of hit is possible to those whose joints are full of oil and supple, and to those only, which in other words means youth. It is possible to lay out a course entirely in the way I have described. Every hole may be at least 400 yards long, and such a links could only tempt the young long-hitting player. The old-fashioned golfer may exaggerate the old-fashioned style of lofting and cutting and approaching, but still he has some argument in his favour. Some practice, of course, is necessary to arrive at a long-hitting style of play, but it is far easier to a young man to do this than to learn to play the scientific lofting shot; and if links are laid out with too many long holes in them, some injustice is done to the man who, though not a long driver, is nevertheless, owing to the excellence of his short game, a more scientific player than the slashing youth who finds so many holes laid out to suit his particular game.
There attaches a sort of glamour to the slashers, which is not quite as it should be. The newspapers, for instance, make far more fuss about a phenomenal drive or brassey than they do about a neat, graceful lofted stroke, which demands perhaps the greatest skill that any golfer can attain. The public generally are instructed on the question of driving, which is only a question of length, and there is rather too much pandering to the vulgar taste which has its counterpart in cricket in the "bloomin' 'igh, bloomin' 'ard, and bloomin' hoften."
It ought to be possible to lay out links where each style of play should have its turn. There may safely be holes of great length to call forth the utmost strength of the youth to reach in two strokes; there may be others where, however you play them, it is impossible to reach the hole without a skilful loft. One or two holes ought to be of such a length that instead of driving you should be forced to approach them from the tee. Such a stroke is really far harder to do than to carry a bunker 140 yards from the tee. A course, if perfect, should never be open to the charge that it is no good So-and-so going to play there, because his drive is not far enough. That may be the reason why it is difficult for him to win certain holes, but there ought to be other holes where compensation is possible; and the long-driving youth being forced to use restraint, is punished for attempting this wholesome discipline, and the middle-aged man may smile.
The thing we plead for, therefore, may be said to be the scientific power of restraint as opposed to mere muscle and power. Youth must always have an advantage in so far that it is always within the bounds of possibility that the young man may learn to play the scientific short game; and if he happens to be a long player as well, then he deserves all the success he gets. But it is absolutely true that after forty years of age there is an appreciable diminution in length of drive and power, and though fortunately there is no reason why golf should not be enjoyed as much as ever, it would be a misfortune if the honours of golf should altogether be denied to the man of mature years merely because the stress of time had taken some yards off his long game. If all links were to be made to suit youth there would not be nearly so much enjoyment for the middle-aged. A great deal may be learned from the grand game of tennis as played before Pettitt so completely changed and, as many think, ruined the game. Mr. Heathcote was amateur champion for twenty-five years, and held it when he was fifty years old; old Barre was the best player in the world when he was fifty years old, and Edmund Tompkins was in the first flight at the same age. Now tennis is all rush and hit, and unless the rules are altered it will become as much a game for youth as football. This is a misfortune both from the point of view of the game itself and for the enjoyment it provides for its followers. Of the bad effect of the game by a too great predominance being given to score play something has already been said; but the time has come for protest when our golfing legislators are called upon to alter the rules in the interests of what I have called the brutal efficiency side of the game.
In golf there is a rule that on the putting-green a ball in match play must not be lifted—though it may be between the other ball and the hole—unless the balls are within six inches of each other. This rule has been in existence ever since golf was invented, and for years was accepted without grumbling as part of the game. As time went on, medal play, a bastard and degrading form of play as compared to match play, came into greater prominence, and players generally came to place an exaggerated value on score play: and now there is an increasing agitation in favour of the stimie being abolished even in match play. The one fact I complain of in this agitation is that those in favour of the abolition of the stimie seem to me to base their arguments solely on the fact that it is hard luck on the man who is stimied, and they ignore any other question whatever. If it is a real stimie, that is, if it is impossible to hole the ball by getting round—and I believe it is often said to be impossible when it is not—the player generally has it in his power to hole the ball by taking a laid back club like a mashie, and lofting it over the opponent's ball into the hole. Now, the fact that this is a beautiful stroke and a joy both to do and to look at, seems to be lost sight of by those who desire the abolition of the stimie. They do not consider the niceties of the game, or what may be called its æsthetic side; to them it appears to be a matter of no moment to preserve an artistic and beautiful stroke; all this is nothing in their eyes. Medal or score play is a necessity in these days of competitions and spring and autumn meetings, and stimies no doubt must be abolished in this sort of competition; but I for one object to the spirit of score play being allowed to pervade the whole game of golf. The agitation in favour of the abolition of the stimie is, I believe, largely due to the fact that many players, even when playing match games, are keeping a score, and no doubt stimies do damage a round where every stroke is of importance. Nobody objects to a man keeping his score, provided that he does not stand for some minutes by the hole while he is counting his strokes and putting them down in a book to the great inconvenience of those behind him; but what seems to me pernicious is the idea that a stroke, beautiful to look at and delightful to play, which has been part of the game ever since it was first played, should be sacrificed because it is in some cases hard luck to its victims and interferes with the score of others. First, on the question of luck. We are all of us apt to take a one-sided view of luck. We remember when it is against us, and forget when it is in our favour. No doubt there are times when it is extremely hard luck to be stimied, but to no one individual is there a monopoly of bad luck. Everybody has his turn of fortune's favours as well as of her blows. The game has not been invented, in which a ball is involved, where luck is not an important feature. The luck of the stimie may be regarded as part of the general element of fortune which is an absolute necessity in every game of ball. Next, as to the question of score. The man who is always trying to make a score has no grievance whatever in medal play, for in such games the stimie has been abolished. In an ordinary game by holes he need not play stimies if he can get his opponent to agree before the match starts, and we are therefore driven to the conclusion that he argues for the abolition of the stimie because in match play where he cannot get his opponent to agree to its abolition he has to play with the stimie to the prejudice of his score. The St. Andrews Committee, if that is the correct way to describe the M.C.C. of the golfing world, is asked to abolish a singularly beautiful stroke because in all tournaments and all games by holes, unless the antagonists agree not to have them, stimies are played. If it were possible I should like to hear from any experienced player what percentage of matches have been lost or won by the stimie. I believe the truth is very few matches have had their results influenced by the stimie in any way.
To begin with, it is never absolutely impossible to negotiate a stimie, except perhaps in the case of the blocking ball being close to the hole and the player's ball a yard or more distant from the hole on the same side. This state of things happens sometimes, but even when it does it may occur to both antagonists equally, and will not affect the match. In all other cases it is possible to hole out when stimied, either by creeping round or by lofting over, and you are justified in accepting with caution the many random statements you hear from aggrieved players that they had cruel luck, having been stimied three times. These players would be astonished if they could see Taylor or Sayers hole out with the balls in practically the same positions. Such players ask for the stimie to be abolished, not because the interests of the game demand it, but because they are incompetent. The same argument was held in the case of the spot stroke at billiards, but there was this enormous difference—in billiards the spot stroke became so easy to all first-class players that it paid to neglect all the rest of the game. It made the game dull to watch, and even monotonous to the players themselves. The incompetents raised the question in both instances, but the facts and circumstances were quite different.
Reduced to a simple statement it comes to this, that an agitation is started to abolish a very beautiful stroke in the interests generally of a class of players who ought not to be encouraged, those who are eternally playing for a score which is no sort of interest to anybody but themselves. The individual cases of hardship are really very few in number, and when weighed in the balance with the beauty of the lofted stroke over a ball, do not of themselves justify the conclusion that on this account such a pretty stroke ought to be abolished.
Golf has not, so far, suffered much in the way of sacrifice of style. Other games have, and there are one or two dangers ahead: so a word of pleading may not be in vain. The long player must always have an advantage, but length of drive and play through the green should not be absolutely essential for a man to win championships. Perhaps it is not so at present, but there is a danger that it may become so.