By Brett Cyrgalis
To draw it or fade it – that is the question: Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of lesser distance or to take arms against control and let it fly!
Shakespeare, I am not. But which way to curve the ball, especially with the driver, is an existential question that I have pondered for many a year. What does it really mean to be a fader or drawer of the ball? Does that define me as a player – or as a person? If I fade it, does that mean I’m a conservative thinker, plodding along in my life by mitigating risk? If I draw it, does that mean I’m a swashbuckling loose cannon with little regard for safety and comfort?
We’re not talking about the uncontrollable slice or hook. We’re talking about the premeditated decision to slightly curve the ball in one direction or the other, grooming one’s technique to match that, and fitting a mentality to perform under pressure. Seems like a big decision, no?
Whenever this comes up, I always go back to one moment, probably 12 or 13 years ago, when I was in a nondescript grill room in Florida sitting next to one of the best golf coaches in the world. The mounted television was on Golf Channel and an instructor of some sorts was explaining how a draw goes farther than a fade.
That woke me up a little bit. Of course, the ball doesn’t know what side you’re swinging from. But why then, I asked, was it true?
“It’s not,” he said. “Sidespin does not mean backspin. It’s just physics.”
The traditional data here is that fades produce more backspin, which makes them go shorter and might gain some control. But, again, that’s not necessarily true. Nothing is stopping a righty from swinging left of the target line with a face open to the path, thus producing fade sidespin, but also having an upward angle of attack with a de-lofted face, thus reducing backspin. It’s just that it’s easier to swing left and down, same as it’s easier to swing right and up. But you don’t need to.
There was a viral video posted online not too long ago when Dustin Johnson was asked by his coach, Claude Harmon III, how many times a year he tries to hit a draw with his driver. Johnson laughed. “Never,” he said. Similarly, Collin Morikawa, arguably the best iron player in the world, fades every approach shot regardless if that’s working away from a left pin. Scottie Sheffler fades his driver, and Rory McIlroy was heroically starting fades out over the Pacific Ocean en route to his win at Pebble Beach in February. Jack Nicklaus faded it, Ben Hogan faded it. Maybe Old Tom hooked it, with St. Andrew’s Old Course having out-of-bounds to the right on every hole. But maybe not.
Gosh, even during the final tournament of my 2024 competitive season, the Gene Sarazen Invitational in October at Fresh Meadow Country Club on Long Island, I watched my buddy Mike Auerbach hit these beautiful little bullet fades off the tee all day during his first-round 69. The next day, standing on the 18th tee with the lead in the final round, he peeled one off the left bunker to split the fairway and went on to earn a very impressive victory.
And yet in direct contrast to all conventional wisdom, I haven’t really made up my mind which way I want to curve it. This is a not a new problem that has come along with technology and statistics, either. Hogan, that pre-tech demigod, said: “You only hit a straight ball by accident. The ball is going to move right or left every time you hit it, so you had better make it go one way or the other.”
I grew up a fader and didn’t mind losing some distance because I was already long enough. But as I’ve gotten older – and sometimes 40 feels a lot closer to 70 than it does 30 – I’ve needed to add distance. So I went to drawing the driver because … well, forget the objective physics, I just hit the draw farther. But I can also over sidespin it and lose one way left. So now we turn to golf’s spiritual leader of hokey wisdom, Lee Trevino, who said, “You can talk to a fade. But a hook won’t listen.”
But will I listen? Yes – to every piece of inane information until I’ve suffered against my own arms, to paraphrase the Bard, left only with the outrageous fortune of what it means to be a golfer.