Opinion & Analysis

Finding solace in golf

Published

13 years ago

Apr 1, 2013

Among other things, they call him a friend.

There is a secure reckoning in Tony Ferrell’s tread; every turn in the golf shop leads him to something –- and in this case, someone -– familiar.

Happy Valley Country Club — population 235 — is not a vast continuum of old money, privilege or status. By contrast, the sharpest points of its spectrum are found in dollar bets, the last few hands played on a Wednesday evening and the speakeasy nature of its membership.

Most of the club’s longstanding bourgeois have parted ways with their given name –- some enthusiastically, some reluctantly -– in favor of a moniker truly befitting their disposition.

Glide. Skeeter. Candy. Nokahoma. Rickonite. Canted faces, built on the backs of grandiose tales, on a mocked-up Rushmore.

“It’s the people. There’s a brotherhood here,” Ferrell says.

Indeed. They are one against all comers, more than capable of marking each other’s shadow in a darkened alley. Furthermore, and perhaps most important, is their ability to know when that grayed figure, albeit out of reach, is in need of a helping hand.

And Ferrell’s bearing –- whether as acting presider of the men’s golf association, or tending bar, or splitting trees after a hurricane, or telling a member to “call home, immediately” — is not obligatory, nor the genesis of a debt left unpaid.

It is the spirit of camaraderie.

Perhaps brothers best define this force; riding atop the crest of time together in the tide, well beyond inside jokes, and settled in the merriment of an emergency nine holes.

This is Tony Ferrell’s home, and his second Happy Valley -– one markedly different from the first.

Among other things, they call him honorable.

He watched, as did the naivety of America, and waited.

“They (the United States Army) were drafting so many in such a short period of time,” he recalls, “and I applied for the National Guard. But there was a list. A long list.”

Vietnam –- the irony still mocks him.

“By the time I was eligible,” he said, “I already had three weeks in boot camp.”

Grueling five-mile runs, homesick. Classroom sessions, homesick. Weapons training, homesick. Pick up the man around you, soldier –- he is homesick, too.

“It was scary,” he says, “I grew up on a farm. And in four months, everything changed. I got married in September of ’65, and I was in the Army by February of ’66.”

Basic training, his crude goodbye to adolescence, was in Fort Gordon, Ga., -– just a stone’s skip from Alister MacKenzie’s famed architectural masterpiece, Augusta National.

But, as he recalls, “I didn’t know anything about golf, and didn’t care. When the Masters was played, they let us take a vacation.”

Any furlough, however, was short lived.

Happy Valley, a nickname given the rugged terrain southwest of Qu?ng Nam Province –- and a primary North Vietnamese tactical position -– lay in wait.

And along with countless young men who looked just like him –- green, jittery on the trigger, and full of dreams otherwise –- Tony Ferrell began a descent into madness.

Among other things, they call him dedicated.

Someone kicked the rail of his bunk.

“Hey, Ferrell,” the man said, “Congratulations. You have an eight-pound, 10-ounce boy.”

He doesn’t recall who told him the news; not that it mattered. In two years, and still a month shy of his 21st birthday, he had traversed life in total –- farm boy, husband, soldier and now, father.

“I’m from Lucama, N.C.,” he said, “just as far away from home as you can get.”

His voice trails.

“I thought, I’ll probably never see him,” he said.

A soldier’s intuition.

It is a valuable part of infantry life, a way to preserve those closest to you — and very much a natural by-product of watching dreams explode, the daily threat of jungle rot and love letters sent home by dead men.

But even by Hell’s new standard, something was wrong. He knew it. With only 45 days left in the broiler plate, an eerie premonition settled over him -– one that would not relent.

“The night before all this, I told a friend of mine, another squad leader, ‘Something’s going to happen to me tomorrow,’” he recalled.

The next morning, as Ferrell’s men organized a position necessary to relieve a weary night patrol, a Viet Cong soldier ran through the perimeter’s post.

Charlie blinked, and his goal -– part concentrated chaos, part death en masse — was achieved.

“We took fire,” Ferrell recalls, “And I got lucky; the first bullet that hit me knocked me down.”

He never felt the impact. The crossfire entered just underneath his breastplate; it seared through his skin, glanced down the collar bone, and exited near the fold of his right arm.

“I was face down on the ground,” he said. “Trembling. Every time my heart beat, blood came out of my mouth.”

It was eight in the morning. It was his 21st birthday, and his son had been alive just three weeks.

Among other things, they call him loyal.

He was in the wrong pile.

Amongst a litany of the dead, wounded, and those not expected to survive their maker’s call — he attempted to move, to highlight for anyone that his life, though in jeopardy, remained loosely intact.

“Everything was moving in slow motion,” Ferrell noted. “I couldn’t hear anything. I kept going in and out.”

He would die there, by God’s grace, with the rest of them. Back home, family would tell stories. His widow would receive an impeccably folded flag. Taps would be played.

His son would have only pictures.

“They just happened to see me trying to get up,” he said, “and got me inside a medic tent. I could see a great big, white light, and people with masks on around me.”

A squadron helicopter circled back for the farm boy from Lucama. Time was on the vine, dangling.

“Those choppers had nothing but wall-to-wall radios,” he said. “I remember seeing the equipment, everything turning red –- and I kind of knew what that was.”

One rotor blade after another, he rose into the azure sky, high above the blood-stained floor of Conrad’s darkness.

He thought of his friends; there were other farm boys, too.

Among other things, they call him fearless.

His return home was met with no ticker tape parade; the main street of America -– at least for Ferrell –- was closed. Public opinion was divided, and our soldiers fodder for its ranging passion.

America had become immutable.

“If you ever saw the movie ‘We Were Soldiers,’ when one of our guys was pushing his buddy in a wheelchair, through the airport, the people wouldn’t walk close to them,” he says.

The film’s facsimile is all too clear.

“One lady grabbed her daughter,” he said, “and pulled her to the other side of the terminal. That’s the feeling you had -– that all of us had.”

Like many others, he pondered life anew. There were endless days of wracked silence, fury, guilt and visions of mind-numbing horror that would never be erased.

“I tried to wipe out everything,” he says, “I drank. Never mentioned anything about my company. Never looked at my pictures.”

He pauses, wearing the long look of the dead pile.

“My friends weren’t with me,” he recalls, “and I didn’t have my rifle.”

Among other things, they call him grateful.

No. 15 at Happy Valley Country Club prefers a gentleman’s fade from the tee; measuring only 315 yards, it hardly qualifies as a task insurmountable.

Here, bets are doubled; salty verbiage flies, as one might expect from names like Glide, Skeeter, Candy, Nokahoma and Rickonite.

The perfectly struck drive can, however, receive the proper bounce and with any luck, leave the deserving author a bid for eagle.

In an instant, things can change.

Ferrell’s round that Sunday resembled many he has played at Happy Valley Country Club. It was a charted study in normalcy, complete with the ridiculous and splendid.

There were fairways hit, three putts, bogeys and birdies — marks of layman’s golf on the card.

His cell phone rang.

“It was my wife,” Ferrell recalls, “she said I had a very strange message — from a guy who said he was in Vietnam with me.”

Thirty-seven years. He was scared again, just like Fort Gordon. Just like the night before his birthday. Just like coming home.

“What if this guy is real?” he asked himself.

It was nearing midnight.

Ferrell clutched the piece of paper. Looked at the phone number for an eternity, each time hoping the numerals would disappear. If they did, he wouldn’t have to go back.

“I’m trying to picture this guy,” he recalls of the moment. “But I just couldn’t remember. I had wiped all of that stuff away.”

The voice wasn’t instantly recognizable -– too many years had now passed, and too much time had been spent parting with his deeds done for God and country.

“Look at your pictures,” the man said.

Piece by fragmented piece, it came back to him. LRP rations. An Khe District. Night patrol. The matrix laden, earsplitting burst of a Claymore mine. His first trip through Happy Valley.

He longed for his rifle; that would make him safe.

But the boys of Delta Company, 2nd Battalion, 12th Brigade, First Calvary Division –- Ferrell’s unit -– had survived the mayhem of his birthday in the jungle.

And to a man, at every reunion since, they had asked about him.

Among other things, they never call him a hero.

Sgt. Tony Rose Ferrell, United States Army, is not the flowing, regal cape of a graphic novelist’s inkwell. He is not the ninth inning grand slam we dreamt of hitting as teenagers, nor a jersey canonized in the rafters of a gymnasium.

He is more, and unfortunately, often what we take for granted — a father’s timely counsel, an easy smile, an honest day’s work in the golf shop, and the corner chair of the Wednesday night poker tournament.

“Life has been great to me,” he says, “really great to me. I have a son, a daughter, and five of the prettiest grandchildren you’ve ever seen. I’ve been rewarded to the max.”

He shifts in his chair. “Blessed,” he says.

The jungle still echoes, still prowls his dreams. But its cacophonous hymn is somewhat softer now –- he knows they made it.

This weekend, the 10 o’clock crowd will gather in its usual regalia at Happy Valley Country Club. Dollar bills and barbs will be exchanged. The same stories, about the same exploits, will be given new life.

And Tony Ferrell will be there –- he’s a company man.

Opinion & Analysis

Brandel Chamblee PGA Championship Q&A: Rose’s huge McLaren risk, distracted LIV pros and why Aronimink suits the bombers

Published

1 day ago

May 12, 2026

Gianni Magliocco

PGA Championship week is here, and Brandel Chamblee did not hold back in our latest discussion ahead of the season’s second major.

In our 2026 PGA Championship Q&A, golf’s leading analyst made the case that PIF pulling LIV’s funding has left its players competing in a state of confusion, called Justin Rose’s mid-season equipment switch a huge risk at 45, and explained why Aronimink will be a bombers’ delight this week.

Check out the full Q&A below.

Gianni: With the PIF confirming that they’re pulling funding from LIV at the end of the season, what impact do you expect that to have on the LIV players competing at the PGA Championship?

Brandel: I would imagine that they have all been thrown into a state of confusion, and will be distracted, not knowing where they are going to play next year and not knowing exactly their road back to either the DP World Tour or the PGA Tour. Or in Rahm’s case, being tied to a sinking ship for the next few years, likely playing for pennies on the dollar in events that no one cares about or watches.

I doubt this would put him in the best frame of mind to compete at his highest level. Keeping in mind, however, that majors are the only time that LIV disciples get to play in events that matter, so never disregard the motivation they have to prove to the world they are still relevant.

Gianni: Justin Rose switched to McLaren Golf equipment mid-season while playing some of the best golf of his career. What do you make of the change?

Brandel: I don’t really know what to make of Rose switching equipment. It seems a huge risk on his part, even though it is likely, in my opinion, that the clubs he’s playing are similar, if not the exact grinds, to what he was playing previously, with a McLaren stamp on them.

Having said that, at best, it is a distraction when he seemed to be as dialed in with his game as any 45-year-old could be and trending in the majors to perhaps do something that would definitely put him in the Hall of Fame. At worst, given the possibility that these clubs aren’t just duplicates of his old set stamped with McLaren on them, he’s made an equipment change that would take time, and 45-year-old athletes don’t have the time to do such things.

Gianni: Aronimink has only hosted a handful of professional events since it hosted the 1962 PGA Championship. What kind of test does it present, and does a course with less recent major championship history tend to level the playing field?

Brandel: Even though Aronimink has only hosted a handful of meaningful professional events, it has been fairly discerning in who can win there. When Keegan Bradley won the BMW Championship on the Donald Ross masterpiece in 2018, he was the 2nd best iron player on tour coming into that week. When Nick Watney won the AT&T at Aronimink in 2011, he was 2nd in strokes gained total coming into the week.

In 2020, Aronimink hosted the KPMG Championship, and Sei Young Kim won. On the LPGA that year, she was first in greens in regulation, putts per green in regulation, and scoring average on the way to being the LPGA player of the year. And then there is the 1962 PGA Championship won by Gary Player, who eventually became just one of a few players to win the career grand slam on the way to winning 9 majors. It is a formidable test, and if it’s not softened by rain, it will bring out the best in the upper echelons of the game.

Gianni: Is there a specific hole at Aronimink that you think will do the most to decide the winner?

Brandel: The hardest hole at Aronimink in each of the three tour events that have been played there since 2010 has been the long par-3 8th hole, with the par-4 10th being the second hardest, so most of the carnage will happen around the turn, but with the par-5 16th offering opportunities for bold plays and the tough closing holes at 17 and 18, the finish is likely to be frenetic.

Gianni: The PGA Championship has always sat in the shadow of the other majors. What does the ideal PGA Championship look like in your eyes, and what would it take for it to carve out its own identity?

Brandel: The PGA Championship, to whatever degree it suffers from the comparison to the other three majors, is still counted just as much when adding them up at the end of one’s career. Almost 1/3 of Nicklaus’ major wins were the five PGA Championships he won. Walter Hagen won 11 majors, five of which were PGA Championships.

Tiger Woods twice in his career won back-to-back PGA Championships, and those four majors count just as much as the other 11 he won. The PGA may not have the prestige of the other three, but it carries the same weight. Having said that, I preferred the identity that it had as the last major of the year.

Gianni: You nailed your Masters picks. Rory won, Scottie finished solo second, and Morikawa surged to a tie for seventh. Who are your top 3 picks for the PGA Championship and why?

Brandel: I am not a huge fan of majors played on golf courses that have been shorn of most of the trees, although I understand some of the agronomic reasons for doing so and of course the ease with which it allows members to play after errant drives. However, at the highest level, it all but eliminates any strategy off the tee and turns professional golf into an even bigger slugfest. That means that it will likely be a bomber’s delight this week, but fortunately, Scottie Scheffler is long enough to play that game and straight enough to play it better than anyone else.

The major championships give us very few surprises anymore, going back to the beginning of 2012, so the last 57 majors played, the average world rank of the winners has been better than 15th in the world. So look at the highest ranked and longest drivers who are on form coming into the PGA Championship who also have great short games as the surrounds at Aronimink are very challenging. That’s Scottie Scheffler by a mile and then McIlroy and Cameron Young with a far bigger nod towards DeChambeau than I gave him at the Masters.

Club Junkie

A putter that I love and hate – Club Junkie Podcast

Published

5 days ago

May 8, 2026

Brian Knudson

In this episode of the Club Junkie Podcast, we dive into one of the most interesting flatstick releases of the year with a full review of the new TaylorMade SYSTM 2 putters. After spending time on the greens, I break down what makes this design stand out, where it performs, and why it has me completely torn between loving it and fighting it. If you are into feel, alignment, and consistency, this is one you will want to hear about.

We also take a look at some of the putters in play on the PGA Tour last week. From familiar favorites to a few surprising setups, there is always something to learn from what the best players in the world are rolling with under pressure.

To wrap things up, I walk through the process of building a set of JP Golf Prime irons paired with Baddazz Gold Series shafts. From component selection to performance goals, this is a deep dive into what goes into creating a unique custom set and why this combo has been so intriguing.

Opinion & Analysis

From 14 handicap to pro: 4 things I’d tell golfers at 50

Published

6 days ago

May 7, 2026

Jaacob Bowden, PGA

This year my 50th birthday. Gosh, where has the time gone?

As a teenager in rural Missouri, some of my junior high and high school years felt interminable. Graduation seemed light years away. But the older I get, the faster life seems to fly by.

I’m also increasingly aware of my mortality. My dad died recently. Earlier this year, a friend and fellow PGA of America professional and I were texting about our next catch-up. The next message I received was news of his unexpected passing at 48. Shortly after, a woman I dated in college succumbed to cancer at 51.

Certainly, one can share perspective at any age. Seniors help freshmen, veterans guide rookies. But reaching this milestone feels like as good a time as any to do one of those “what would I tell my younger self?” articles.

I’ve had a uniquely varied career in golf. I started as a 27-year-old, average-length-hitting, 14-handicap computer engineer and somehow managed to turn pro before running out of money, constantly bootstrapping my way forward. I’ve won qualifiers and set venue records in the World Long Drive Championships, finished fifth at the Speedgolf World Championships, coached all skill levels as a PGA of America professional, built industry-leading swing speed training programs for Swing Man Golf, helped advance the single-length iron market with Sterling Irons®, caddied on the PGA TOUR and PGA TOUR Champions, and played about 300 courses across 32 countries.

It’s been a ride, and I’ve gone both deep and wide.

So while I can consult and advise from a lot of angles, let me keep it to a few things I’d tell the average golfer who wants to improve.

1. Think About What You Want

Everyone has their own reason for picking up a golf club.

Oddly, as a professional athlete, I’m not internally driven by competition. That can be challenging, as the industry currently prioritizes and incentivizes competition over the love of the game.

For me, I love walking and being outdoors. Nature helps balance my energy. I prefer courses that are integrated into the natural beauty of their surroundings. I’m comfortable practicing alone. I’m a deep thinker, and I genuinely enjoy investigating the game, using data and intuition to unearth unique, often innovative insights. I’m fortunate to be strong and athletic, so I appreciate the chance to engage with my abilities. Traveling feels adventurous. I could go on.

You don’t have to overthink it like I do. For you, it might be as simple as hitting balls to escape work, hanging out with friends, and playing loosely with the rules and the score.

The point is to give yourself permission to play for your own reasons, and let that be enough.

But if improvement is your goal, thinking about your destination—and when you want to get there—is important, because it dictates the steps you need to take. When I set out to go from a 14-handicap to the PGA TOUR as quickly as possible, the steps I needed were very different from those of a working golfer trying to break 90 in six months. That’s also different from someone who just wants a few peaceful hours outside each week, away from work or family.

None of these goals are better than the others, but each requires a different plan that you can work backward from.

2. There Are Lots of Things That Can Work

One of the challenges of golf is that, although there are rules for playing, there aren’t clear, industry-wide standards for how to best play the game. There’s a lot of gray area.

You might hear a top coach or trainer insist that a certain move is the best way to swing or train. Then you dig a bit deeper and, much to your confusion and frustration, another respected coach or trainer says something completely different. I don’t think anyone is trying to confuse you—at least I hope not. It’s just where the industry is right now.

You have to be careful with advice from tournament pros, too. They might be great at scoring, but they’re also human and sometimes just as susceptible as amateurs to believing things that don’t really move the needle. Tour players might describe what they feel, but that’s not always what they’re actually doing when assessed with technology.

I recently ran a test on my YouTube channel (which connects to my GolfWRX article “How to use your hands in the golf swing for power and accuracy”), and, interestingly, two of the most commonly taught hand actions produced the worst results in the test.

Coaches can certainly help. If you find someone you connect with to help navigate, that’s great. But there are many ways to get the ball in the hole. In the current landscape, you may need to seek multiple opinions, think critically, and use your own intuition to discern what seems true and whose advice resonates with you.

I’d recommend seeking someone who is open-minded and always learning, because things constantly change. Absolutes like “correct” or “proper” should raise a red flag. AI can be useful, but it tends to confidently repeat popular advice, so proceed with caution.

3. Get Custom Fit

If you’re serious about becoming a better player, getting custom fit is hugely important. There’s no sense fighting your equipment if you don’t have to. Most better players get fit these days and, if they don’t, they’re usually skilled enough to work around clubs that aren’t ideal.

If you plan to play for a long time, it’s worth spending a little more upfront to get something that truly fits you and your game, rather than continually buying and discarding equipment.

Equipment rules haven’t really changed significantly since the early 2000s. To stay in business, manufacturers keep pushing those limits. If you pull a bunch of clubs and balls off the rack and test them, you’ll find differences. I’ve tested two new drivers and seen a 30-yard total distance gap. Usually, the issue isn’t bad equipment; it’s that the combination of components simply isn’t the best fit.

It’s like wearing a new pair of floppy clown shoes. Sure, they’re shoes—but you won’t sprint your best in them compared to track shoes that fit perfectly.

Be wary of what’s called custom fitting, too. Sometimes the term is used as a marketing strategy rather than an actual fitting. In some retail settings, fitters may be incentivized to steer you toward higher-priced components. That doesn’t automatically mean it’s not the best fit, but you should be aware of potential biases.

I learned a version of this lesson outside of golf. Years ago, I bought a tennis racquet at a big box store from a seemingly knowledgeable employee who thought it would suit me best. The racquet gave me tennis elbow, and I spent months recovering with rest and acupuncture. The next season, I invested more time and money to find what actually fit me, and I walked away with something amazing that I still play with years later.

So if you’re going to get fit, be smart about it.

Find someone you believe has deep knowledge—possibly with certifications, but not necessarily. Make sure there’s a wide inventory across many brands. Check recent reviews for the individual fitter if possible. Make sure you trust that the fitter has your best interests at heart. If they’re wearing a hat or shirt with a specific brand’s logo, proceed with caution. Unless you specifically want a certain brand or look, be wary of upsells, especially if two options perform nearly the same.

Also, while golf is called a sport of integrity, there’s a thread of manipulation in the industry. I once drafted an equipment article for an industry magazine, structured just like one of their previous popular stories, with matching word count and great photos. The assistant editor loved it; it was useful to readers and required little work on his part. But the editor-in-chief nixed the story. When I asked why, I was told it was because I wasn’t an advertiser. It turned out the article I’d modeled mine after was a paid ad cleverly disguised as editorial content.

I really dislike games, clickbait, and fear-based manipulation. I hope this changes, but golfers deserve to know it exists.

4. Distance and Strategy Matter

There’s a real relationship between how far you hit the ball and your scoring average, even at the PGA TOUR level.

I experienced this early in my pro career. I started as a power hitter, swinging in the high 120s and breaking 200 mph ball speed with a stock driver.

Back then, some instructors advised swinging at 80%, so I tried slowing down for more accuracy. That worked fine on shorter, tighter courses. But on longer setups, I was coming into greens with too much club, and par 5s stopped being