It’s all I can do to bend down and get a sweater out of the bottom drawer, so it goes without saying I no longer squat to lineup putts.  But it doesn’t matter.  Even if I could squat, I wouldn’t.  I’m content to stand behind the ball and take a look.  If the hole is more than six feet away, I usually leave it short.  In fact, I always leave it short.

 I read a statistic: 100% of the putts that fail to reach the hole don’t go in.  That’s enough to convince me it’s a waste of time to look for a break.  Does it matter if I leave it short left, or short right?

 It’s not that I’m a lousy putter, I don’t have the yips.  It’s my glasses.  A while back, I went to the optical shop with a new prescription and high hopes, expecting to emerge with lenses that make a golf hole look as big as a satellite dish.  The technician recommended transition lenses AND progressive lenses.  In case you don’t wear glasses, transition lenses darken automatically when the sun comes out.  It’s a scientific miracle.

 I walked around with a hand mirror so I could watch the lenses switch from dark to clear.  I wanted to make sure it was happening.  I even walked in and out of the garage to see if I could confuse them.  Then I timed how long it takes them to change -- with a stop watch.  When the lenses are dark the process takes exactly twenty four seconds -- just enough time to race indoors, dash into a cocktail party, engage someone in conversation and act nonchalant as the lenses, that appear to be sunglasses, clear magically.  I feel like an inventor showing off his newest patent during a happy hour chat.

 Anyhow, the transition lenses louse up my putting.  Sometimes I get over a putt in the brilliant sun and, just as I draw a bead on the hole, a cloud goes by.  Suddenly, I’m Stevie Wonder. (Do you know why Stevie Wonder always smiles?  His people tell him the theater is sold out.)

 Progressive lenses are the other thing that ruined my putting.  The bifocal part blends into the large distance lens so no one can tell I need binoculars to read a menu.  It’s a cosmetic thing, I no longer look like I’m one step away from following a guide dog. (Have you heard about the blind man on the street corner whose guide dog peed on his leg?  The man pulled a cookie out of his pocket and fed it to the dog.  A pedestrian noticed what he had done, and remarked that it was quite a kind gesture.  The blind man said, “It wasn’t a kind gesture, I was trying to figure out which way he was facing so I could kick him in the ass!”)

 I questioned the optician extensively to be sure the lenses won’t be a detriment to my putting.  He used technical jargon that convinced me that everything would be all right -- once my eyes adapted to the new prescription.  He also told me about his grandfather, who got his first pair of progressive lenses just before Thanksgiving.  The whole family came over for dinner and the old man proudly carried the turkey to the dining room and set it down on what he thought was the table.  Unfortunately, he missed by six inches and the bird suffered rug burns.

 Back to my putting.  With the new lenses, when I look down, the ball is out of focus.  It looks like I’m putting a clump of Kleenex.  If I putt on my knees my vision would be perfect -- the field of focus is ideal if you’re a dwarf.

 I guess I made a bad bifocal decision.  I knew it the day my playing partner corrected me as I lined up a putt.  He said, “Whoa, that’s not the flagstick.  You’re aiming at a pin oak.”

 

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