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section7mfuShort Affair challenge 4 Sept (Drive. Silver)
Couldn’t be difficult
It was more interesting to watch the birdlife over the course. Trailing after the two men; pulling their trolleys full of clubs, one in each hand; or holding the flag while they each tried to persuade a small white ball to drop into an almost invisible hole, using entirely unsuitable instruments – it was beyond tedium.
“Hi, you’re in the way. Fore!”
“Four what?”
“Idiot Russian.”
“Leave him alone, Mr Solo. Mr Kuryakin, perhaps you’d be good enough to move a little to your left, while your partner plays his shot.”
And so it went. Hours of it. His job was to keep a weather eye out for a certain kind of bird, known to inhabit rough places and suspected of having started to nest nearby.
Once, looking up at a passing buzzard, a dark predator against the high cloud of a silver sky, he stepped back and fell into a bunker. His partner’s mirth added little to his enjoyment of the day.
The scientist in him, however, had begun to observe the mechanics of the business.
The drive itself seemed to consist of a double pendulum, the swing of the player’s body in conjunction with that of the club; a transfer of energy and momentum at impact; and an acceleration to produce lift in the ball’s flight. He observed that the player’s rotation required a last-minute correction of the cocked wrists to achieve a straight pendulum of arm and club together at the moment of impact, followed through with that increased speed to produce the required trajectory.
So, it was a simple matter of getting the stance right, the angle of the club to the ball, maintaining the shape formed by the arms and the shoulders in the best line to achieve maximum angular momentum, and transfer kinetic energy to the ball to send it to its desired destination. Couldn’t be difficult.
“May I try?” he asked, round about the seventh hole, after the others had played their shots.
“Of course, Mr Kuryakin. We will take a break for a few minutes and show you.”
“No need, sir. I’ve been watching.”
His partner grinned as the novice-golfer took a club and examined its head closely. Placing a tee very precisely in the ground, he put the ball on it, and took up a stance, measuring the length of the club carefully in relation to his own height and his distance from the ball.
Next, he addressed the matter of his grip on the handle and shaft of the club, knitting his fingers together around it as he had observed his companions doing. The other two men watched these careful preparations in some amusement, though it was more successfully hidden by the older man – not that the Russian paid any attention.
He turned his head and left shoulder in the direction he wanted the ball to take, then looked down to concentrate on the ball itself. He bent slightly, shoulders and arms held firm in a triangular formation, raised the club at an angle, and drove down and through. As the club struck the ball, he turned gracefully, and the club, now travelling very fast as it passed his shoulder, came to rest at an angle down his back. The ball itself was sent flying in an arc towards the green.
“My word,” said the Old Man, “have you been deceiving us all this time? That was masterly.” They watched, shading their eyes, as the ball arrived apparently close to, if not on the green. “Better go and see,” he said, stepping out and leading the way, as glances of slightly different character passed between his two agents.
The third ball was nowhere to be seen when they arrived on the green. They looked around, then diffidently walking up to the flag, the novice looked down, bent, and retrieved his ball from the hole.
“My dear sir, well done! Extraordinary good luck, don’t you think so, Mr Solo?”
“Extraordinary. Beginner’s luck,” he uttered through clenched teeth.
“Not really, it’s a question of physics and geometry. Once you get the geometry right, the physics takes over.”
“Well, we’ll see how you manage a second time, shall we?”
“I think maybe I’ll quit while I’m ahead, sir. Look.”
His partner scoffed behind his hand, and stopped abruptly when, looking up, he saw a golf buggy heading their way at speed.
“Birds on the move. I suppose you couldn’t aim one at them?”
“Probably better with this,” the far-from-novice agent replied, pulling his gun from its holster.
============================
Note: As ever, apologies to real physicists and geometricians (and golfers).
Couldn’t be difficult
It was more interesting to watch the birdlife over the course. Trailing after the two men; pulling their trolleys full of clubs, one in each hand; or holding the flag while they each tried to persuade a small white ball to drop into an almost invisible hole, using entirely unsuitable instruments – it was beyond tedium.
“Hi, you’re in the way. Fore!”
“Four what?”
“Idiot Russian.”
“Leave him alone, Mr Solo. Mr Kuryakin, perhaps you’d be good enough to move a little to your left, while your partner plays his shot.”
And so it went. Hours of it. His job was to keep a weather eye out for a certain kind of bird, known to inhabit rough places and suspected of having started to nest nearby.
Once, looking up at a passing buzzard, a dark predator against the high cloud of a silver sky, he stepped back and fell into a bunker. His partner’s mirth added little to his enjoyment of the day.
The scientist in him, however, had begun to observe the mechanics of the business.
The drive itself seemed to consist of a double pendulum, the swing of the player’s body in conjunction with that of the club; a transfer of energy and momentum at impact; and an acceleration to produce lift in the ball’s flight. He observed that the player’s rotation required a last-minute correction of the cocked wrists to achieve a straight pendulum of arm and club together at the moment of impact, followed through with that increased speed to produce the required trajectory.
So, it was a simple matter of getting the stance right, the angle of the club to the ball, maintaining the shape formed by the arms and the shoulders in the best line to achieve maximum angular momentum, and transfer kinetic energy to the ball to send it to its desired destination. Couldn’t be difficult.
“May I try?” he asked, round about the seventh hole, after the others had played their shots.
“Of course, Mr Kuryakin. We will take a break for a few minutes and show you.”
“No need, sir. I’ve been watching.”
His partner grinned as the novice-golfer took a club and examined its head closely. Placing a tee very precisely in the ground, he put the ball on it, and took up a stance, measuring the length of the club carefully in relation to his own height and his distance from the ball.
Next, he addressed the matter of his grip on the handle and shaft of the club, knitting his fingers together around it as he had observed his companions doing. The other two men watched these careful preparations in some amusement, though it was more successfully hidden by the older man – not that the Russian paid any attention.
He turned his head and left shoulder in the direction he wanted the ball to take, then looked down to concentrate on the ball itself. He bent slightly, shoulders and arms held firm in a triangular formation, raised the club at an angle, and drove down and through. As the club struck the ball, he turned gracefully, and the club, now travelling very fast as it passed his shoulder, came to rest at an angle down his back. The ball itself was sent flying in an arc towards the green.
“My word,” said the Old Man, “have you been deceiving us all this time? That was masterly.” They watched, shading their eyes, as the ball arrived apparently close to, if not on the green. “Better go and see,” he said, stepping out and leading the way, as glances of slightly different character passed between his two agents.
The third ball was nowhere to be seen when they arrived on the green. They looked around, then diffidently walking up to the flag, the novice looked down, bent, and retrieved his ball from the hole.
“My dear sir, well done! Extraordinary good luck, don’t you think so, Mr Solo?”
“Extraordinary. Beginner’s luck,” he uttered through clenched teeth.
“Not really, it’s a question of physics and geometry. Once you get the geometry right, the physics takes over.”
“Well, we’ll see how you manage a second time, shall we?”
“I think maybe I’ll quit while I’m ahead, sir. Look.”
His partner scoffed behind his hand, and stopped abruptly when, looking up, he saw a golf buggy heading their way at speed.
“Birds on the move. I suppose you couldn’t aim one at them?”
“Probably better with this,” the far-from-novice agent replied, pulling his gun from its holster.
============================
Note: As ever, apologies to real physicists and geometricians (and golfers).
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