Bye Bye, Bertha

My playing pal is a club freak. He makes good money, and he just loves to buy golf clubs. I, on the other hand, am a tightwad, sort of a golfer's Jack Benny. I found an old persimmon 4-wood on the course one day, and no one claimed it. I've used it ever since. My first set of clubs stayed with me 20 years.

Well, a couple of years ago, he decided he wanted to try a few different drivers, so he loaned me his Big Bertha War Bird. This driver design was from the starvation victim period. You remember, enormous head, skinny shanks, like a turqoise balloon on a stick.

Longer drives, larger sweet spot: Its promises were a blend of cheap Viagra and an African con artist offering 10% of ill-gotten gains if you'll only give them your bank account number. By the way, you've just won a lottery you never entered.

It sounded like an Little League bat when it connected, with a sort of tinny 'tink'.

Drives off it rose high and far, though. They did so much more often than my old driver, so I guess it did have a larger sweet spot. I grew very fond of that piece of metal, despite its odd color.

Alas, however, my friend has decided to reclaim his lost lamb. I'm going to have to (gasp) buy a driver. There's no rush: I haven't hit a ball since April. You know something, though? The itch is beginning to pick up. I better hurry. In Minnesota, summer is an awful short season.

Does anyone know of one with a sweet spot that wraps completely around the face. And forgiving? I want one that makes St. Francis Assisi look like a drill sergeant.