May 13, 2010 – I took golf lessons from Hank Haney. It was years ago. I was an 18 handicap and had visions of going down. I went to Plano, Texas for a work meeting and stretched the schedule over a weekend. I managed to take some time on the surrounding Friday and Monday, so I put together four days of hitting golf balls the Hank Haney way, in McKinney, Texas.

As people make a big thing out of Haney resigning as Tiger’s swing coach, it becomes clear how golf writers don’t have a clue about the game they cover. People go to “swing gurus” to get an objective third-party opinion about how to improve their golf swing. The most significant thing to keep in mind is that the swing you come in with is the usually the one you leave with. That the student often knows more about the swing than the teacher and that the pursuit “of making yourself even better,” is as elusive as the game itself.

The coach observes and makes minute, fine adjustments. When the suggestions work, as they did, 37 of 71 times, during the six years Woods and Haney were together, there is a credibility build up. The “swing thoughts” that Haney fed Tiger seemed to be helping. But as all golfers know, swing thoughts are fleeting. What both Tiger and Hank knew, as well as Tiger’s old coach, Butch Harmon, is that it always comes to an end.

My weekend in McKinney was action-packed. I paid Hank something around $300 an hour and then elected to go to his right hand man, Tim Cusick, who was a more managable $80 an hour. After Hank watched me swing at his golf ranch in a converted stable, he introduced “wrist cock’ to my swing and began a process of manually pulling my golf club through the swing he wanted. You could say that at that time, Hank and I were very close. I wasn’t wearing a watch, but the one hour he put in on my bill seemed short.

Hank handed me off to Cusick, who took me to the old hay loft for a film session. Tim then took me back out to the range where he asked what club, I couldn’t hit. I chose the five iron and most of our work the remainder of the weekend was with that club in my hand.

At the time, Cusick was known to fill in for Hank with the reknowned clients. Tiger’s golf-buddy, Mark O’Meara was a primary client. I’ve always believed that it was that connection that led Tiger to Hank.

Cusick worked every aspect of my game, foremost trying to make me hit that five iron the “Haney way,” and then allowing me to pull the other clubs from my bag. He watched me on the practice putting green, he took me to the chipping and pitching range, and then he handed me off to Rob Oosterhuis, an aspiring teaching pro and the son of Peter. Rob was more like $30 an hour.

For four days I became a fixture at Mr. Haney’s. Each day included at least one paid hour with my instructor, by Sunday I was exclusively with Rob and impressing the Haney staff with my tireless work ethic. At one point, they loaded me onto a golf cart that had a plastic garbage pail loaded with range balls and allowed me to go to the far side of the range and hit back toward the old horse structure. I emptied the garbage can.

On that side of the range were the real Haney people. It seemed like the whole Kuehne family, the first family of Dallas golf, was there. Somebody said that O’Meara had flown in Monday morning after crapping out at the Palmer at Bay Hill. The Northwestern University golf team was there, on a Texas spring training swing, including their top player Luke Donald. Mike Cofer, the former NFL kicker and nearby McKinney neighbor, worked the Haney front desk in trade for practice time.

By Monday, I had learned that my swing had a natural tendency to come over the top. I cut or sliced the ball naturally. When I used the Haney method correctly, I hit all my clubs farther and straighter than I had ever. I just couldn’t do what Tiger also wanted to do, to make the swing repetitive. I could not stop myself from going back to my natural swing.

During my last hours on the ranch, I saw a guy who had been hitting in a space next to me, slowly walk up and slump down on a bench that stood outside the door to the Haney golf shop and retail center. I asked if he was alright and walked inside to report the emergency, surprised to see Hank on campus. Hank took charge and I meandered out to the main road to help guide the ambulance directly toward the fallen golfer. When he was raced away, I wondered whether I should get back to working on my game, maybe even play the little nine-hole Pete Dye design a few steps away, to apply my new shots.

After hours of practice, of incorporating small adjustments to my swing and hitting literally thousands of golf balls, I concluded it was time for me to leave Hank Haney. I was panicked, starting to feel the wear, and regressing with my progress. The weekend was over. I paid my bill (something around $700) and left. I think I know a little bit how Tiger feels.