It's time to come out of the closet. No, not that closet. The “S” closet. That's the alcove where nearly suicidal golfers speak the “s” word.

On the course; golfers don't even daresay the word. They just furtively refer to it as the S word. Sometimes they call it the “laterals.” The very brave and foolhardy will go so far as to refer to the “hosel fade.”

But I shall be even more courageous. I shall emerge from “S _ _ _ _ _ _'s Anonymous” and proclaim to the world: “My name is Jimmy, and I am a shanker.”

For those of you who don't know, a shank is where you hit an iron too close to the hosel (where the face meets the shaft) of the club, and as one of my 400 instructional manuals kindly puts it, “The ball shoots off alarmingly to the right.” Alarmingly doesn't quite cover it! “Shocking,” “near-death experience,” and “cardiac arrest” come close.

Some friends try to help you via videos and advice: address the ball on the toe, address the ball on the heel, tighten grip, loosen grip, open stance, closed stance, etc., etc. All well meaning but what is really required is psychological counseling and/or an exorcism.

I am not even going to talk about most golfers who treat you as if you have the Swine Flu. They don't want to see you hit a shank because they know they may catch it. It's virulently contagious! And there may be no cure.

What is needed, I believe, is a support group which I am launching. It will be called the Organization of Shankers Hopelessly In Trouble. You may join by e-mailing me at   joscaranderson@shaw.ca .

When you e-mail me send along your curative advice. I'm going to assemble a book, which should be about the same length as War and Peace. In fact, that might be the title.