Survey
Hang the irons
Otis hangs 4 through pitching wedge on a beam scale facing the plaza brick. Outliers get named before anyone talks about loft.
Sangamon · Window 05 · rotational band
File the set into one band before the plaza wind argues.
MOI Band is a clerk window, not a showroom. Maren hangs each iron, reads how unwilling the head is to start turning, then stamps a band on carbon. Mixed bands leave Springfield players defending a four-iron that does not belong with the seven.
Stamp
Ink the neighborhood
June writes a band, not a single gram. Springfield humidity moves grams. Neighborhoods survive the walk to Washington Park.
Refuse
Split dockets
A light four living with a heavy eight is two files. Window 5 will not pretend they are siblings.
Why a plaza clerk
Labels remember marketing. Bands remember how a head turns.
Players arrive from Lake Springfield with a sleeve of numbers copied off a card in a box. Those numbers describe static balance on a 14-inch fulcrum. Rotational weight is a different citizen. The four-iron that felt honest on a mat can still be the club that stalls when Sangamon wind hits the statehouse lawn.
Window 5 opened in 2008 because Maren Quill was tired of filing swingweight tickets that did not survive a round at the Lincoln rails. The hanging scale faces brick on purpose. If a head will not turn honestly indoors, the plaza will not be kinder.
Voices from the carbon drawer
People who left a mixed band at the plaque
Otis hung my four-iron and the needle sat in a different county from the rest. I had been blaming the Lincoln Home turf. The turf was innocent.
June asked whether I play Washington Park in the morning or after the carillon. I said both. She issued two carbons. Rude. Correct.