This confession is so sacrilegious, it is akin to admitting five years ago that you despised the Atkins Diet. However, I must cleanse my soul, rehab my kharma, and set thing right with all two of my readers: I despise hybrids.

I cannot hit the little technological pickles on a stick. I’ve tried a bunch of them, and cannot get the ball off the freaking ground. I’ve gone both ways, with the iron-hybrids and the metalwood-hybrids, and flat-out suck with them. They feel so good with my eyes shut, nice weight and all. Then I look down at a metalwood on a shrunken shaft, and I lose whatever sense of connection I might have possessed.

You have never heard the weird sounds of golf until you listen to my hybrid shots. Someone once said of Davis Love III, that the sound of his driver meeting ball was like a body thudding against a fast-moving car. Imagine the car hitting a bleating goat, imagine the goat passing gas, imagine … well that’s proximate to the sound you get when RonMon makes hybrid meet ball.

I have a set of Mizuno MP-32 blades that go as low as the 3, and I love them. I hit the 3-knife with more confidence than I slurp soup (and I can drain the entire bowl with one gulp!)

I need the look of a traditional pear-shaped head. My coaching buddy made me a 7-metal last year, and I cannot let it go. It reminds me of my first wooden 5-wood that I got at age 12. I hit that thing so high in the sky, all the way up to 200 yards.

So for now, I’m stuck carrying the 7-metal 205 yards, the 4-metal about 225, and the driver, some 245 on a good day. The three iron goes between 200 and 204.8, so I have about two-tenths of a yard to figure out. There now. I feel better. How about you? Got anything to confess?

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