The Single Plane Golf Swing: Play Better Golf the Moe Norman Way

By Todd Graves and Tim O'Connor

“Through this wonderful book, frustrated golfers can learn to swing like Moe [Norman] and improve their games.” —Anthony Robbins, #1 New York Times–bestselling author

The mysterious and reclusive genius Moe Norman is acknowledged as the best ball-striker in the history of golf by many of the game’s greats. The Single Plane Golf Swing: Play Better Golf the Moe Norman Way reveals the secrets of the swing that enabled him to hit the ball solidly with unerring accuracy and consistency—every time. Norman’s simple, efficient, and easily understood Single Plane Swing has improved the games of thousands of golfers.

Golf professional Todd Graves, known as “Little Moe” and regarded as the world authority on Norman’s swing, comprehensively teaches readers the mechanics, drills, and feelings of the Single Plane Swing that Moe called “The Feeling of Greatness.” Graves shares Norman’s brilliant insights and liberating approach to the game and demonstrates why the conventional “tour” swing is too complex and frustrating for the majority of amateurs.

Illustrated with more than 300 photographs and written with Tim O’Connor, Norman’s biographer, the book also engagingly tells Norman’s bittersweet life story and explores the teacher-student bond forged between Norman and his protégé Graves.

“One of golf’s greatest untold stories, Moe Norman’s life illustrated a simple and powerful truth: greatness is built from practicing the right swing in the right way. In this book, Todd Graves has given us a blueprint for that swing, for those practice habits, and most of all for a process that builds success.” —Dan Coyle, New York Times-bestselling author of The Culture Code

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781612548920

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

EMBARKING ON THE JOURNEY | MEETING MOE NORMAN

One of the lowest points in my career as a touring golf professional came in New Delhi, India, as far away physically and culturally as possible from my home in Oklahoma City.

I was twenty-four years old, playing in the 1991 Indian Open, an Asian Professional Golf Tour event. The narrow fairways of the Delhi Golf Club felt claustrophobic and dangerous. Many holes were framed on either side by twenty-foot-high thorn bushes inhabited by perilous creatures. If your ball strayed off the fairway, the caddies refused to retrieve it.

At one point, I was standing over a tee shot when a small, squirrel-like animal darted in front of my ball.

What is that? I exclaimed to my Indian caddy.

A mongoose, he said. They are hunting the cobras on the golf course.

Cobras? I said, alarmed. Have you seen any?

Oh yes, he said serenely. And a few minute snakes.

What the hell is a minute snake?

A very poisonous snake, he said. If it bites you, you will die within a minute.

Along with feeling jumpy, I felt small, isolated, and very, very far from home. Not only that, I had lost confidence in my swing. By the fourth round, I was guessing something different on nearly every shot on how to hit one straight. I was petrified of hitting it off line—I was scared of snakes and my own golf swing.

Standing on the final tee with my head down, hands on my hips, I wondered, What am I doing here?

I came home disappointed but determined to get better and find a coach to help me develop a repeatable, reliable swing that would not deteriorate under the intense pressure of professional golf. My roommate, Bob Casper, the son of Billy Casper, encouraged me to search for someone I could relate to. After a few sessions with other well-known teachers, I selected Hank Haney. He worked with a number of big-name players, most notably PGA Tour player Mark O’Meara. I had never expected to work with a coach of Hank’s caliber.

Although I had won five high school tournaments—including the conference championship—in my senior year at Putnam City North High School in Oklahoma City, I had not planned to be a touring professional playing to put food on the table. Our middle-class family could not afford to send me around the US playing in American Junior Golf Association events, so I worked at golf clubs where I could play and practice for free. Golf was more of a serious hobby. I was offered a small scholarship at a NCAA Division II college but turned it down. I decided to attend Oklahoma State University and focus on academics. But after playing in Oklahoma’s intramural golf tournament, I couldn’t stay away from the game. I transferred to the University of Oklahoma to pursue playing again. Encouraged by a few members of the team, including Todd Hamilton, the eventual 2004 British Open Champion, I played my way onto the University of Oklahoma golf team as a walk-on. We won the NCAA Championship in 1989, and I stayed on as assistant coach from 1989 to 1991 when I left to play on the Asian Tour.

I wanted to see if I could play the game for a living. I turned pro and played on development circuits such as the Asian and Canadian professional golf tours. In my first Asian tournament in Hong Kong, Bernhard Langer shot 63-66 in the first two rounds to my 75-77. I knew I had lots to learn.

At his training facility in McKinney, Texas, just north of Dallas, Hank Haney said that improving my swing plane was crucial to my progress. Swing plane is the path the club shaft travels on the backswing and downswing. Hank often referred to Ben Hogan as the model for swing plane. Hogan said swing plane was similar to a plane of glass that runs just above the shoulders down to the ball. To make me more consistent, Hank wanted me to swing as closely as possible on the same plane back and through so it felt like I was swinging along the plane of glass Hogan described.

To swing on this ideal plane, Hank showed me a new position for my hands. Hank said the goal was to start my hands at address and return them to the same position at impact. At address, I was to let my arms hang straight down from my shoulders. This position was lower than I was used to and uncomfortable, but Hank said this would bring the path of my backswing and downswing closer together.

With Hank watching, I hit some solid shots with my new hands position. I felt optimistic. He said: You got it? You know what you’re working on? Good going!

I was committed to learning this hands-hanging-down position so that I could regain my confidence, get back on tour, and contend. No one was going to outwork me. Sometimes I would hit 1,000 balls a day in temperatures between 90 and 100 degrees Fahrenheit fanned by hot Texas gales. It could pour rain all day, and I’d stay out there, practicing most days between 8:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m.

Despite working my tail off, I got worse by the day. I often found myself trying something different every day in an effort to match my address and impact planes. During one lesson, Hank moved me closer to the ball at address, causing me to swing on a steeper plane. I was taking such large divots that I hurt my wrists and hands.

My swing became a guessing game where I could no longer feel anything consistent or repeatable. I was completely confused. I could no longer hit the ball solid. Every time I swung, my hands would be higher—not on the lower plane where my hands started.

More than a few times, I stood exhausted on the range, dripping in sweat, careening between anger and sadness, asking myself, What am I doing here? None of this made sense: I had the help of a great instructor, no one worked harder than me, and solving problems was in my DNA. My parents were teachers. Mom had a master’s degree in English, and Dad was a professor of microbiology—he taught medical students at the University of Oklahoma.

I had always believed that hard work and dedication would pay off. They didn’t. I was an emotional wreck, my body hurt, and I had spent a small fortune. I kept searching. I was no different from the millions of golfers who obsess about getting better.

One night, following another frustrating 800-ball practice day, I was looking at my swing on video in Hank’s teaching studio with Alberto Kaneda, a friend and former Oklahoma University teammate. Alberto made a suggestion. Instead of trying to match my low hands position at address and impact, he said: Why don’t you start your hands higher at address? At impact, your hands are naturally moving higher, so why not start them there? Alberto went on to become the president of the PGA of Mexico.

I gave it a shot, raising my hands at address to the impact position. I took a swing.

It felt incredible. Something remarkable had happened. I drove to my apartment feeling relieved, hopeful, and ecstatic. I was certain that I had experienced a breakthrough. I was so excited about heading to the range the next morning that I didn’t sleep well.

With my new high hands address position, I immediately started hitting the ball solidly on the clubface. Every ball was solid. I had figured out how to swing closely along a Single Plane. My address plane matched the impact plane. Now I could see why Hank promoted it.

I kept working from this new position, gaining confidence. It felt simple to repeat. Golf was fun again.

A short time later, Matthew Lane, a friend from the Canadian Tour (now the PGA Tour of Canada), visited me. I told him about my discovery. Matthew said, You’re swinging like Moe Norman. I didn’t know anything about Moe other than he was some mysterious weird guy from Canada.

MOE STARTED AND IMPACTED ON A SINGLE PLANE

Matthew said he had shot video of Moe hitting balls. He eagerly popped a videocassette into Hank’s VHS machine. A burly fellow with gray-flecked hair and a rubbery face moved into the picture. I was immediately struck by the speed in which he got into address, smacked the ball, and finished with his club pointing oddly at the sky. I was astounded by the number of people in the gallery, which included many of my Canadian Tour comrades. Dazzled by Moe Norman, they were exclaiming and laughing incredulously at his shot-making display.

He’s amazing, enthused Matthew, who is a great ball-striker in his own right. I’ve never seen anyone hit it that straight. He’s a freak.

After I got used to Moe’s Zorro-like pace and frumpy appearance—this guy was no khaki-clad, dapper-Dan golf pro—I realized he also held his hands high at address. Moe’s address was definitely unconventional. He reached for the ball with his arms ramrod straight and his legs splayed out wide and straight.

Matthew’s video showed Moe from a number of angles, including from behind the ball, or what we call the down-the-line view. I froze the video showing Moe at address and drew a line on the screen on the club shaft.

I froze the video when he reached impact and drew another line along the club shaft.

The lines matched exactly. This was positive proof that Moe swung on a Single Plane—on the same plane at address and at impact. I had never seen anyone do this. Matthew said many respected golf people believed Moe was the best ball-striker in the world. Weeks later, I discovered a dusty video of Moe’s swing in Hank’s files.

If my swing was somewhat similar to the person considered the best ever, well, this was mind-blowing. I was so excited. As my confidence increased in my own unique swing, I was hearing more about this guy Moe Norman. The universe appeared to be speaking to me.

While working on my game at Hank’s ranch, I was also working at a City Pointe Golf Center, a driving range just north of Dallas. Jack Kuykendall, a self-styled golf scientist with the nerve of a carnival barker, showed up at City Pointe and conducted a demonstration for a handful of customers. I listened in and determined Kuykendall was selling clubs based on an instruction methodology he called Natural Golf.

About five-foot-eight and athletically trim, Kuykendall spoke enthusiastically about physics and kinesiology, most of which went over the head of his audience. But some of his theories about the single-axis swing seemed to explain elements of Moe’s swing. Kuykendall was not a professional golfer, but his belief that science could make golf easier was