Opinion & Analysis

Finding solace in golf

Published

13 years ago

Apr 1, 2013

Among other things, they call him a friend.

There is a secure reckoning in Tony Ferrell’s tread; every turn in the golf shop leads him to something –- and in this case, someone -– familiar.

Happy Valley Country Club — population 235 — is not a vast continuum of old money, privilege or status. By contrast, the sharpest points of its spectrum are found in dollar bets, the last few hands played on a Wednesday evening and the speakeasy nature of its membership.

Most of the club’s longstanding bourgeois have parted ways with their given name –- some enthusiastically, some reluctantly -– in favor of a moniker truly befitting their disposition.

Glide. Skeeter. Candy. Nokahoma. Rickonite. Canted faces, built on the backs of grandiose tales, on a mocked-up Rushmore.

“It’s the people. There’s a brotherhood here,” Ferrell says.

Indeed. They are one against all comers, more than capable of marking each other’s shadow in a darkened alley. Furthermore, and perhaps most important, is their ability to know when that grayed figure, albeit out of reach, is in need of a helping hand.

And Ferrell’s bearing –- whether as acting presider of the men’s golf association, or tending bar, or splitting trees after a hurricane, or telling a member to “call home, immediately” — is not obligatory, nor the genesis of a debt left unpaid.

It is the spirit of camaraderie.

Perhaps brothers best define this force; riding atop the crest of time together in the tide, well beyond inside jokes, and settled in the merriment of an emergency nine holes.

This is Tony Ferrell’s home, and his second Happy Valley -– one markedly different from the first.

Among other things, they call him honorable.

He watched, as did the naivety of America, and waited.

“They (the United States Army) were drafting so many in such a short period of time,” he recalls, “and I applied for the National Guard. But there was a list. A long list.”

Vietnam –- the irony still mocks him.

“By the time I was eligible,” he said, “I already had three weeks in boot camp.”

Grueling five-mile runs, homesick. Classroom sessions, homesick. Weapons training, homesick. Pick up the man around you, soldier –- he is homesick, too.

“It was scary,” he says, “I grew up on a farm. And in four months, everything changed. I got married in September of ’65, and I was in the Army by February of ’66.”

Basic training, his crude goodbye to adolescence, was in Fort Gordon, Ga., -– just a stone’s skip from Alister MacKenzie’s famed architectural masterpiece, Augusta National.

But, as he recalls, “I didn’t know anything about golf, and didn’t care. When the Masters was played, they let us take a vacation.”

Any furlough, however, was short lived.

Happy Valley, a nickname given the rugged terrain southwest of Qu?ng Nam Province –- and a primary North Vietnamese tactical position -– lay in wait.

And along with countless young men who looked just like him –- green, jittery on the trigger, and full of dreams otherwise –- Tony Ferrell began a descent into madness.

Among other things, they call him dedicated.

Someone kicked the rail of his bunk.

“Hey, Ferrell,” the man said, “Congratulations. You have an eight-pound, 10-ounce boy.”

He doesn’t recall who told him the news; not that it mattered. In two years, and still a month shy of his 21st birthday, he had traversed life in total –- farm boy, husband, soldier and now, father.

“I’m from Lucama, N.C.,” he said, “just as far away from home as you can get.”

His voice trails.

“I thought, I’ll probably never see him,” he said.

A soldier’s intuition.

It is a valuable part of infantry life, a way to preserve those closest to you — and very much a natural by-product of watching dreams explode, the daily threat of jungle rot and love letters sent home by dead men.

But even by Hell’s new standard, something was wrong. He knew it. With only 45 days left in the broiler plate, an eerie premonition settled over him -– one that would not relent.

“The night before all this, I told a friend of mine, another squad leader, ‘Something’s going to happen to me tomorrow,’” he recalled.

The next morning, as Ferrell’s men organized a position necessary to relieve a weary night patrol, a Viet Cong soldier ran through the perimeter’s post.

Charlie blinked, and his goal -– part concentrated chaos, part death en masse — was achieved.

“We took fire,” Ferrell recalls, “And I got lucky; the first bullet that hit me knocked me down.”

He never felt the impact. The crossfire entered just underneath his breastplate; it seared through his skin, glanced down the collar bone, and exited near the fold of his right arm.

“I was face down on the ground,” he said. “Trembling. Every time my heart beat, blood came out of my mouth.”

It was eight in the morning. It was his 21st birthday, and his son had been alive just three weeks.

Among other things, they call him loyal.

He was in the wrong pile.

Amongst a litany of the dead, wounded, and those not expected to survive their maker’s call — he attempted to move, to highlight for anyone that his life, though in jeopardy, remained loosely intact.

“Everything was moving in slow motion,” Ferrell noted. “I couldn’t hear anything. I kept going in and out.”

He would die there, by God’s grace, with the rest of them. Back home, family would tell stories. His widow would receive an impeccably folded flag. Taps would be played.

His son would have only pictures.

“They just happened to see me trying to get up,” he said, “and got me inside a medic tent. I could see a great big, white light, and people with masks on around me.”

A squadron helicopter circled back for the farm boy from Lucama. Time was on the vine, dangling.

“Those choppers had nothing but wall-to-wall radios,” he said. “I remember seeing the equipment, everything turning red –- and I kind of knew what that was.”

One rotor blade after another, he rose into the azure sky, high above the blood-stained floor of Conrad’s darkness.

He thought of his friends; there were other farm boys, too.

Among other things, they call him fearless.

His return home was met with no ticker tape parade; the main street of America -– at least for Ferrell –- was closed. Public opinion was divided, and our soldiers fodder for its ranging passion.

America had become immutable.

“If you ever saw the movie ‘We Were Soldiers,’ when one of our guys was pushing his buddy in a wheelchair, through the airport, the people wouldn’t walk close to them,” he says.

The film’s facsimile is all too clear.

“One lady grabbed her daughter,” he said, “and pulled her to the other side of the terminal. That’s the feeling you had -– that all of us had.”

Like many others, he pondered life anew. There were endless days of wracked silence, fury, guilt and visions of mind-numbing horror that would never be erased.

“I tried to wipe out everything,” he says, “I drank. Never mentioned anything about my company. Never looked at my pictures.”

He pauses, wearing the long look of the dead pile.

“My friends weren’t with me,” he recalls, “and I didn’t have my rifle.”

Among other things, they call him grateful.

No. 15 at Happy Valley Country Club prefers a gentleman’s fade from the tee; measuring only 315 yards, it hardly qualifies as a task insurmountable.

Here, bets are doubled; salty verbiage flies, as one might expect from names like Glide, Skeeter, Candy, Nokahoma and Rickonite.

The perfectly struck drive can, however, receive the proper bounce and with any luck, leave the deserving author a bid for eagle.

In an instant, things can change.

Ferrell’s round that Sunday resembled many he has played at Happy Valley Country Club. It was a charted study in normalcy, complete with the ridiculous and splendid.

There were fairways hit, three putts, bogeys and birdies — marks of layman’s golf on the card.

His cell phone rang.

“It was my wife,” Ferrell recalls, “she said I had a very strange message — from a guy who said he was in Vietnam with me.”

Thirty-seven years. He was scared again, just like Fort Gordon. Just like the night before his birthday. Just like coming home.

“What if this guy is real?” he asked himself.

It was nearing midnight.

Ferrell clutched the piece of paper. Looked at the phone number for an eternity, each time hoping the numerals would disappear. If they did, he wouldn’t have to go back.

“I’m trying to picture this guy,” he recalls of the moment. “But I just couldn’t remember. I had wiped all of that stuff away.”

The voice wasn’t instantly recognizable -– too many years had now passed, and too much time had been spent parting with his deeds done for God and country.

“Look at your pictures,” the man said.

Piece by fragmented piece, it came back to him. LRP rations. An Khe District. Night patrol. The matrix laden, earsplitting burst of a Claymore mine. His first trip through Happy Valley.

He longed for his rifle; that would make him safe.

But the boys of Delta Company, 2nd Battalion, 12th Brigade, First Calvary Division –- Ferrell’s unit -– had survived the mayhem of his birthday in the jungle.

And to a man, at every reunion since, they had asked about him.

Among other things, they never call him a hero.

Sgt. Tony Rose Ferrell, United States Army, is not the flowing, regal cape of a graphic novelist’s inkwell. He is not the ninth inning grand slam we dreamt of hitting as teenagers, nor a jersey canonized in the rafters of a gymnasium.

He is more, and unfortunately, often what we take for granted — a father’s timely counsel, an easy smile, an honest day’s work in the golf shop, and the corner chair of the Wednesday night poker tournament.

“Life has been great to me,” he says, “really great to me. I have a son, a daughter, and five of the prettiest grandchildren you’ve ever seen. I’ve been rewarded to the max.”

He shifts in his chair. “Blessed,” he says.

The jungle still echoes, still prowls his dreams. But its cacophonous hymn is somewhat softer now –- he knows they made it.

This weekend, the 10 o’clock crowd will gather in its usual regalia at Happy Valley Country Club. Dollar bills and barbs will be exchanged. The same stories, about the same exploits, will be given new life.

And Tony Ferrell will be there –- he’s a company man.

Club Junkie

Tour Edge Exotics mini driver review + TaylorMade Spider ZT Max first look – Club Junkie

Published

7 days ago

May 28, 2026

Brian Knudson

On this episode of Club Junkie, I put the new Tour Edge Exotics Mini Driver to the test and break down the performance, forgiveness, distance, and where it fits compared to a traditional driver or strong fairway wood. If you have been curious about adding a mini driver to the bag, this one is worth a look.

I also dive into the new TaylorMade Spider ZT Max putter that was recently spotted and discuss the growing zero torque putter trend. Plus, there is a closer look at the new Project X Titan Yellow shaft showing up on the PGA Tour and what makes it different from other profiles currently out there.

Opinion & Analysis

AVL: We’re talking about practice! My best tips for taking your game to the course

Published

1 week ago

May 26, 2026

Andrew Von Lossow

With the beginning of June on the horizon and courses rounding into peak condition for the season, it’s time to hone the finer skills that often get rusty over the winter. More sunlight also means more time to get out on the course and work on your game.

Whether it’s the practice green or the driving range, there’s always something to improve—whether you’re enjoying the fresh air or preparing for a weekend game or tournament. You can work on drills or freestyle around the green, and friendly competition is a great way to sharpen your skills.

While there are endless ways to get better at golf, I’m going to focus on practicing around the green. Let’s take a look at a few things to keep in mind as we head into the summer months.

Drills

This way, you create a balance between structured drills and real-world scenarios, so you’re not confined to “perfect” situations. For example, hitting the same three-foot putt over and over is good for repetition, but after a while, it becomes less interactive for your brain.

Next, I’ll hit a number of 15–25 foot putts in a random fashion, then circle back to repeat the short putt drills with and without the training aid.

This breaks up the rhythm of hitting short putts with the training aid. When you hit the same short putts over and over, it’s easy to get into a groove—which is great for the drill, but not reflective of actual course play. While finding a rhythm is fundamental for drills, I like to introduce variation with longer putts to keep things realistic.

Game Mode

Once you’ve established a foundation with drills, it’s time to simulate on-course scenarios. This is where a few practice games come in handy.

One that I’ve been enjoying lately involves putting 10- to 15-footers with two balls. If I make the putt, great! If I miss, I pull the missed ball back a putter length. Suddenly, that little tap-in becomes a nerve-wracking three-footer—at least at first. As you get better at this game, those three- and five-footers become much more comfortable and routine.

It may sound cliché, but each shot is just what it is—it’s how we react that makes the difference. I like this game because it blends the pressure of on-course putting with the consequence of leaving yourself a much longer putt than usual.

Another game I like is one I recently learned from Brad Faxon. Place three tees in a line at four different locations around the hole: one at 3 feet, one at 6 feet, and one at 8 feet. The 3- and 6-foot putts count as par, and the 8-footer is for birdie.

This game keeps you focused on scoring and helps you get into a competitive mindset. You can even think about this putting game while you’re on the course. I just started playing it, and last week I couldn’t get better than two under par.

Competition

Match play, a game of 21, or simply seeing who can make the most one-putts (with a small prize on the line) are all great ways to simulate real on-course pressure. Recently, I played in a putting contest where one competitor made back-to-back 30- and 50-foot putts. As they say, expect your opponent to make every putt—and he nearly did. That’s impressive, and it’s something you see on the course, too: you have to stay committed to your game plan, no matter what.

When it comes to practice, it’s important to blend feedback from recent rounds with the fundamentals you want to reinforce. Drills, games, and competition—from the driving range to the putting green—form the backbone of skills you’ll rely on during actual rounds.

Finding the right balance is something we’re all working on, one practice session at a time. With the beginning of June on the horizon and courses rounding into peak condition for the season, it’s time to hone the finer skills that often get rusty over the winter. More sunlight also means more time to get out on the course and work on your game. Whether it’s the practice green or the driving range, there’s always something to improve—whether you’re enjoying the fresh air or preparing for a weekend game or tournament. You can work on drills or freestyle around the green, and friendly competition is a great way to sharpen your skills. While there are endless ways to get better at golf, I’m going to focus on practicing around the green. Let’s take a look at a few things to keep in mind as we head into the summer months.

Drills

From the driving range to the practice green, it’s important to incorporate drills into your routine. Years ago, I spent a weekend working on my short game with James Sieckmann. He recommended doing drill work for 5–10 minutes, then returning to your main practice. This way, you create a balance between structured drills and real-world scenarios, so you’re not confined to “perfect” situations. For example, hitting the same three-foot putt over and over is good for repetition, but after a while, it becomes less interactive for your brain.

My approach is to use a putting trainer with a narrow gate for the ball to pass through, or simply place tees just outside the width of the ball. I’ll hit a series of four putts through the gate for three sets. Then, from a similar distance, I’ll hit four putts without the training aid and repeat that sequence three times. Next, I’ll hit a number of 15–25 foot putts in a random fashion, then circle back to repeat the short putt drills with and without the training aid.

Game Mode

Once you’ve established a foundation with drills, it’s time to simulate on-course scenarios. This is where a few practice games come in handy. One that I’ve been enjoying lately involves putting 10- to 15-footers with two balls. If I make the putt, great! If I miss, I pull the missed ball back a putter length.

Suddenly, that little tap-in becomes a nerve-wracking three-footer—at least at first. As you get better at this game, those three- and five-footers become much more comfortable and routine. It may sound cliché, but each shot is just what it is—it’s how we react that makes the difference. I like this game because it blends the pressure of on-course putting with the consequence of leaving yourself a much longer putt than usual.

Competition

Competition during practice is when drills and games come to life, and you start to see results. For me, nothing beats a putting contest with a friend or two. In the right setting, these contests can become talking points for the whole season. Match play, a game of 21, or simply seeing who can make the most one-putts (with a small prize on the line) are all great ways to simulate real on-course pressure. Recently, I played in a putting contest where one competitor made back-to-back 30- and 50-foot putts. As they say, expect your opponent to make every putt—and he nearly did. That’s impressive, and it’s something you see on the course, too: you have to stay committed to your game plan, no matter what.

Equipment

Seoul Sensibilities: Is Korean golf fashion starting to shape the world?

Published

2 weeks ago

May 22, 2026

James Chang

For Korean golfers, we always look forward to the last of the kkot-saem-chu-I for the true start of a new golf season. The term refers to a cold snap, but literally translates as “winter being jealous of the flowers beginning to bloom, thus lashing out one final time before surrendering to spring”.

A rather poetic mouthful packed into a short expression.

Koreans can be like that. Understated, yet oddly expressive at the same time. And nowhere is this more true on the golf course and in our golf bags. In fact, I suspect many Korean golfers look forward to new apparel and accessory drops more than they do actual equipment launches each year.

At this point, Korean golf fashion may exist on its own timeline. (courtesy of @seonbi_golfer)

There is ample evidence to support that suspicion. Korea is the world’s third-largest golf market behind the United States and Japan, yet its appetite for golf apparel exceeds that of both countries combined. Recent estimates suggest that Korea accounts for nearly 40 percent of the global golf apparel market, placing it among the world’s most influential golf fashion markets and punching well above its size.

Simply, we care deeply about how new golf clubs look and feel, but enjoy looking good while swinging them even more.

Golfers in the West may laugh and say that golf is played on a course, not a fashion runway. Perhaps. But what’s the harm in trying to look and feel good, if the added self-confidence can help actual performance? It certainly seems to have worked for Jason Day, who may have unlocked a new stats category: dormant strokes gained. Coincidence?

During the COVID-era, estimates placed the market near $9 billion, an astonishing figure for a single country.

As a proud member of Gen X, I’ve witnessed the highs and lows of golf fashion firsthand. The pleated trousers and wing-tipped shoes of Jack Nicklaus, the stylish plus-fours and knickers of Payne Stewart, the baggy black trousers and fitted mock-necks of Tiger Woods, and the thigh-hugging athletic tailoring of Rory McIlroy. Golf fashion, like the golf swing itself, has rarely stood still.

But nowhere have those trends shifted, evolved, and been scrutinized quite as relentlessly as in Korea. Here, golf fashion moves faster than fairway gossip, and consumers dissect brands with a level of discernment that can be both impressive and mildly terrifying. New brands are studied, judged, embraced, or dismissed with startling efficiency.

The result is a consumer base with one of the sharpest eyes for quality and authenticity anywhere in the world. It is difficult to quantify, but easy to recognize. Clean lines without trying too hard. Luxury mixed with utility. Trend awareness balanced by restraint and purpose.

It’s golf fashion shaped by one of the world’s most style-literate cities, something I like to call Seoul Sensibilities, referring to the taste level forged by a uniquely competitive environment.

And increasingly, global brands have noticed.

Many golf brands in Korea have their own flagship shops dedicated to apparel only

Titleist understood this years ago, when its apparel business in Korea took on a life of its own under new ownership and local direction. What had once been a straightforward extension of an iconic equipment giant became something sharper and more premium. By going all in on the serious Tour-player look (I couldn’t even fit into their XL sizes), Titleist struck the right chord with Korean consumers and helped its fledgling apparel business break into the mainstream. Titleist became a household name even for non-golfers who wore its caps, shirts, and windbreakers in daily life. In many ways, it proved that even heritage golf brands could carry real fashion credibility when viewed through a Korean lens.

Several years later, PXG took a page out of Titleist’s playbook and followed suit. Korean consumers helped transform the brand from one known largely for irons and loud commercials into something broader and more stylish. PXG apparel’s growth in Korea was explosive, where it found an early audience and turned the category into something more than mere logo merchandise. It is still hard to walk anywhere in Seoul without seeing its palindrome logo.

Malbon’s meteoric rise in the United States was genuine, but its ascent into a global golf lifestyle brand owes much to Korea, where it was elevated by a market already fluent in modern golf style. Korea did not simply embrace Malbon. It pressure-tested the concept, refined its appeal, and helped push it into the global spotlight.

As such, new brands may arrive from abroad, but more often than not, their sharpest evolution happens here. If a brand can earn credibility in Seoul, it’s deemed to have passed one of the toughest style audits in the game.

That is why the next meaningful chapter may not come from outside, but from a Korean brand moving in the opposite direction, carrying those Seoul Sensibilities outward as K-pop once did.

Play young Stay dope.

From Seoul, With Intent

Khalhon is a label that feels less like a trend-chasing newcomer and more like the product of a market that has already seen everything. Golfers here have long been surrounded by luxury logos, technical fabrics, and tour uniforms disguised as lifestyle wear and vice-versa. In other words, novelty alone rarely lasts here, and the Koreans seems to understand that instinctively.

Its style language leans into clean silhouettes, relaxed but tailored proportions, muted palettes, and premium materials that speak quietly but confidently. There is a modern city aesthetic running through it all, with strong layering pieces, thoughtful textures, and subtle branding that suggests sophistication rather than demanding attention.

“Built for the course. Designed beyond it.”

Most importantly, the garments seem designed to blur the line between golfwear and everyday style. Shirts, trousers, knitwear, and outer layers move comfortably between a game of screen golf, a lunch reservation, an airport gate, or an afternoon coffee in Gangnam with friends.

It raises the question of whether this is golfwear that happens to look good off the course, or everyday clothing that performs beautifully on the fairways.

Personally, I have long appreciated Nike Golf for its clean, athletic modernization of golf attire. It also has the useful side effect of making me look like a more serious golfer than I probably am. But off the course, there are times when being instantly identified as the golf guy in a crowd of non-golfers can feel a touch self-conscious.

“Built for the course. Designed beyond it.”

That is part of what drew me to Khalhon, which seemed to blend golf and everyday wear naturally. While some of the outfits may be slightly beyond my personal confidence level, the brand also offers tasteful options for older guys like me who still want to express a little personality without regretting the decision later.

These are not simply flashy outfits worn on the course and then banished to the closet until the next tee time. They work surprisingly well off the course too, and I suspect many of the pieces will still look right a couple of years from now, which would certainly be kinder to my wallet than most golf fashion trends tend to be.

And perhaps that broader lifestyle positioning also helps explain why someone like Sean Wotherspoon would find Khalhon creatively interesting in the first place.

“Built for the course. Designed beyond it.”

“Korea is not only one of the most fashion-forward golf markets in the world, but one of the most fashion-forward markets globally. Korea is ahead, and I love to watch and try to catch up.” – Sean Wotherspoon, Creative Director at Khalhon

Seoul and Beyond

If Khalhon’s rise says something about where Korean golf fashion is today, its relationship with Sean Wotherspoon says even more about where it is heading.

For readers less familiar with Sean Wotherspoon, his arrival at Khalhon is not some routine celebrity endorsement or influencer collaboration. In design and streetwear circles, Wotherspoon is regarded as one of the more influential creative voices of his generation, particularly when it comes to blending nostalgia, storytelling, and contemporary culture into products that people can connect with.

He first gained widespread attention through his now-famous Nike sneaker collaborations, where his vintage-inspired designs and instinct for color helped turn him into one of the defining artists of the late-2010s sneaker era. His work gradually expanded beyond footwear into apparel, automotive collaborations, collectibles, and broader lifestyle design.

Modern golf style now extends well beyond the fairways, where performance and functionality are largely expected by default. And while plenty of brands already make technically competent golfwear, Khalhon seems more focused on designing clothes people would genuinely want to wear even after the round ends.

And when guys at Wotherspoon’s level show genuine interest in working with a Korean golf brand as its new Creative Director, fashion circles tend to sit up and pay attention. There’s already a huge buzz among the fashion-conscious here about upcoming collabs with iconic sports stars and brands.

“My creative direction for Khalhon is disruptive, colorful, nostalgic, and modern. My goal is to blend these avenues seamlessly within each collection.” – Sean Wotherspoon

In chatting with Sean, what stood out most to me was how genuinely energized he sounded about the project itself. Despite having already worked across and countless other creative spaces, he described golf as a completely fresh category for him, saying that Khalhon “will be an amazing vehicle for my design work.”

At the same time, his enthusiasm seemed tied just as much to Korea itself. He spoke openly about admiring Korea’s fashion culture while repeatedly insisting he is still a terrible golfer.

There was something oddly refreshing about that humility. Rather than sounding like a celebrity parachuting into golf simply because the category suddenly became fashionable, Sean sounded genuinely curious about what Korea might do with the category next.

And perhaps that is what makes Khalhon feel interesting right now. The brand feels less like a trend-chaser and more like the natural result of a market now confident enough to export its own point of view.

For years, global brands came to Korea to sharpen their image against one of the most discerning audiences anywhere. Now, a Korean label appears ready to send those Seoul Sensibilities outward instead.

Which brings us back to kkot-saem-chu-i.

That final cold snap before spring always arrives with a reminder that seasons are changing, whether we notice it immediately or not. Golf fashion feels a little like that right now as well, as the old boundaries between sport, streetwear, luxury, and everyday style continue to soften.

And somewhere in Seoul, a Korean golf label already seems prepared for whatever season comes next. I just hope they have everything in my size.