The BMW Championship (a.k.a. The Western Open) was this past weekend at Cog Hill, however it was two weeks ago that my buddy Kurt called me up with news of practice round passes for the Tuesday and Wednesday leading up to tournament play. We decided that the first day would have to be for scouting purposes almost exclusively since we couldn’t get there until noon, so we'd be getting the lay of the land for the Wednesday round. I was initially impressed with intricacies of the PGA Tour presence. It's a symphony of palm pressers and custodians sprawled out on a finely manicured and well respected golf course for a week with millions at stake. However, quite soon afterward, the main attraction becomes the primary interest. The enormity of the talent surrounding each entrant is acutely palpable. Astonishing shots in triplicate and a tap in for birdie on a 600 yard hole happen frequently. To be honest, it takes a while for that to sink in.
We arrived at 12:15pm and started roaming the course immediately since most of the players had already teed off, some off the course altogether. We planned our route for the following morning with a real tenacity. This was our gameplan for the Front 9: Follow Tiger from the 1st hole to his drive on the 3rd, then do a Pincer movement to the bridge in between 4 and 5, watch his drive bounce yards from our feet, then the approach, then cross the 5th fairway and walk to the single pine tree fifty yards in front of the green-side bunker, watch the entire 5th hole from this spot, watch most of the 6th from this same spot, then watch the entire 7th hole from the very same vantage as well, walk out 8 and 9 with the gallery following behind Tiger.
We ended up leaving our scouting round on Tuesday around 3pm, seeing some famous names but mostly getting familiar with the course. Truth be told, Kurt is a virtual PGA Rolodex, naming even the most obscure golfers from 60 yards without any problem. He knew histories, was familiar with individual skill sets and amassed a vast arsenal of anecdotes. He could usually identify a player further than 150 yards out by swing alone. So as you can probably tell, this was a pretty big deal for him. Once he got comfortable, I loved how he seamlessly began fraternizing with professional golfers,
"Good luck this week Charlie."
Charles Howell III looks up from signing his scorecard near the driving range, somewhat surprised to be recognized and acknowledged in such a fashion. He straightens up and with a genuine inflection replies, "Hey, thanks a lot."
Then Kurt gives him that "No worries" shoulder shrug and walks out the frame like he just solved a Rubik's Cube in 45 seconds and tossed it to him.
Cracked me up to no end for some reason.
WEDNESDAY
5:03AM - Kurt and myself park in a 7-11 parking lot across the street from Wrigley. Red Bulls and Big Gulps.
5:45AM- It is decided that although a bag of White Castle sliders my seem appealing at the moment, it would ultimately make us logy for the day ahead.
6:26AM - Arriving at Cog Hill public parking. Walking towards the course as the sun rises and the freshly-cut grass reaches upwards.
7:00AM - Watching the greatest golfer (most likely ever) hit a monster tee shot straight down the fairway into the pale murky ether with only 45 other souls in attendance.
7:01AM - Restating my assumptions.
Watching Tiger Woods play golf in person is an irreplaceable experience. I've played the video games, I've watched Masters on Sunday and I've seen the 60 Minutes special on him. Nothing truly prepares you for an up close examination of the most diligently calibrated golf game ever. I'm used to the intimate feel of a golf course, judging the angles and distances as they pertain to my ability. The lack of pressure whenever I draw the blade back is self apparent, because I can always take a mulligan and unbridled success is never an option. With Tiger, every movement is analyzed and every outcome is weighed. Kurt and I both agreed that PGA Tour golfers are playing a different game than us, but Tiger is on his own plane altogether. They all throw darts at the green, the difference is that Tiger has those titanium Sharper Image darts and all the other professionals have plastic darts jammed in a cork that can be attained by leaving your ID with the bartender.
Since this was a Pro-Am in support of the Evans Scholar program, three amateurs donated $7,500 each for the pleasure of playing a round with Tiger. We quickly decided to give these gentlemen names, personas and back stories:
Hustlin' Hank Kowalski: Orange hat, black shirt and a belly putter. He’s clearly the best amateur with a handicap that's probably in the single digits. Let's just say he owns a couple of lumberyards and leave it at that. He even hit a couple approach shots inside Tiger's ball, although he refrained from goading him on with taunts like, "Somebody’s Closer!". Probably a good move.
Howard Greenberg AKA The Wonder Jew with the One Iron AKA Ho-Jew: A dark blue shirt, a bit of a paunch and a surprisingly adept up-and-down save man. A crowd pleaser with his wily antics, continually attempting to interact with Tiger in varied nonchalant ways. Needless to say, Ho-Jew was easy to root for.
Mustache Steve AKA Momo: Mr. Yips settled down after the first couple of difficult holes to provide a very respectable back nine. We liked Momo because of his underdog status and his exquisitely coifed facial hair. He was undoubtedly the worst of the foursome, but we admired his moxie because we'd be a little thrown off to have Mr. Woods waiting on our shots too.
As the morning progressed, the gallery following Woods grew exponentially. The two dozen or so that walked that first fairway with Tiger grew to about 130 people by the 9th hole. I found the range of the group interesting: Chatty old men who are PGA regulars, 7 year old boys with their fathers, Waspy Waspertons, wise cracking black men, middle aged Asian women, etc, etc, etc... People sometimes slam global sports icons such as MJ and Tiger for being too bland and not using their elevated status to help influence positive social change. I think that's asking a bit much from these guys considering the fact that they chose to master the art of putting a ball in a hole instead of running for congress. What I do know is that these stratospheric superstars bring people from all backgrounds and creeds together. They provide us with stories for future generations. They remind us of the potential greatness we seek. Simply, they allow us to dream in a world sometimes clouded with nightmarish effects.
UPDATE: Tiger went 67, 67, 65 and a tournament low 63 in the final round to win by two strokes. He regained top pole position from an idle Phil Mickelson in the Fed Ex Cup standings with one event to go.
And now, your moment of Zen:
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What a great two days! Tiger was so impressive. As you stated so eloquently, he is on another level of excellence. While most of the pro's play a game with which we are unfamiliar, he plays in such a superior stratosphere, that even if we used all of our imaginitive powers, we could not dream up that kind of golf game (which is similar to what the rotund roger maltbie stated during tiggy's round on sunday). The images of his swing from less than 10 feet (and with an uninterrupted sight line) is something that I hope I never forget. It was truly unbelievable and an experience that I still can not seem to quantify, it was just special.
The feeling of intimacy during the practice rounds could not have surprised me more. We could shake hands with Dottie Pepper (sexy matron of golf that she is), say what's up to any number of pros, hear Scott Verplank tooling on a competitors caddie, and just the general feeling that we caught these guys when they are most like themselves. Rory Sabbatini whining like a spoiled 6 year old pining after some sort of sugar treat, when a golf cart carrying some television crew members just barely crept into his periphery (its a practice round and no one cares about your tee shot, let it go). Tiggy and Stevie laughing and ripping on newer caddies trying to give Stevie yardages on holes he obviously knows very well (seeing as before this weekend tiger had won the Western 3 times, twice with Stevie on the bag if i am not mistaken). All of the agents and spokespeople walking inside the ropes with Tiger and his face as he forced a few chuckles and generally ignored their suck-uppery. Boo Weekley and his lazy southern drawl shouting across the range at the lady taking a picture with David Toms, "Watch him, he can get a lil handsy!" Brandt Snedeker wishing us a great day and then being mobbed by TaylorMade reps. while trying to get his scoring irons locked in. There was just so much to see and hear and absorb. I cannot recommend going to a tournament venue on practice round days enough. It was more than even I could have hoped for in terms of proximity to the action and clarity of purpose. We were out there to have a good time, and so were they. Relaxed, comfortable, and just enjoying a beautiful day on a gorgeous and historic layout. Truly special.
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