It’s a shoe thing

One of the most overlooked requirements for playing good golf must surely be a good pair of shoes.

Never mind your mega titanium woods, precision forged irons, outrageously priced putters and hyperbolic golf balls – if your feet are hurting you’ll be unable to play properly.

Apart from the need for a good grip of the rye beneath your feet there is the little matter of remaining perched on the old metatarsi for something like five hours.

It therefore makes sense that you are properly shod and softly spiked when you venture out on the fairways and wherever else the pursuit of that little white ball takes you.

But, quite apart from the pain you might cause yourself, there is another reason to flash about the Fred Astaires – psychology.

There is nothing that makes one feel quite as good as to step onto the tee in a brilliantly buffed pair of brogues. Those glistening toe caps, the rich tone of expensive leather, the admiring glances of the caddies… all these things say one thing to your opponent. This guy can play.

I have to confess I have a certain affinity with Imelda Marcos, wife of the former Philippines dictator Ferdinand, and former American touring pro Doug Sanders.

The pair of them fed a shoe fetish that ran into thousands of dollars. In fact, Mrs Marcos gave over whole rooms of her mansion to stacking her shoes. She had enough pairs to start a Shoes-R-Us chain.

Now I don’t know whether Mrs Marcos ever did a soft-spike waggle, but Doug Sanders, he of the impossibly short backswing, knew a thing about golf shoes.

Sanders literally owned hundreds of pair of golf shoes. If he wore red slacks he would wear reds shoes, or white shoes with a red saddle, or red shoes with a white saddle. He was a real dresser and he had shoes to match every outfit – yellow, purple, lilac and lime green, he had ‘em all… only he referred to pastels such as magenta, rose, ivory and delicate green.

What has saved me from allowing my addiction to run wild is that troubling state of being impecunious in which most gentlemen (and ladies!) of the Press tend to find themselves.

Had I been able to afford it I would definitely acquired a few more sets of dogs, but it has not prevented me from becoming deeply attached to my golf shoes. I remember them all. Particularly when I had to stretch the budget to get them and then make them last for a good few years.

My first pair of spikes were given to me by Roger Manning when he, as the son of local pro Ivor, was the star player in Kimberley. They were, to be honest, a pair of his hand-me-downs but I thought they were gorgeous. Made by Medicus they featured two shades of brown leather, flaps over the laces (golf shoes had to have flaps!) and spikes on the forefoot.

I “boned” them till they glistened fit for a parade ground. To tell the truth they were a half size too small but they were my first pair of spikes and that walk out of the locker room, grinding and scraping on the cement, was sheer exhilaration. Eventually they were so old and curled up that only the back spikes actually made contact with the ground and it was time to move on.

My next pair was a snow-white pair of Edward Fortunes. I had a job running Mac Tombleson’s little pro shop at Kimberley, selling balls and pegs and the like, and I took them in lieu of payment. I was devastated when they were nicked from the locker room and even more so when a week or two later they returned on the feet of a visiting league player from Vryburg! How do you tell a grown-up he's wearing your shoes? I put it down to one of life’s little lessons and no pair of shoes of mine ever again stayed in a locker room – anywhere!. My next pair broke the bank, but boy were they zootie! White with glistening black crocodile skin toe-caps, saddle and flaps! - a pair of shoes that required a special way of sitting, feet outstretched so that they could be admired.

I tended to lean towards multi-tones with a bit of white because they were more versatile. There was a black-white-and-red pair (I kid you not!) made by Dunlop and then one of my all-time favourites; Dexters of white with black and burgundy.

At this point, though, my sights were raised somewhat. The pros were wearing classic Footjoys and, like MacGregor key-hole drivers, they were must-have items.

Eventually I managed to pick up a pair at a considerable discount from Martin Whitcher when he was at Parkview because one of the shoes appeared to have a faulty spike thread. It turned out that it was the spike itself that was bent so I ended up with a perfectly good pair of “classics.”

They were white with dark brown and tan patent leather. I have a picture of myself with singer Glenn Campbell taken at Sun City and don’t know what is more hideous – those flashy shoes or the fact that Campbell is sans a shirt!

Over the years the attachment to my golf shoes became such that I could no longer bear to send them to purgatory in the caddies’ enclosure. Thus I still have a black and burgundy pair of Footjoys, still with metal spikes!, I bought at the Playboy club just outside Chicago when they Springboks passed by there in 1981 and an olive green and brown pair I picked up in Hong Kong in 1992. In fact, had it not been for the orthotics I found I needed after a brainless flirtation with road running I could still be wearing them.

There’s also a curled up pair of very comfortable brown and white Wilsons and the shoes – up to three pairs now! – currently in use. I have a black and brown pair of Etonics that have been most serviceable, a black a pair of Nikes and a brown and white pair of Footjoy Fit Dogs (American slang: dogs = feet) that I managed to get from Beau Barnard by topping up a Titleist voucher won in a competition.

The Dogs, with their gel inserts, are outstandingly crafted shoes at an excellent price and the Nikes could well have been my career best – but for the fact that the damn things give me blisters!

The stitching on the heel lining is too near the back of the shoe so if I forget to stick on a strip of precautionary plaster or sprinkle in some Johnson’s baby power the tell-tale “burn” turns up at the most inopportune times. I still like them though because I think they are elegant looking, they shine up to a gloss that would satisfy my old Sergeant Major in the Air Force Gym and the air sole, that extends under the forefoot as well, imparts a beautiful ride.

One thing I draw the line at is shoes that look as though belong in the Comrades or these new-fangled suede jobs that appear to have been designed by game rangers or surfers. Golf shoes have to be smart. I like to think there’s a link between the sheen on one’s shoes and an elegant, smooth swing and confident demeanour. Now isn’t that half the battle won already?