The "Gorufu Senta"

The automatic doors slide open and I walk into a luxurious clubhouse -- well lit and thoughtfully laid out by a highly-paid interior designer. Expensive leather sofas are placed between an elegant bar and an exclusive pro shop. Spacious windows reveal a large modern driving range just outside. Every member of the staff is thoughtful and attentive. There are registration desks where golfers sign up with one of the pros for a private or group lesson. This place has everything -- except a golf course.

That was my first trip to what Japanese call a "Golf Center" -- a high-tech glorified driving range. In the 1980s, golf course memberships were traded as investments, putting a round far beyond the reach of almost everyone. Although a round of golf is much cheaper today, a few hundred dollars (though often a lot more) for 18 holes still puts a major pinch on the wallet. So, like most people in Japan, I went to the next best thing, a multi-level super deluxe driving range.

As a teenager, growing up in Canada, I loved golf and went to quite a few driving ranges which were pretty much all the same. Out in the middle of nowhere would be a primitive shack next to a field that contained a few wooden signs indicating distance -- 100, 200, 300 yards. More often than not, there were no nets to catch stray balls, so a hook or a slice ended up boring into an abandoned tractor or perhaps a cow. Service came in the form of some old hayseed, who said "It'll be five bucks for the bucket. I don't want to catch you punks fighting or whatnot, and when you finish, if you don't bring the bucket back, I'll kick your sorry arses. O.K. boys, get out there and start whacking your balls."

Years later, after accepting a Japanese friend's invitation, I put 3000 yen into a clubhouse vending machine, which spit out a magnetic card showing that I was entitled to hit 168 balls after I tee-d up at the range. We walked out onto the second level of the three-tiered range and found the place assigned to us by the receptionist. I was thinking, hey, I just paid 3000 yen, where's the bucket of balls? But it didn't work like that. After slipping my magnetic card into a computer-like device, a digital readout lit up indicating that I had 168 balls left to hit. I thought, yeah, that's hi tech, but was still expecting some old geezer to waddle over with more or less the right number of balls in a bucket when I heard a mechanical whirring noise. The ball and tee had magically popped up from a small hole in the Astroturf. My friend then instructed me on the fine points of the fully-mechanized driving range. The computer terminal next to me could raise or lower tee height with the touch of a button. Every time I hit a ball, a sensor would recognize this and send a new tee and ball up through the magic hole. This meant that I never had to bend down, not even once. This terminal also let me call a waitress to order whatever refreshments I may have wanted. Steak and beer were on the menu. Hmm...

Engrossed in the experience, I suddenly realized that there were very strong lights beaming down on me. A digital TV camera had been filming my swing. Not only could I watch an instant replay of my performance, but advice could be offered as well. Using a motion-capturing program, the computer could actually assess the level of my play as I progressed through the 168 balls. But since this would cost extra, I declined.

Looking around, I noticed that all the other golfers seemed to be using this camera feature. I felt rather out of place for not spending the extra cash until I looked at their clothes and clubs. Then I really felt out of place. Because it was summer, I had worn sneakers, shorts and a tee shirt figuring that I'd just borrow my friend's clubs. After all, we were just going to a driving range not Pebble Beach. Yet the other golfers were all wearing coordinated Jack Nicklaus outfits and were wearing spiked cleats on the non-slip Astroturf. Their clubs were worth more than my life savings and had more titanium than the space shuttle.

But many of them, like my partner, have never been to a real course. For a lot of golfers in Japan, the driving range is as good as it gets. That's not meant to be cynical. After all, who needs a real course when you can stand in an air-conditioned cubicle, never work up a sweat, and have someone bring you steak and beer all day long. It beats hauling a heavy bag of clubs for five hours in the blazing sun any day.

--Andrew Nau