Why your March Madness betting is ruining your chipping

There are few sounds in golf more depressing than the dull thud of a chunked chip. It’s the sound of grass being bludgeoned into a shallow grave while your golf ball hops about six inches forward like a baby goat that lost interest halfway through. Every golfer has done it, and every golfer has, at some point, stared at their wedge like it personally betrayed them. But fear not, I bring you a two-pronged approach to solving this horror — one rooted in technique, the other in what I can only describe as psychological meddling. Let’s begin.

First, the real fix. The truth is, you’re chunking chips because you’re trying to help the ball into the air, which is about as helpful as offering directions to a pigeon. When you try to “scoop” the ball, you flip the wrists, lean back, and create the perfect conditions for digging a shallow trench. The cure? Lean forward. Put 60% of your weight on your lead foot. Keep the wrists firm and let the club’s loft do its job. Think of yourself less as a heroic lifter of golf balls and more as a humble delivery person—someone who simply brushes the grass and lets the ball get airborne naturally, like it’s got somewhere better to be. Stay steady, rotate through, and you’ll start clipping crisp little chips that land softly and roll out like you meant it. Because you did. Technically.

Now, for the second—and, frankly, more common—cause of chunky chips: March Madness. Yes, your short game is collapsing under the weight of your unhealthy obsession with college basketball gambling. Don’t act surprised. I’ve seen you. You pulled your phone out between holes to check on a Winthrop vs. St. Mary’s game, like your mortgage depended on it. You’re standing over a chip, but mentally you’re running bracket scenarios like a Wall Street trader high on cold brew and regret. “If North Dakota State covers, I can still break even… unless the Aztecs hit their free throws…” chunk. That wasn’t poor technique—that was you momentarily blacking out while calculating the over/under.

The brain only has so much bandwidth. Golf requires roughly 98% of it, leaving you with 2% for basic life support functions like breathing, blinking, and occasionally remembering your kid’s name. If you spend that precious 2% monitoring whether Northern Kentucky covers the spread, you will, inevitably, skull one chip across the green and chunk the next one straight into a patch of crabgrass behind the clubhouse. Fix your mind, and you might just fix your chips. Or at least, limit yourself to one bracket pool instead of seventeen.

So there you have it. You chunk chips because (A) you’re physically trying to lift the ball like an enthusiastic but incompetent bellhop or (B) you’re mentally checked out while hoping Yale’s free-throw percentage covers the spread. Either way, lean forward, quiet the wrists, and for the love of Augusta, put the phone away until the round is over. The sportsbook will still be there. Sadly, so will your short game.