The winter air in Chicago was biting, the kind of cold that made the thought of a fairway feel like a distant memory. For Arthur, the only green in his life during February was the vibrant cover of the latest Golf Digest sitting in his mailbox.

He stopped at a feature article about the resurgence of "feel" in an era of data-driven swings. The photography was crisp—morning dew on a Pebble Beach green, the orange glow of a California sunrise hitting a bunker’s edge. As he read about the rhythmic connection between the hands and the clubhead, the walls of his apartment seemed to recede. He could almost smell the freshly cut grass and feel the give of the turf beneath his spikes.

Arthur spent the evening annotating the margins of the "Fix Your Slice" section. He stood up in his living room, gripping an invisible iron, and practiced the slow-motion takeaway described on page 42. His cat watched with mild judgment as he checked his alignment against the patterns on the rug.