I have a fond memory of the exact place where I finally stopped slicing. It was on the 13th. tee at Kings Park in Scotland that my father, after some months of patiently hunting for my many drives in the right rough, finally talked me into a slower swing. While waiting for the group ahead to clear, he had me take slower and slower practice swings until I thought it was a joke. I hit my first ever 'climbing-draw' and was easily 30 yards ahead of my previous efforts. A couple of months later I scored an 84 and had played 60 holes without a lost ball.