Achewood‘s Chris Onstad has this to say, which we love a whole lot. If you don’t click through, at least read his closing grafs:

The clubs I use now were the clubs he treated himself to the year I was born, 1975. (The year my daughter was born, I treated myself to a brewery tour and a banjo. Say what, B? More Testors? Yeah, it’s premium, but you get what you pay for, brahhh.) They’re ancient Wilson-Staffs with ancient engineering. There’s no perimeter weighting, personally adjustable counterbalancing (what in the name of all that is holy is TaylorMade up to?!) or FancyShaft technology. I think the shafts are filled with Cutty Sark, and the heads of the woods are actual wood, made from wood, with, like, a knothole as a sweet spot, and a small tap at the rear of the hosel.

I will be the first to admit that I am annoying about not playing with modern clubs. You ever watch that America’s Test Kitchen cooking show, with Christopher Kimball, where he wears a bow tie and acts like he is angry that no one cooks pancakes like Abraham Lincoln anymore? And he always spent the weekend helping a neighbor pull an old red tractor out of mud? That is how I am about my golf clubs. I struggled hard to learn how to get the ball down the fairway, and now here’s this generation of two-lesson junior Chrysler salesmen with silver drivers the size of chowder-in-a-sourdough-bowl slapping three hundred yard tee shots without so much as taking off their beer helmets and bluetooth earpieces. These guys swing at the ball like they were trying to kill a mouse with a broom, and their Titleist flies straight and true. Pretty soon all we’re going to have to do is pull up to the pro shop, punch a button that says “9 HOLES,” insert fifty bucks, and the machine will spit out a card that reads, “PAR! GOOD JOB. 25% OFF ON CHICKEN WINGS AND ALL BIG BERTHA MERCHANDISE!”