I get emails from time to time asking me if SeeMore putters are truly as good as I say they are. It is a tad frustrating since there’s no way for me to prove SeeMore’s superiority or, for that matter, the superiority of any other product I have ever used.

Some things simply need to be learned first hand.

Still, what I have done is to come to see the SeeMore FGP as a tool rather than a mere golf club. Do you know how it is to reach for the exact tool that you need? Maybe it’s a #00 Phillips head screwdriver. If you reach for that but end up with a #2 Phillips you’re not going to get that screw tightened (or loosened, as the case may be). But, if you need the #00 and that’s what ends up in your hand, your job just got a lot easier. That’s the best way to extol the virtues of the SeeMore FGP. Whenever I reach for it, I know I’m reaching for the right tool for the job.

A while back I was looking at the SeeMore website and I saw their new SeeMore Corona Del Mar FGP and I simply loved the finish. I wasn’t too sure about the TPU insert but I knew I wanted to try it to find out if the folks at SeeMore had found a way to make a superb tool even more effective.

Yes, this is a very good looking putter for sure.

The TPU insert is milled similarly to the rest of the putter’s face which adds a little extra visual impact.

It’s all good news since the Corona Del Mar shares its visual profile at address with my trusty vintage FGP.

One interesting difference between these two SeeMores is the internal profile of the head. You can easily see what I’m describing in the next two photos.

The internal profile of the Corona Del Mar is obviously squared off where the original FGP has a nearly round profile behind the face. I’ve been trying to decide which would be better in an absolute sense. The newer putter obviously puts a lot more mass behind the ball whereas the original FGP distributes what mass it has toward the top and bottom of the face. You can also see that Corona Del Mar has some added mass on heel and toe of the sole that the older FGP lacks. I asked Jim Grundberg of SeeMore about this and he said that the lighter weight of the TPU insert allowed them to move some mass around relative to the original FGP. The head weight on original FGPs averages around 335 grams while the Coronna Del Mar tips the scales to right around 355 grams.

Many of you will know that my original FGP was a purchase of sheer luck. I had been putting abysmally for quite some time and I needed a change from the Anser-style putter I had favored for many years. In rooting through the used putter barrel I came across a well-worn FGP. The bad news was that the old SeeMore grip had split with age and was slicker than slick. The good news was that it was very, very inexpensive. I took the time to read up on what I call the SeeMore method and put the FGP directly into my bag. I’ve never looked back. The question at hand is how well the Corona Del Mar measures up.

My initial concerns were these:

Does the TPU insert change the putter’s sound or feel relative to the original brass FGP? 

Do the rest of the Corona Del Mar’s materials change the putter’s mass and balance?

First, the TPU: It feels great and sounds far better than I expected. The Corona Del Mar has  a somewhat more crisp sound and feel at impact.

I like it. The putter feels smooth but lively.

This lively feel of the Corona Del Mar is offset by what I believe (I’m too lazy to weigh them) is greater head weight and probably greater swing weight than the FGP. The combination makes the Corona Del Mar especially well suited to the kind of faster greens I play on in the summer months.

The Corona Del Mar is an easy putter to control and pretty much every putt feels as if it’s been struck solidly.

I wouldn’t be much of a reviewer if I failed to come up with even a single complaint. The lower painted section of the older FGP is painted a matte black which the corresponding section on the Corona Del Mar is slightly glossy. Initially I convinced myself that the glossy paint could cause glare in bright sunlight but upon my first round under the Southern California sun I found this problem to be nonexistent. On a happy note, though, SeeMore does now offer this section painted in a variety of different colors if you’re more into color than I am. Me? I like basic black.

There are very few classic, timeless golf clubs. There are even fewer golf clubs that approach an ideal of concept and utility. SeeMore FGP models accomplish both of these rare feats. I congratulate everyone at SeeMore for recognizing the brilliance of the FGP design and all of the ways that it can consistently benefit golfers, whether they play on the PGA Tour or their local muny.  The SeeMore Corona Del Mar is truly a worthy successor to the original FGP. It’s easy for me to recommend SeeMore to everyone who wants to improve their putting. SeeMore gives players both a proven technique and a proven product. If you use a SeeMore putter the way it was designed you will make more putts.

It’s that simple so get out there and start making more putts.

 

 

There isn’t a putter on the planet who is immune from problems with aim. And, let’s face it, if you don’t know exactly where you’re aimed knowing exactly how much a putts breaks and having the speed of a putt perfectly judged still means a missed putt.

Break varies…

Speed varies…

But, the ability to aim your putter blade precisely at the hole is a skill anyone can develop.

The SeeMore Triangulator will help.

Let’s be clear. The SeeMore Triangulator is simple and it’s brilliant. Its use is totally intuitive. You simply pick something to aim at (I started out in my living room). Then, you set up your putter and aim at the target. Now comes the part when you’ll need an assitant. While holding your putter blade in the alignment that shows where you’re aimed, your assistant will place the Triangulator against your putter plade and then pull the white string toward the target, thereby showing where you’re actually aimed. Voila!

Well, almost voila…

If your set up and tendency for alignment is consistent you’ll see that you consistently aim right or left. This may be related to your eyes being inside, directly over the ball or even a tad outside your line at address. But, no matter how you set up to the ball, as long as you do it consistently, you should see a pattern to your aim that the Triangulator will help you to correct.

It’s no secret that I’m a true believer in SeeMore putters. Ever since I began using them I see more putts (sorry) fall into the hole. The Triangulator is the perfect tool to help you develop the ability to aim your putter blade right where you want it, rather than where you only think you want it.

So, for less than the price of a sleeve of premium balls you can have something light enough and small enough to store in your golf bag that will keep your aim sharp and the putts falling.

Buy one today. You’ll be surprised to learn where you’re truly aiming and pretty soon you’ll end up making more putts!

The SeeMore Triangulator

 

This happens every few family get togethers, usually in my brother in law Dave’s backyard, and it’s fantastic in its subtle variety and fundamental consistency.

Dave, must, at some point, peer out of window that opens into his backyard.

He sees me and his son Andy, marking out a shot. There’s a (real) golf ball on the ground and a 60 degree sand wedge on the scene.

A cold chill slides down Dave’s spine…

Andy and I can play, so there’s little chance of breakage.

Plus, we’re hitting a doable shot.

“I’m thinking just short of the bird feeder. If it clears the lawn border it’s OB.”

“Got it, I’m in…you go first.”

“Gotta give me a tough lie.”

Andy settles in after putting the ball in a low spot of turf. It’s not an easy lie, but it’s not impossible either.

He takes the 60 back and catches the ball just a little heavy. But, the slight miss-hit works great; the ball hits short and bounds toward the target, stopping within three feet.

I shake my head. “I can’t beat that one.”

The wedge is unfamiliar in my hand and the lie is dicey. I’m not sure where to land the ball and how it might release. I, too, catch the big ball before the little ball but my shot lands at the target line before hopping over the OB boundary.

“Tough bounce,” says Andy.

Now we move the target further across the yard and we leave ourselves a tricky side hill lie from inconsistent turf.

We both walk forward to get a look at what the landing area around the hole looks like, trying to gauge whether the ball will release or hold.

Andy goes first. He makes better contact this time, too good in fact, and the ball runs well past the hole.

Ah, an opening!

I settle in, now getting a feel for the 60 and the shot. I catch the ball perfectly. It hits the up slope and grabs four feet right of the target.

Even!

Andy looks across the yard.

“OK, big boy shot. Mandatory flop and it has to stop short of the OB and closest to the line of the bird feeder.”

“Yeow, tough one…show me, stud.”

Andy perches his ball in the fluffy grass until the lie looks like the type that will allow an open-faced wedge to slide under the ball and loft it into the air before it lands with all of the forward momentum of a sand bag tossed by a four-year old girl.

He takes a huge swing. If he were to hit the ball flush it would fly well over ninety yards but here Andy was trying to make the ball fly no further than thirty feet.

He strikes the ball with near perfection. There’s no sound of impact, just the slicing of the club through the damp spring grass and the subtle foof sound of the grass being caught between the club face and the ball.

The ball stops three feet from the bird feeder!

I think to myself, you can hit this shot, but I know I can’t or at least I won’t.

I decide to up the difficulty rating by giving myself a thin lie, the kind of lie poor players fear…the kind of lie that demands perfect impact. I open the face of the 60 and take a decent swing, but I lacked the courage to bring the club into the ball with the kind of authority that would cause the ball to travel a lesser distance than many people would believe possible. The result is a semi-flop that never gains full elevation and thuds harmlessly into the ivy.

“You da man, Andis.”

About then, Tom and John emerge from the slider. They’re ready to join the game and me and Andy encourage them to take a turn at the shots.

This gets Dave’s attention immediately. In his yard were twin retirees holding golf clubs but what he saw was a pair of identical seven year olds playing with matches surrounded by dry grass. He had to make his move quickly.

He came into the yard smiling the smile of a man who could imagine a battle scarred Titleist driven through a window or into the forehead of the retired municipal court judge who lived next door and likes to enjoy his back porch swing on just this kind of perfect spring afternoon.

“John can hit this shot,” Tom said confidently.

John stepped forward, examining the wedge and the balls for signs of imperfection that could spoil the expert precision of the coming shot.

He raked the ball into a clean lie and swung.

It was a toed and screeched hard right, catching the edge of the swimming pool. The old ball yawned into a high arching flight before splashing into the middle of the pool.

John was undeterred. “Bad lie,” he muttered.

Dave’s desperation crept into his voice. “Hey, let’s try that shot again but let’s use one of these old tennis balls!” He stood there while his dog leaped excitedly in anticipation of a rousing game of fetch.

By then, John was back over the ball. He had never heard a word Dave said.

Andy and I wisely stepped to the rear. Barring the most amazing bounce, we were determined not to wind up as collateral damage in Dave’s backyard.

John was taking dead aim now. Harvey Penick would be proud.

Andy couldn’t resist. “Dad, your BBQ is a goner!”

As Dave held up the tennis ball John lashed at the ball and caught it squarely. The ball whistled past the bird feeder and missed the glimmering BBQ by mere inches.

Now Tom and John are taking turns taking practice swings while the family dog darts between them. Only their feckless swings and amazing canine reflexes prevent disaster.

“Now it’s my turn,” says Tom.

Andy and I step back another step trying to triangulate the path a cruel but perfect mishit could create. We call for the dog and hold on to her as Tom takes his shot.

The club face is shut at address and there can only be one result. The ball is bladed and hurtles toward the chain link fence. It nails the fence post dead center and streaks back at the hapless Tom, catching him right on the shin.

“Nice,” says John.

No one goes to see if Tom is OK but he limps back toward the ping pong table under his own power so all must be well.

But now the juices are flowing now; blood has been shed.

Andy looks at me and says, “One full swing…8-iron?”

I nod. “Do it!”

Seconds later Andy’s got his father’s 8-iron and is it aiming up the steep hill behind his parent’s house.

“Think you can get to the ridge?”

“Don’t think so…”

John’s got his phone out by now and is wondering how far the nearest houses are.

No way he’s worried… he’s just curious.

Dave’s calmer now. He knows Andy won’t hit it sideways and he knows the houses past the ridge line are well out of reach.

Still, though, there’s a glorious moment of dread and fascination as all of Andy’s six foot three inch frame lashes at the ball.

The ball is pured and it soars on the penetrating flight only a fine player can create.

It streaks effortlessly toward the ridge line as we all wonder where it will land.

 

 

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything about optimism. My golf game has been marginal so it’s been hard to generate much optimism about that.

That, however, is another story.

I’ll just say it: My oldest friend is a naysayer who never says nay, at least not straight out.

It’s sad…

The odd thing is that even though I’ve known the guy for something like five decades I would have never described him as typically pessimistic, until now. In fact, I’m the cynical one. I’m the one who sees corruption everywhere. I’m the one who is always suspect of motives. I’m the one who views all bureaucracies as evil.

But, that’s yet another story.

My old friend is a kinder and gentler kind of naysayer. I’m going to outline but three examples and you’ll have to take my word that these are among the more mild examples I could discuss. The really juicy examples are simply too personal to blog about.

Internet anonymity only goes so far.

Nay Say #1

I’ll start with the most minor example. I was telling my buddy about a young administrative assistant who worked with me last year. He’s a real nice guy and very bright. That said, he’s kind of stuck in his 20s with not a lot of big ideas about what to do with his life. Sound familiar? Anyway, the kid came to me one day with this idea to blog about The Internet of Things. I thought this was dandy idea. This is a kid who aspires to write, but doesn’t actually write all that much. A blog would give him an easy way to focus his energy on something and to develop his own writer’s voice.

Great, right?

Here’s what my buddy said. “Really…what qualifies him to write about that?”

At the time I didn’t make it much of the issue other than to point out that the whole purpose of a blog was simply to express opinion. That’s all the kid wanted to do; express an opinion about something that was interesting to him. The idea struck me as totally harmless and maybe helpful to the kid, if no one else.

Nay Say #2

I’ve been writing and editing since I was in high school though neither has ever been my profession. Still since I hit my 40s I’ve taken my work more seriously. I’ve edited one golf book, written one of my own and co-written another much longer book. In between I’ve written more than a hundred essays and reviews and published and vanity-printed a short story. One day I told my buddy that I was writing a golf novella. He expressed what can only be described as mildly good-humored interest before saying cheerfully, “Hey, you should take a creative writing class at UCLA!”

Happily, I chose not to render him unconscious, though it was my genuine first impulse. I thought to myself, I’m a 54-year-old writer who has to date achieved little in the way of sales or financial reward. But, at the same time I have also never spoken to my friend about any creative struggles I’ve had with my work. On the contrary, I’ve only told him about my enthusiasm for my projects and even about my wish that we might work on something together. So what justified his take that I should go to school where someone who knew what they were doing could tell me how little I knew about what I was doing?

Nay Say #3

One day I was telling my buddy about another friend of mine who builds spec houses for a living. I showed him a photo of one of the beautiful mountain houses my friend is building and mentioned offhand that he designs his homes himself. My buddy’s comeback? “Oh, is a licensed architect?” This time I did bristle a bit. I told him that he wasn’t and who gives a crap? This guy has designed and built scores of high end custom spec houses and has been a residential developer for the last three decades. This was the point where the my friends’ particular brand of nay saying finally started to get the better of me.

The kid at work who wants to blog about The Internet of Things wouldn’t give a shit about what my buddy thinks about his qualifications. I care even less about the fact that my friend thinks it would be a grand idea for me to take a creative writing course. And, my friend who builds spec houses would surely laugh at the question about whether he’s a licensed architect or not.

The simple and common reason we don’t give a collective shit is because we’re too busy giving a bigger shit about our projects. Our only regret is that we don’t have enough time to give our projects the attention we think they deserve.

What all of this really got me around to thinking about is whether being around even a gentle nay sayers helps or hurts? In the case of the guy I’m writing about I can say with complete assurance that his nay saying is far more damaging to him than it is to anyone else. Still, it does make me wonder if what he says could have a creeping negative effect on my confidence.

Let’s face it; even the most accomplished writers can be subject to the occasional bout of a fragile ego. Writers like me do all of their work confident in the fact that no one will ever read their work and if by some cosmic accident anyone ever did they would certain to hate it. With that comforting thought in mind, maybe it’s not so great to have that kind of negative buzz in your head when you’re taking on a challenging project.

I love my nay saying friend, but I hate the thoughtless and lazy negativity that seems to so wholly possess him.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

This quote from TR is taped to the side of my monitor. It’s taped there for at least three reasons: First, it makes me nostalgic for a time, a time before my own, when a president would and could speak publicly with such erudition and sophistication. Second, it encourages me to temper (occasionally) my criticisms of the work of others. Third, it emboldens me to stay in the arena and not to allow myself to be content with being a mere spectator.

I’m quite certain my friend has heard or read this quote. And, I’m sure that in his heart he doesn’t see himself as a relentless nay sayer, yet he is. The challenge for my friend and for me, and for everyone, is to rip those great words from the page and bring them out into the real world in the form of action.

I know what my friend will say to all of this: I will consider it.

I will consider it; the feeble mantra of the nay sayer.