Welcome to The Golf Scene — Your Weekly Golf Fix.

If this is your first issue, welcome.
If you’ve been following along, thanks — I appreciate it.

This week we find out what L.L.P.O.F. stands for, we follow along with Dr. Bogie as he tries to solve the latest case, and we learn how much effort there is in effortless — which will soon become crystal clear.

And somewhere in there, we’ll help you hit a few better shots.

Let’s get into it.

In This Issue:

Swing Insight: L.L.P.O.F.

A Dr. Bogie Detective Story: The Case of the Missing Swing

Golf Life: Crystal Clear Ain’t Easy to Do.

There are certain things golfers know with absolute certainty.

They know they didn’t swing too hard.

They know they weren’t holding the club tightly.

They know they used their body.

They know they didn’t lift their head.

And they know, beyond any reasonable doubt, that whatever just happened was caused by something other than the thing they were actually doing.

I hear variations of this all the time.

“I’m not holding it tight.”

Okay.

“I’m really trying to keep my arms relaxed.”

Excellent.

“I’m definitely turning my body.”

Good to know.

“I didn’t try to hit that one hard.”

Interesting.

Because occasionally the available evidence suggests otherwise.

Golf has a wonderful way of creating a sizeable gap between what we think we are doing and what we are actually doing.

Grip pressure is a perfect example.

A golfer can be squeezing the club hard enough to leave fingerprints in the rubber and still sincerely believe they are holding it lightly.

Ask them to relax their hands and they will.

Or at least they think they will.

Then they hit another ball.

Nothing changes.

“How tight are you holding it?”

“About a three.”

On what scale?

Hydraulic press?

The same thing happens with effort.

A golfer makes a swing that appears to involve every available muscle, several facial expressions, and perhaps a small amount of dental work.

“Were you trying to hit that hard?”

“No.”

Of course not.

There are other favourites.

“I stayed in my posture.”

The video indicates you were almost standing upright before impact.

“I turned through it.”

Your belt buckle has entered a formal objection.

“I didn’t use my hands.”

Your hands would like independent legal counsel.

None of this means the golfer is deliberately being dishonest.

Usually they genuinely believe what they are saying.

That is one of the strange things about learning golf.

Feel and real are not always on speaking terms.

What feels like a huge change may barely be visible.

What feels perfectly normal may be the very thing causing the problem.

And what feels relaxed may resemble someone trying to strangle a garden hose.

That is why feedback matters.

Sometimes it is video.

Sometimes it is launch-monitor data.

Sometimes it is simply having another person standing there who can say:

“No. You absolutely did that.”

This is also why making a change can initially feel so uncomfortable.

If you have held a golf club at an eight for twenty years, a genuine three may feel as though the club is about to fly into the parking lot.

If you have always swung primarily with your arms, using your body properly may feel completely foreign.

And if you routinely swing at 110 percent, an 80-percent swing can feel like you are barely participating.

The golfer isn't necessarily trying to deceive anyone.

Their internal measuring equipment simply requires recalibration.

Which brings us back to those confident declarations.

“I wasn’t holding it tight.”

“I didn't force it with my arms.”

“I definitely used my body.”

“I wasn’t trying to hit it hard.”

Perhaps.

But when the video, the golf ball, the launch monitor, the instructor and several nearby witnesses all disagree, we may have to consider another diagnosis.

And what does L.L.P.O.F. stand for?

Well…

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.

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The evidence usually appears on the driving range, the first tee, or beside a golf ball that has already developed trust issues.

The golfer steps aside and makes a beautiful practice swing.

Balanced.

Smooth.

Relaxed.

Almost athletic.

Then they make another one.

Still good.

Maybe even better.

By the third practice swing, witnesses begin to believe something special is happening. The club brushes the grass. The finish looks balanced. The golfer appears calm, composed, and possibly employable.

Then comes the ball.

And everything vanishes.

The same golfer steps in, looks down, tightens every muscle from the jaw to the shoelaces, and produces a motion that appears to have been assembled in a machine shop during a power outage.

The practice swing is gone.

Missing.

Last seen two feet away from the ball.

This is when Dr. Bogie is called to the scene.

He arrives with a notebook, a pencil, and the weary expression of a man who has investigated this crime before.

The witnesses are questioned.

“Did the golfer make a good practice swing?”

Yes.

“Several?”

Yes.

“Did anything change when the ball was introduced?”

Everything.

This is the key detail in the case.

The golfer believes they made the same swing.

They did not.

The practice swing had no consequences. No scorecard. No pond. No people watching from the patio. No internal voice whispering, “Please don’t embarrass yourself in front of Kevin.”

It was just a motion.

Then the ball appeared.

Suddenly the golfer was not making a swing anymore.

They were trying to hit something.

And that is where the trouble began.

In the practice swing, the body moved freely.

With the ball present, the brain took over, called an emergency meeting, invited every swing thought it could find, and formed a committee.

Keep your head down.

Don’t top it.

Don’t slice it.

Swing easy.

Turn your hips.

Don’t swing too hard.

Don’t hit the people on the next fairway.

Whatever you do, do not think about the pond.

Naturally, the golfer immediately thought about the pond.

At this point, the investigation usually turns toward intent.

The golfer intended to make the same motion.

But intent is not evidence.

Dr. Bogie has seen this before.

A rehearsal swing and a real swing are not always the same event. One is a motion without pressure. The other is a motion with a result attached to it.

That result changes people.

It changes their tempo.
It changes their grip pressure.
It changes their balance.
It changes their finish.
It changes their ability to remain a reasonable citizen.

This is why a golfer can make three wonderful practice swings, then step in and hit a shot that suggests the club and ball were never formally introduced.

The missing swing was not stolen.

It was abandoned.

Left behind the moment the golfer stopped making a motion and started trying to guide, steer, lift, help, rescue, or personally negotiate with the golf ball.

And golf balls do not negotiate.

They only report what happened.

So what is the lesson?

The goal is not to admire your practice swing from a distance and then become a completely different person when the ball is present.

The goal is to make the ball part of the motion, not the reason the motion collapses.

That usually means simplifying the assignment.

Brush the grass.

Finish in balance.

Stay in your posture until after impact.

Pick one clear priority and let the ball get in the way of the motion.

Not twelve priorities.

One.

Because the more the golfer tries to control the strike, the more the swing disappears.

Dr. Bogie closed the file shortly after impact.

Cause of disappearance:

Too much effort.
Too much tension.
Too much ball awareness.
Not enough trust in the motion.

Another mystery solved.

The swing had not gone far.

It was hiding in the practice swing the whole time.

Most issues contain at least one thing intended to help your golf game.

Below is this week’s version, which is more of a reality check than a swing fix, as we try to bring expectations a little closer to reality.

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No fluff. Just ideas, insight, and the occasional reality check.

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Many years ago, when I was managing a golf course, one of our staff members asked if he could take his father to the practice range and maybe go out and play afterward.

Of course.

Then I asked the obvious question.

“How much golf has your father played?”

“None.”

Never played?

Never even swung a golf club.

Apparently his father had been watching Tiger Woods on television and had concluded that the golf swing looked fairly easy.

Fair enough.

I suggested they take a large bucket of balls to the range and come back afterward to let me know how it went.

About thirty minutes later, the staff member appeared in my office.

His father was sitting in the car.

They would not be teeing off.

Apparently the first fourteen swings had produced absolutely no contact with the golf ball.

The next dozen or so advanced matters slightly, although most of the shots barely escaped his shadow.

Then came the adjustments.

Soon he was digging trenches across the practice tee, after which the golf club was reportedly launched some distance down the range.

His father then announced that golf was a silly game, he had no interest in playing it, and it was time to go home.

There was really only one problem.

He had mistaken looking effortless for being effortless.

Tiger Woods made the golf swing look easy because an extraordinary amount of work had already gone into making it look that way.

The same thing happens in places other than golf.

Take a swimming pool.

On the right summer day, the water is warm, the patio furniture is ready, the barbecue is standing by, and the pool is sparkling.

A few guests arrive and admire it.

“Look how clear that water is.”

“It’s perfect.”

And it is.

What they don’t see is the brushing, vacuuming, filtering, heating, testing, balancing, chlorinating and repeated robot missions along the bottom.

They don’t see the small adjustments or the occasional moment when the pool appears to be considering a career change into a pond.

They see only the finished product.

Crystal clear.

Now imagine being paired with a golfer you have never met.

His opening drive finds the fairway.

His next shot finds the green.

His swing is smooth and unhurried.

There is no visible panic, very little violence, and almost no evidence that the golf course is winning.

By the back nine, someone usually says it.

“You’re a natural.”

Maybe.

But what they don’t see are the lessons, the practice, the drills, the repetition, the bad swings, the small adjustments, the false breakthroughs and all those range sessions where absolutely nothing appeared to be improving.

They see the finished product.

The pool did not become crystal clear by accident.

Neither did the golfer.

Both required attention.

Both required maintenance.

And both can deteriorate surprisingly quickly when neglected.

One begins to turn green.

The other begins to hit it sideways.

What looks effortless is often simply the visible result of a great deal of invisible work.

The clear water.

The clean strike.

The finished product.

Crystal clear.

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This week we’ve learned three important things:

What L.L.P.O.F. means — and whether it has ever been part of your golfing vocabulary.

Why your golf swing can go missing just when you need it most.

And why looking effortless and being effortless are two very different things.

And please...

If you have a swimming pool at home, let everyone know that keeping it crystal clear is work, just like Tiger’s swing.

If you found this useful, or at least mildly entertaining, feel free to share it with:

a friend

a playing partner

or someone whose swing goes MIA when the golf ball shows up to the party.

And if you're looking to take your game a step further...

👉 I'd be happy to help — in person or online.

David Govan
PGA of Canada Professional

Golf Excellence Academy
Modern Golf Instruction

Creator of the 5C Golf Performance System
👉 GolfExcellence.ca

P.S. Next issue we’ll find out whether you’ve stumbled into competence, ask why your eyes hate you playing golf, and go looking for the missing drinks and snacks at the turn.

Beyond that, the editorial strategy remains remarkably similar to my golf game:

We have a general direction, but the exact landing area is still unknown.