Ghettogolf Report: Dyker Beach in decline

I finally busted out of my Staten Island rut and made it out to Brooklyn's Dyker Beach, my former spiritual home of golf.

Ghetto Golf, volume 3: Talkin' about practice II

In the last edition of Ghetto Golf we took a look at Manhattan's "one and only open air golf facility".

However that's not exactly true. There's actually one other option--the Randall's Island Golf Center. Technically in Manhattan, it's actually on a tiny (0.85 square mile) spot of land floating in the East River up next to Harlem, known as Randall's Island.

Legitimate Golf Diaries, volume 3: Heat Advisory

We're in the middle of a long heat wave. After a few days of eyeing the triple digit temps on the weather reports and seeing the numerous "heat advisories" and "air quality alerts" I got a little discouraged. But at some point you just have to get out there and have a go, so I dragged myself onto the express bus and out to the local shithole.

I got to the first tee and was devastated when the starter put me into a foursome. Usually when you brave extreme weather conditions you hope to be rewarded with an empty course. Not today. Actually the heat didn't hit me too bad. I remembered that I actually like hot weather. It's the humid sweating, the damp clothes, soaked gloves, the need to constantly gulp fluids--that's the real hassle. Other than that heat can be great. Loose muscles and joints, plus the ball flies farther--if you can just manage to stay upright, there's a lot to be said for this hot weather golf.

During the pre-round introductions one of the guys noticed that I had no cart or pull cart, and that I was about to try and walk and carry my bag. "You're crazy to do that in this weather." Then again he was an enormous blob of a guy, 300 pounds easy. What I really wanted to say was something about how if I looked like him then yeah, it wouldn't be smart to walk. It was a little early to be hating so I just brushed it off. "Ah, it's not so bad."

Filling out the foursome was a pair of younger guys. One wearing a Hunter Mahan replica cap and the other a Phil Mickelson "KPMG Consulting" version. Now I was not even aware a) that one could purchase such a hat or 2) that Phil Mickelson fandom actually reached such a level.

Because corporate logos are only worn by professionals because they get paid to do that, right? Sporting "KPMG" certainly isn't helping anyone get laid. Nobody would actually pay actual money to be a walking advertisement for some stuffed-shirt consulting corporation right?

Wrong. Once again I'm the one who needs to learn how the world works these days.

I was feeling especially sweaty when I took this photo, hopefully it captures how hot it was out there.

I haven't been here in a while; the greens have taken a beating from all the hot weather probably.

It was a typical NYC round, typically painful. As is customary around here the two replica hat guys shared a cart and made their way around the course as if attached at the hip, so enthralled with each other's game that they couldn't bring themselves to play ready golf. Phil Mickelson hat had some blowup holes and held up the whole group several times--the poor slob was too overweight to hustle.

Speaking of dumb behavior, this is worth mentioning since it's pretty common--teeing up in front of the tee markers. To me that says a lot. The average hole on an average-sized golf course is about 350 yards long. That's 12,600 inches. Think about that. Cheating just to make the hole two hundredths of one percent shorter.

Enormous blob was a real piece of work too. After almost every tee shot he would forget all about everyone else, drive up to his ball and just sit there in his cart staring toward the green, completely in the way of someone's shot, until one of us would yell "HEADS UP" at him. I don't think he was all there mentally, because he kept doing it, as late into the round as the 16th hole. Another stupid thing I noticed about enormous blob was that, in 18 holes, he didn't pick up a single flagstick. I later found out that this guy is a high school teacher. Sad.

It was hot, it was miserable. I swung it like crap, burned a bunch of edges in shooting 84. I couldn't muster any goodwill for these shlubs at all. I hardly spoke to anyone. Hunter Mahan hat was an okay guy though, and also golfed his ball pretty respectably. So after everyone putted out on 18, I went over to him, extended a hand, addressed him by name and said, "It was good playing with you." Then I turned to the other two guys, shook their hands and said, "Take care."

Instead of going home, I saw the 10th hole open and made a snap decision to re-play the back nine. I was feeling pretty fresh still. I had just about a 1/4 of a water bottle left, but I could ration it out. I ran into a lonely Chinese kid on the 12th and asked if I could join up. He agreed, but after a hole and a half I realized that his way of standing frozen over the ball would probably prevent us finishing on 18, so I ditched the dead-weight and played some solitary speed golf coming in.

Ahhh freedom. The first 18 was a long, tedious round but getting to play this extra nine makes it all worthwhile. It's those late-day moments on an quiet, empty course that to me really represent the height of golf. The slogging through of 5 hour rounds with dull strangers, that's kind of the compulsory duty, the dues you pay for a chance at moments like these.

Ahhh! A gang of raccoon puppies. They were all nervous and curious trying to watch me. Probably the cutest thing I've ever seen on a course. Over that last nine, I managed to play some real golf.

Plus I managed to walk 27 holes while carrying the bag in 100 degree heat, and did so without feeling like complete hell at the end, so all in all, a good outing. I figured out a couple things, one of which was to remove the glove immediately after the shot, and then sort of flip it inside out, give it a chance to air out a little. It helped immensely. So now I'm actually looking forward to playing again in this heat.

Ghetto Golf, volume 2: Talkin' about practice

Practice. We all need it, in some form. This week's Ghetto Golf takes a look at Manhattan's one and only open-air golf facility, the Golf Club at Chelsea Piers.

The multi-tiered urban driving range is nothing novel. It's the norm in Asia.

For a lot of people there, the range is their predominant experience of the game. Some of the ranges in Korea are serious intensive training facilities that turn youths into golf professionals.

Our range is nothing like that--much more casual here. Mostly regular hackers trying to keep their lousy swings functioning. You won't see a lot of serious players; you will see a lot of tourists and non-golfers having a go, lured in by the novelty of a driving range in the city (it can get quite loud with all the shanking of balls into the vinyl partitions). And there is an actual instruction academy on the third floor which features an indoor bunker and putting studio, if you're really in a bad way.

Since it's Manhattan's only outdoor golf facility, probably anyone who's anyone in golf has stopped by at some point for some promotional headache or another.

Ok, let's get it on already. The main entrance is through the parking garage.

Before heading in to the golf club proper let's check out this sad little chipping/putting area. There's nothing real about this here facade--we are still in the parking garage. Those are windows and doors to nowhere. It's like when the aliens attempted to re-create a human environment for Dave Bowman at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey:

Because its all artificial turf, this green features some weird breaks that aren't visible to the naked eye. Really a terrible place to practice, just barely more real than those fake windows and doors.

Spend any time here and you might start to feel like a zoo animal. Lots of foot traffic going in and out of the Piers complex equals a lot of curious rubbernecking. I guess it is surprising to see people chipping and putting in a Manhattan parking garage.

The "pro shop" and front door to the "club". More fake shenanigans, but at least this is an actual building. As with the aliens in Space Odyssey, all these appearances are a nice thought even though they are hopelessly fake-looking. Hey, they tried at least.

It can get crazy busy in here--I've seen hour long wait times. Today though, no need to take a number.

Ignore the corrugated steel, inside-of-a-shipping-container appearance; this is a classy place.

Welcome to the future of golf ball dispensing.

The control panel. Tee height is adjustable for your pleasure. 17 cents is the off-peak per ball rate. Peak is 25 cents. Ow, expensive balls.

The view from the second level. There are four levels in all, but to ensure the safety of boats out on the Hudson, no woods or drivers are allowed on the third and fourth. It's 200 yards to the back net, which is a good amount of room, but only a narrow 40 yards wide.

Balls fed to you one at a time by the machine. Soon as you hit it another one pops up. If you don't take your time between shots, you yourself can lapse into machine-mode and start whacking ball after ball. Which for the most part isn't good golf practice. Probably good for revenue though. Sad, all this technology just to replace the good old-fashioned bucket of range balls. A step backwards if you ask me.

The giant nets are lowered when it gets windy, probably keeps the whole thing from toppling over.

I've been coming here sporadically for several years, have hit tons of balls and generally I never expect to hit it well here, no matter what condition my game's in. Not exactly sure why that is but it's probably something to do with the close confinement. Using a long club, it's not unusual to whack the partition behind you on the follow through. Plus the box is so narrow it makes it tricky to aim a shot other than parallel to the partitions.

Ok so I think I've hit enough balls for today, so let's snoop around the pier. When I say the range is built on a pier, I'm not kidding around. These are active docks for yachts, tour boats, party boats etc. I heard that Nicki Minaj once threw a party on this big one. Don't know who that is? Well, good!

A revealing panorama of the whole situation in all its cruel inhumanity.

That said we have to be grateful for this range. For it is better than nothing. Even though I have some beefs with the narrow spaces and the auto-dispensers, I'll go out on a limb and say that it's way better than nothing (high praise indeed). In a last resort situation, like in those deep desolate winters, when the urge to whack balls becomes too much to bear, this place tends to come in handy. Before it opened around '96, try to hit a full golf shot in somewhere in Manhattan and you'd probably end up in jail.

Ghetto Golf, Volume 1: Express Bus edition

Occasionally I am asked about what it's like playing golf while living in this urban hellhole, relying only on public transportation. I won't lie, it's a fairly hardscrabble life compared to that of most of the golfing universe. So I thought I'd try and photojournal some of the experience.

Contrary to popular belief and to the surprise of even a lot of people who live here, there are golf courses inside of New York City limits, at least a couple in every borough except Manhattan. Full on, 18 hole par 71s and 72s. Up to 6,900 yards if that's what you're into. A few of them are even directly accessible by public transit. Which technically I should be grateful for, I think.

It's not easy though, bringing a golf bag on a subway or bus. Space is already tight, and there's plenty of climbing up and down steps. People in your face all the time. Not being mindful, you might find yourself locked in a random conversation with a guy who played golf one time. Sometimes trains are crowded and you have to stand, which means wrangling the bag with one hand and holding on for dear life with the other. All this takes a fair amount of practice before you can do it without stressing yourself out.

Last year Golf Digest managed to spot a golfer in the NYC subways and ran these shocking Bigfoot-style photos.

My own subway trip, I'll cover in another post. Today, we'll be traveling via MTA "Express" bus. This particular route runs from midtown Manhattan all the way to the southern tip via Broadway and by chance, stops right in front of the Dyker Beach course in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn. (Fun fact--it's where TV's Scott Baio hails from.)

There are maybe eight or nine 18 hole courses within the city limits. But this route is by far the shortest. On a good day I can get there in about 45 minutes.

(I live about a mile across town from the nearest bus stop. I could either walk or ride a bus or train there, but typically my trip starts with a short bike ride.

Stock photo to give you a rough visual--I assure you this isn't me.

It took me a while to work up the nerve to actually strap on my golf bag and go for a bike ride, but once I did it became normal pretty fast. It's a pretty sweet way to get around, you just have to get used to the wide load. Sometimes I underestimate the width and some sideview mirrors get bumped.)

Ok, here I am arriving at Union Square, where I'll park the bike and catch the bus. Centrally located, its a major juncture of nearly every city subway line making it a popular meetup spot as well as gathering area for skaters, creepers, drifters, activists and other assorted scum.

Looking north uptown, there's the Empire State Building. Think I see our bus coming; somehow, it's on time.

Express Bus is the lux route compared to the subway. There are: fewer stops, fewer passengers, plush seats and tinted windows. On a good day its the fastest ride out there. All this is reflected in the fare, which costs 240% more than the standard subway or bus ride.

 Passing through Greenwich Village/NYU area.

Crossing Houston ("HOW-stun" is what its called over here) Street into SoHo. Renowned shopping destination. For jerks.

As a matter of fact yes, stuck behind tourists again.

The signage there commemorates the Canyon of Heroes section of Broadway, site of many a triumphant historic victory celebration. Except that one time when Jay-Z copped a ride on the Yankees' float, which quite frankly kind of sucked.

A rare bit of inspiration in a golf-barren wasteland.

Zucotti Park, which you might recognize as the site of the "Occupy Wall Street" event. I played a lot of golf during the movement, and got a front seat to history just by taking this bus route to course. I was there man.

In today's New York City, a slice of pizza costs a dollar, and sucks.

  

In New York City, Subway stores feature classic gothic architecture.

Serving up NYC's famous "dirty water" hot dogs.

Shoe shine guys doing business on the sidewalk.

 At times, it feels practically third world over here.

There's some tourists, worshipping at the Wall Street bull.

Finally, we've reached 1 Broadway at the southernmost tip of Manhattan.

It's really tiny, in the left half of the shot, but technically I am showing you a photo of the Statue of Liberty here.

Entering the Battery Tunnel. This thing got completely flooded by Hurricane Sandy last fall, putting a major dent in my golf routine.

Trying to snap this photo I accidentally used the flash. I was mortified at what I had become but hey, just one of the costs of running a blog I guess.

Welcome to shitty Brooklyn! While there is a decent part to Brooklyn, somewhere, this isn't it; this is the harsh, industrial, polluted butt end. Here we are on the expressway. There's Staten Island in the distance, and that tall bridge over yonder, if you can make it out, is the Verrazano Bridge to Staten Island and we're headed towards the base of it.

After a few boring miles of expressway, our exit approaches. 

 And here we are in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

 See ya!

A quick trip today--about 45 minutes from pickup and here we are at lovely Dyker Beach Golf Course (and Dog Run). Time to shake off the cobwebs from the bus ride and tee off.

Hope you've enjoyed this little slice of life. Naturally there's a few sights I missed out on this trip, but don't worry they'll get covered in an upcoming edition. Stay tuned for that and others including "Ghetto Golf: Subway edition".