1 . Golf has a length problem. The farther players drive the ball, the longer holes need to be, so that skills like iron play and putting (打球入洞) remain important. But the longer courses are, the more they cost to maintain and the worse their environmental impact. They also become more daunting for recreational golfers, who keep them in business.

In 2004, golf’s regulators introduced limits on the size of clubs (球杆), hoping to slow the trend of ever-longer drives. Nonetheless, the inflation has continued quickly. On November 15th a famous record tumbled (下跌): someone completed the Masters Tournament in fewer than 270 strokes, the mark Tiger Woods set when he won his first major title in 1997. The new low of 268 belongs to Dustin Johnson, who has averaged more than 300 yards a pop throughout his career. He achieved the feat even though the Augusta National course is 8% longer than in 1997.

How have golfers continued to blast the ball farther than ever? The PGA Tour publishes ball-tracking statistics, which suggest that, although better equipment may have helped, players’ recent gains stem largely from their technique — and even bigger improvements now appear inevitable.

The data come from ShotLink, a system that tracks how fast a golfer swings (“clubhead speed”), his ball’s trajectory (“launch angle”) and its rotation speed (“spin rate”). A statistical model using these metrics was built to predict driving distances. Together, the three factors explained 70% of the differences between players’ distances, and almost all of the increase in length over time.

The model’s lessons are intuitive. To thump the ball as far as possible, one should maximise clubhead speed and launch angle while minimising spin. However, most players face a trade-off between these goals. Harder impacts usually mean flatter trajectories.

One golfer, however, has escaped this constraint. Bryson DeChambeau, a physics graduate with oddly designed club, is nicknamed the “Mad Scientist”. He gained 18kg of weight while the PGA Tour was suspended. This has allowed him to swing faster than anyone else. But he has also managed to smash the ball with a high launch angle — an unprecedented combination that might owe something to his unusually stiff wrists and robotic technique. Using both his brains and his brawn, Mr DeChambeau is now hitting 15 yards farther than his closest competitors do.

Mark Broadie, a golf statistician, reckons that other professionals will try to beef up. But golf history is full of players who lost their edge after making small changes to their swings. And time may yet show that the risks of Mr DeChambeau’s bombs-away approach offset some of the rewards. He strayed into the rough (球场长草区) often at the Masters.

Nonetheless, the Mad Scientist’s breakthrough is bad news for course designers. They will probably have to keep fiddling with their fairways on the golf courses for years to come.

2 . My teammates cheered.

Long before Camcorders (便携式摄像机) tapes, our coach would have every game _______, have it developed overnight and ready for Monday`s _______. Dressed only in football pants and our smelling T-shirts, we listened to Coach’s _______ of the previous game, his voice was barely heard over the noise of the projector.

He rarely _______ out good plays, but was quick to find _______. One afternoon, he _______ me. The quarterback was my least favorite play — I was supposed to pull from my right tackle position and trap the linebacker on the left side of the line. Coach knew I was too _______ for that play. Why did he _______ a play he knew I couldn’t do?

In the film room, Coach _______ the play up five or six times, “Wilson, you’ve got to get the lead (铅) out of your pants. If you`re going to remain as our strong-side tackle position, you’re going to have to __________ these moves.” He really let me __________ it! Finally, he __________ pressing the reverse button (回放键) and let the play finish.

During the game, though it looked like I wouldn’t make the block, I __________ down, dashed __________ the defender and took him out of the game. Our striker ran through the hole and make a __________ goal.

I wasn’t a good football player. The truth is, I was __________ to be on the team. I had size and __________, but was too slow to be effective. Coach was __________ in assuming I wouldn’t make that block, __________ I didn’t. But this time I did. Not because of ability, but because of __________ and determination. As Coach used to say, “Wilson, you’ve got to give it 110% if you’re going to be a starter on my team.”

He was right then, and is right now. Thanks, Coach.

“Jordi! Wake up!” Father’s voice called from the hallway, and I sat up quickly. The day finally came! The day that I would be a castellar—a tower builder. Mama had breakfast ready. “Are you prepared for your moment of fame?” Papa asked in excitement. My throat was suddenly very dry, and the bread got stuck as I swallowed. Taking a big swig of juice, I put on a smile. “I'm ready” I would do well. I wanted to make him proud.

Here in the eastern part of Spain, casteller groups were very popular. My city hosted the competition this year. Before that, I’d watched my parents compete. But never before had I been part of the tower. It was so high. And it sometimes fell. I was hesitant to be up there. But for the past year, I had been practicing the climb. I was twelve, and I must not be a coward (胆小鬼). So for the first time in a competition, I would help build the tower!

In town, I saw that the center was packed with people and casteller teams from all over the country. Hands sweating, I was waiting for our turn to compete. Mom came and patted me on the shoulder. “Have focus. Have faith.” I nodded to show that I understood and would do my best to follow the suggestions.

Soon, too soon, it was our turn.

My father and three of the strongest men stood in a circle facing each other as they held tightly to each other’s arms. Four more strong men stepped behind, each wrapping his arms around the chest of a man and giving him a bear hug. Then fifty more men and women crowded behind and began pushing on their backs to keep them tightly together.

Our base was solid. Four smaller men climbed onto the backs of the base group and stood on their shoulders. They then grabbed onto each other’s arms and held firmly, creating a strong second tier (层). Another group of men would form the third tier. Then, a group of women, including Mom, started climbing and began to form the fourth tier. Our tower was growing taller and taller.

“Girls ages 13 to 14 please proceed to staging with your coaches at this time.” Looking around the room, eyes wide and pleading. I frantically (慌乱地) explained my situation to nearby coaches. The seconds ticked away in my head; every polite refusal increased my desperation.

Despair weighed me down. I sank to my knees as a stream of competitors, coaches, and officials flowed around me. My dojang (跆拳道馆) had no coach, and the tournament rules prohibited me from competing without one.

Although I wanted to remain strong, doubts began to cloud my mind. I could not help wondering: what was the point of perfecting my skills if I would never even compete? The other members of my team, who had found coaches minutes earlier, attempted to comfort me, but I barely heard their words. They couldn’t understand my despair at being left on the outside, and I never wanted them to understand.

Since my first lesson 12 years ago, the members of my dojang have become family. I have watched them grow up, finding my own happiness in theirs. Together, we have practised our kicks, blocks, and strikes. We have pushed one another to aim higher and become better martial artists. Although my dojang had searched for a reliable coach for years, we had not found one. When we attended competitions in the past, my teammates and I had always gotten lucky and found a sympathetic coach. Now, I knew this practice was unsustainable. It would devastate (使极为忧伤) me to see the other members of my dojang in my situation, unable to compete and losing hope as a result. My dojang needed a coach, and I decided it was up to me to find one.

I first approached the adults in the dojang—both instructors and members’ parents. However, these attempts only reacquainted me with polite refusals. Everyone I asked told me they couldn’t devote multiple weekends per year to competitions. I soon realized that I would have become the coach myself.

At first, the inner workings of tournaments were a mystery to me. To prepare myself for success as a coach, I spent the next year as an official and took coaching classes on the side. I learned everything from motivational strategies to technical, behind-the-scenes components of Taekwondo (跆拳道) competitions. Though I emerged with new knowledge and confidence in my capabilities, others did not share this faith.

Parents threw me disbelieving looks when they learned that their children’s coach was only a child herself.

Now, as I arrive at a tournament with my students, I close my eyes and remember the past.