I'd bought a ticket to the Travelers Championship a few weeks ago. The Connecticut Ag Education Foundation was selling them as a fundraiser, and a number of people I work with serve on the board. At the time, I didn't know if I'd be going, but it was only $20 so I'd see how the week shaped up and make a game time decision.
I'd spent Saturday with my four year old son Will and thought about taking him down that afternoon, but the weather was a question and thought better of it. Sunday afternoon freed up, the weather looked OK and the leaderboard looked interesting, so I made the 40 mile trek to the TPC at River Highlands in Cromwell, about 15 miles south of Hartford.
I got there just after the leaders teed off and while some like me were still arriving, others were beginning to leave. I was able to catch up quickly as I'd been to the tournament the previous year and had actually played the course two years ago. I bolted to the far end of the course and caught the leaders at the 481 yard par-4 fourth, probably one of the stoutest holes on the course. I decided would follow the last groups a few holes on the front nine and then find a choice spot on the final few holes.
I watched the second to last group, David Toms and Casey Wittenburg come through, with Wittenburg making bogey from the greenside bunker and Toms making a routine par.
Co-leaders Kenny Perry and Paul Goydos were in the final group and both misfired on their approaches. Goydos was wide right, and stubbed his chip, but made a lengthy putt for par. Perry flew it right over the flag back left and it rolled through a chipping area on to a downslope in the heavier rough. Though close to the hole it was a tricky spot and being in the rough I was surprised he used his putter. Though he left him self a 10-footer, he too rolled in his par putt.
From there, I skipped the par 3 fifth and headed to the par 5 sixth. In a tip of the hat to my father-in-law Jack, I was wearing a red, white and blue outfit, which he often does around the fourth of July. With a red Cornell shirt, and a blue Travelers hat I'd gotten the previous year, I looked like one of the volunteers (who all had red shirts too).
The sixth green is right near a back entrance so I grabbed a pairing sheet and found a nice spot on the left of the green. Wittenburg hit a great second shot just short of the putting surface and had an easy two-putt birdie. Toms had laid up and just missed his 12 footer for birdie.
Along side the sixth green, a fellow spectator made an interesting observation. He wondered if players ever used the "shot link" GPS info that flashes on the huge scoreboard behind the green. From where he was, I'm sure David Toms could have seen that he was 83 yards from the pin -- who needs a caddy?
Perry went for the green and short sided himself in the front left greenside bunker while Goydos laid up. Goydos put it to about eight feet and lipped out his birdie. Perry hit a tremendous bunker shot to about five feet and cashed in for the bird. The sixth green is a good viewing spot in a convenient location. Back in the trees behind the green, it's shaded and you have a great view of the approach shots, especially when players lay up. It's also a place where you could park about 50 yards from your seat (provided you bring your own) if you parked on a lawn right outside the gate. I noticed a number of older folks with limited mobility, who were probably there for that very reason.
I watched Goydos and Perry both tee off seven, where the course begins to make a seven hole outer loop. I decided to go back over to 15 through 17, which is really the heart of the course.
Having been at the US Open the previous week the golf experience couldn't have been more different. At the Travelers, the crowds were laid back, sort of half paying attention to the golf. While the US Open had the feel of a critical business meeting, the Travelers had the feel of a fantasy football draft. As a fan I enjoyed the change of pace, so I can only imagine what a nice change it was for the players.
There was one key similarity in terms of the layout of the final few holes. Both Bethpage and River Highlands, have holes 15-17 in close proximity to each other with 18 off on its own leading back to the clubhouse.
At River Highlands, holes 15-17 form a natural ampitheather surrounding a large lake, and with the par-4 15th being a driveable par four, 16 a par-3 over water, and 17 a par-4 along and over the lake, so it has the potential for some exciting golf. With the whole area being bowl shaped, it's pretty easy to find a good spot to watch. The toughest thing for me was picking one, so in typical fashion I moved around a bit.
I cut over through a field of poison ivy (picked the wrong people to follow) between the fourth tee and the area behind the 17th tee and 16th green. While I waited behind the 17th tee to watch Justin Leonard and Bob Heintz tee off, Greg Chalmers hit to about a foot on 16. Leonard hit a nice tee shot but Heintz rinsed one in the lake on the right, which I recall is exactly what I did when I played the hole.
I cut behind 16 green and watched a couple more tee shots from DJ Trahan and Kevin Streelman and then moved toward the 15th tee and walked along the 15th fairway. I love the 15th as a driveable par 4, but it's one of the few spots in the ampitheater where it's hard to see the other two holes. There's a bit of a bottleneck up near the green too, but I set up temporary camp there before I decided if I would stay.
The timing of my arrival was good as newly minted US Open champ Lucas Glover had just arrived, playing with Zach Johnson. Glover hit a great tee shot, popping it into the tier that separated the front and back of the green, which slowed it up enough that it stayed on the upper tier where the pin was. He had about 30 feet for eagle, and though he left it short, it was a good birdie and he got a great ovation from the crowd.
Bryce Molder and Michael Allen were next and Allen, a senior tour player, hit a suberb shot. He ran his tee shot into the back left corner where the pin was (the water is on the left side too) and was just in the fringe about 20 feet from the hole. Like Glover, he didn't scare the hole for eagle and settled for a tap in birdie. Molder got up and down from the front right for his birdie too. I remembered fondly the birdie I made at that hole when I played it (since you were wondering).
I circled back behind the 15th green, in front of the 18th tee (which is right next to it) and behind the 17th green which is surrounded by corporate skyboxes. Behind it was the Subway fan zone, which I checked out for future reference in terms of bringing Will. There wasn't a lot of kids activities (though the climbing wall and mini-golf course were in a different area) but I picked up a few knick knacks for Will and a free Travelers t-shirt.
I spent the rest of my time along the 17th fairway. While you can't see anything up close, you can see 15th green across the lake, and all of the 16th, and it really provides a nice view of the whole 17th hole. I timed my visit to the fun zone well as Glover and Johnson were approaching 17 green. Both had hit it close at 17 and both made birdie, much to the delight of the crowd. Given he'd just won the US Open, Glover really had a nice showing in the tournament, tying for 11th.
I saw a few more groups come through, and in consecutive groups saw players put it in the water on their second shot -- I think there was more wind into them than they could feel. Bryce Molder came up short in the lake as did Chris Riley, who had laid well back in the fairway. Both made double.
From my original spot I moved closer to the 17th green to have a scoreboard behind me so I could keep tabs on the leaders (Perry was maintaining a three shot lead through most of the back nine). As I relocated, I saw a lot of people leaving for the day, to beat the traffic and watch the end at home -- clearly not the US Open.
In the next group was Ryan Moore, who was only four back made a nice up and down from in front of the green to save par, while his partner Jarrod Lyle made bogey from long left.
Even in a normal year, this course gives up some low scores, but the 17th was no pushover despite the soft conditions. After Moore and Lyle, the next group was Anthony Kim and Hunter Mahan who were four and three shots out of the lead. Kim had to chip out from along the lake after his tee shot and made bogey while Mahan failed to get up and down from short right, a popular spot just over the water.
Tag Ridings and Ben Curtis were next through. Ridings put his tee shot in the water but buried a 40 footer for par. Curtis, like the others who came through three behind had a good look at birdie but settled for par.
The third to last group, John Merrick and Bo Van Pelt, were a little further back, but obviously good finishes are critical to any player who you haven't heard of. Merrick must have been in the left hand fairway bunker (I couldn't see him) which is almost worse than the lake. He blew his approach over the green but couldn't scramble for par, making a bogey without getting one wet. Merrick had a tough finish bogeying three of the last four.
Perry had been holding a three shot lead, but David Toms was making a run. Toms made birdie at 15 and 16 and was within one until Perry birdied 15. Like at Bethpage, I could follow the action on the previous holes from a distance. Unlike Bethpage, I seemed to be the only one around to give a damn. Goydos was making a mini charge with an eagle at 15, but the leader at the start of the day had fallen too far behind.
Seventeen proved to be a pivotal hole again this week. While Perry hung on to his two-shot lead with a par at 16, Toms hit a great drive on 17 and put his approach to about 10 feet. Bobby Clampett the on course announcer following the group jogged right in front of us as Toms received a great cheer on his way to the green. It was good to see Clampett who's role at CBS was reduced over the last couple years when aussie Ian Baker-Finch came over from ABC. Word is Clampett is not a big fan of Outback Steakhouse or Fosters, though I wouldn't mind at all if they let Clampett take over McCord's spot in the 16th tower. Following the next group was Peter Kostis, who had a little hitch in his giddyup, and waddled his way along. In skimming the coverage later, I was interested to hear him basically take Goydos to task for his comment that he was just trying to earn a living. Kostis called him out saying that with that attitude it was no wonder he'd only won twice despite regularly being in contention. Rarrngh (cat sound for those not fluent in phonetic sounds.).
Back at 17, Tom's couldn't make the birdie, but Perry had laid well back on 17 and I bet he had 200 over water (it was 167 -- ok I was almost within one standard deviation), and fortunately for him he still had a two shot lead. Casey Wittenburg iced Perry while he waited in the fairway, waving at bugs with his putter and then backing off before holing his short par putt.
Then Perry hit one of the best shots I've seen. No, it wasn't to win a major, but he hit a dart from about two bills (aka 167) to about 10 feet (yes, I know a lot of shots were about 10 feet, but I'm guessing as I don't have built in shot link). Goydos must have hit driver on 17 as he was much closer, and he also hit a nice shot, to 9.72 feet. As was the story much of the day, Goydos missed, while Perry made his to seal the deal.
I scrambled up the 18th fairway to see Goydos and Perry hit their approach shots to 18. Though both left of target, they seemed to be in the back of the green where the pin was. Eighteen is another great natural ampitheater almost a mini box canyon (I say natural, I have no idea how much earth they moved to create it.). I walked by a CBS camera position which was capturing the view from down the fairway of Perry striding up to the fans, standing and cheering.
Even though the outcome wasn't in doubt, I wanted to see Perry finish out. After Perry missed his birdie, Goydos stepped up and jarred his, a key putt as it gave him a second place tie with Toms by playing the last four in four under. Then Perry tapped in, and dropped his putter and pumped his fists in a mixture of joy and relief.
I would have liked to have seen him awarded the trophy, but I felt I'd done my duty having seen him finished, and I wanted to get home. Believe it or not, I'd had my fill of tournament golf for a little while.
I ran back to the church lot right outside the first entrance, with my front bumper right on the edge of Route 99. I had beaten most of the crowd and having watched the final putt drop at 5:55 pm, I could have made it the 40 miles back home within an hour.
I stopped by Home Depot to pick up some gravel as we try to fend off a neighbor cat who's been using the sandy area under our bay window as a litter box. One helpful Home Depot associate suggested that I kill the cat, while another offered that as long as it wasn't wearing a bell, they'd never know. With that kind of know-how, I see why their motto is, "you can do it, we can help". I'd always assumed they meant help with home improvement projects but evidently it also applies to rubbing out neighbors' pesky pets. We like our neighbors so we'll stick with the gravel.
Having watched so much golf the last two weeks, now I'm ready to play some. And I hope the ag foundation puts the money to good use, because I sure got my $20 worth -- a good game time decision for sure.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday at the US Open -- part II
It's taken a few days to write part II of my trip journal. Even though I had Jen DVR the final round (yes I was there, and know how it ended, but in part it's the gratuitous "can I see myself on TV" viewing), I still haven't gotten around to watching it.
In part it's because I don't want to relive my man Phil missing a chance at his first US Open and partly because I didn't want to dilute my own memories with what I see on TV. In other words, I want to give everyone the benefit of my untainted recollection of the day, even if half of it is made up.
So I'll try to be accurate in recalling the eventful few hours I spent at 17 watching the US Open unfold. Before I vacated the large grandstand left of 17, JB Holmes and Henrik Stenson hammed it up on their way to the green, Holmes flinging his ball into the stands behind the green, and Stenson pretending his putter was a machine gun, and playfully gunning down the fans in the left side grandstand.
There was a much talked about New York Times article earlier in the week (which I never read) about how the New York crowds love Phil because he "gives back" to them, as in making eye contact, signing autographs, etc.
I hate to endorse such an oversimplification, but I think it's right. One tiny example came when one of the Europeans made hit one to kick in range from the back bunker on 17. He started to get a nice reaction for his skillful shot, but the applause got amped up when he turned to the grandstand and gave the thank you wave. Many players who were goaded into chucking their balls into the crowd, including Stenson, and those who interacted with the crowd in any way, were always rewarded with the loudest cheers.
As I switched places to my spot behind 17, I saw a man holding hands with a young girl of about 4, the same age as my son Will. For a moment, I thought how great it would be if he were here with me. With all my trapsing around, and the distinct lack of ice cream, I also thought about how glad he would be that he wasn't here. But I hope some day he'll be my wingman at the US Open.
It was amazing how quickly the tournament had proceeded. Maybe it was that there wasn't that sense of waiting for the leaders, because I'd been following the audio of their progress all along on my headset.
[I should note that Jim Furyk gave the pre-recorded hole by hole descriptions on the Sirius coverage, and he provided some excellent, and frank insights on each hole. His descriptions were understated and just a bit, well . . .creepy, a feeling enhanced by the sense he was standing behind me whispering in my ear. The other funny aspect of the Sirius coverage were the commercials, which had a distinctly late night feel. The two most prevalent were soliciations to buy gold (never loses value!) or helping inventors get their ideas stolen, I mean patented. ]
A couple of the Sirius announcers commented on the effect of so many fans having audio coverage, and reacting to something happening in another group. When something good happened on another hole, you didn't need the Sirius announcers to tell you something happened (the notable exception being the Barnes-Glover group that wasn't making many birdies, and didn't have many people following or rooting for them). When one of the leaders in another group made bogey, however, the hushed reaction on the hole where it happened spread across the crowd as the headset wearers nodded knowingly to one another and whispered their intellingence to those nearby. In my spot near the top of the 17th grandstand, I had a guy about 20 feet away who I traded glances with each time a nugget of news came across our earpieces, usually while he transmitted to the guys standing behind him.
So it snuck up on me when there was a big ruckus on the roadway indicating Tiger had crossed the road to the 15th tee after making his second straight birdie at 14. Granted, he was in the tenth to last group, but he was only a few shots out of the lead, and I couldn't help but feel the morning had gone quickly. And though the steel gray clouds held their rain, the wind started to stiffen, making it downright chilly.
In part it's because I don't want to relive my man Phil missing a chance at his first US Open and partly because I didn't want to dilute my own memories with what I see on TV. In other words, I want to give everyone the benefit of my untainted recollection of the day, even if half of it is made up.
So I'll try to be accurate in recalling the eventful few hours I spent at 17 watching the US Open unfold. Before I vacated the large grandstand left of 17, JB Holmes and Henrik Stenson hammed it up on their way to the green, Holmes flinging his ball into the stands behind the green, and Stenson pretending his putter was a machine gun, and playfully gunning down the fans in the left side grandstand.
There was a much talked about New York Times article earlier in the week (which I never read) about how the New York crowds love Phil because he "gives back" to them, as in making eye contact, signing autographs, etc.
I hate to endorse such an oversimplification, but I think it's right. One tiny example came when one of the Europeans made hit one to kick in range from the back bunker on 17. He started to get a nice reaction for his skillful shot, but the applause got amped up when he turned to the grandstand and gave the thank you wave. Many players who were goaded into chucking their balls into the crowd, including Stenson, and those who interacted with the crowd in any way, were always rewarded with the loudest cheers.
As I switched places to my spot behind 17, I saw a man holding hands with a young girl of about 4, the same age as my son Will. For a moment, I thought how great it would be if he were here with me. With all my trapsing around, and the distinct lack of ice cream, I also thought about how glad he would be that he wasn't here. But I hope some day he'll be my wingman at the US Open.
It was amazing how quickly the tournament had proceeded. Maybe it was that there wasn't that sense of waiting for the leaders, because I'd been following the audio of their progress all along on my headset.
[I should note that Jim Furyk gave the pre-recorded hole by hole descriptions on the Sirius coverage, and he provided some excellent, and frank insights on each hole. His descriptions were understated and just a bit, well . . .creepy, a feeling enhanced by the sense he was standing behind me whispering in my ear. The other funny aspect of the Sirius coverage were the commercials, which had a distinctly late night feel. The two most prevalent were soliciations to buy gold (never loses value!) or helping inventors get their ideas stolen, I mean patented. ]
A couple of the Sirius announcers commented on the effect of so many fans having audio coverage, and reacting to something happening in another group. When something good happened on another hole, you didn't need the Sirius announcers to tell you something happened (the notable exception being the Barnes-Glover group that wasn't making many birdies, and didn't have many people following or rooting for them). When one of the leaders in another group made bogey, however, the hushed reaction on the hole where it happened spread across the crowd as the headset wearers nodded knowingly to one another and whispered their intellingence to those nearby. In my spot near the top of the 17th grandstand, I had a guy about 20 feet away who I traded glances with each time a nugget of news came across our earpieces, usually while he transmitted to the guys standing behind him.
So it snuck up on me when there was a big ruckus on the roadway indicating Tiger had crossed the road to the 15th tee after making his second straight birdie at 14. Granted, he was in the tenth to last group, but he was only a few shots out of the lead, and I couldn't help but feel the morning had gone quickly. And though the steel gray clouds held their rain, the wind started to stiffen, making it downright chilly.
Assuming most people saw the coverage, or at least know how it turned out, I won't go through hole by hole who was up and who was down when. When Tiger finished putting out on 16, just to my left, it was like the running of the bulls. People peeled away from the five deep crowd and flung themselves toward the 17th for some kind of view, without waiting for the might-as-well have-been-invisible Michael Sim (Tiger's playing partner) to putt out.
At a normal tournament, when Tiger, or a well known player hits, the random "You the man" or "In the hole" shouter often stands out. At the near-New York US Open, there were about five guys on every shot who all seemed to drown each other out.
The pin on 17 was a tough one. Though right in the middle of the green, it was just on the upper ledge that separated the two halves. Miss just a little bit (player's) right, and it would funnel down to the lower right half, for a very difficult two-putt. Miss left and you had a chance. Tiger hit a dart to about 12 feet in front of the hole, and just barely missed the putt, which seemed to be the story of his day. Even par going to the 18th, it was hard to imagine a scenario (leaders at -4) where he could win.
Around this time, the cheers from across the road were apparent -- Phil was making a charge. The birdie at 12 caused a nice stir, but the shot to five feet and subsequent eagle at 13 were unmistakable as I heard them in stereo, on my headset in one ear and live roars blasting across the road in the other. Maybe I should have stayed at 13 -- that would have been nice to see.
No offense to Oliver Wilson and Soren Hanson, but I needed to hit the restroom and I saw a guy carrying beers, and it seemed like a good time for both. I was pretty confident leaving my spot as it was somewhat camoflauged. The guys behind me were standing on their seats in the top row of the grandstand and I sat in the second to last row with almost noone else. The truth was that people who wanted to be at 17, were already at 17, and those who were following the groups weren't going to make their way to the top of the grandstand to find a seat. In fact, those who'd been following groups and tried to find a seat, were usually booed by the docile (not) New York crowds while they scanned the stands for a place to sit.
The beer line was about 30 deep, so I passed on refreshment and when I got back to my seat, I decided I wasn't leaving until the leaders had gone through. After Tiger, there was a little lull with groups like Peter Hanson and Stephen Ames, Graeme McDowell and Sean O'Hair, Todd Hamilton and Bubba Watson and Mike Weir came through. Though all playing well, none were in serious contention though Mike Weir had been until a double at 16. Even still, Weir made a great par save at 17, as his tee shot landed on the lip of the deep front bunker and the ball was at the level of his neck when he choked up on a wedge and chipped it to tap in range.
Once Mickelson and Mahan in the third to last group crossed the road (bringing a surge of fans surpassing the crowd following Tiger -- some may have doubled back) I was craning my neck and paying more attention to what was going on at 15 and 16 and the coverage in my earpiece than the play right in front of me.
What happened next is hard to describe or remember in terms of how it exactly unfolded. It was more of feeling than a distinct memory -- that exhilarating, yet almost overwhelming feeling of a lot of things happening at once and happening quickly. It's one reason I want see the TV coverage to remind myself how it went down. For now, here's the made up version (which I know I said I wouldn't go through):
Though Phil had bogeyed 15, Glover was doing the same about the same time that Phil made a clutch 9-footer for par at 16 after ramming his birdie bid by the hole. That was fun to watch and had everyone buzzing.
Tied with Glover at 3-under now, I recall Phil hitting his chip on 17 from not too far from where Weir was, about the same time Duval made his birdie putt on 16. I could see both with only a slight shift of my head.
Then after Phil's bogey (maybe I should have stayed at 13), I could see Glover stuff it and make birdie at 16 as Duval got ready for his birdie putt at 17. The near birdie miss and horseshoe lipout for Duval were cruel, and hopefully softened by the ovation he got, rivaled only by the one received by Phil, which was punctuated by the chants of "Let's Go Phil."
Not that the final two holes were anticlimatic, but with a lead of two, Glover showed he deserved the US Open title on those last two holes making two routine pars. And props for Ricky Barnes too. After having the wheels come off (including making bogey on 6 of 8 holes in the middle of his round) he birdied 13 and parred his way in, and still had an outside shot going up 18.
After the final group had come through, I filed out of the stands and joined a large group on the 18th tee and watched the final twosome play the 18th from a distance. Though I couldn't see a darn thing, it was still a great view.
I weaved my way through the crowd to the 18th green and stood below and right of the green while the tiny Bob Costas awarded the trophy to Lucas Glover. Though Glover wasn't my choice, I applauded as loudly as I could for such a gutsy win and becoming our national champion.
A couple of postscripts: 1) The muck smelled like a barnyard. They'd put hay down and along with the grass must have started to decompose. I grew up on a farm, so it was a not so subtle reminder of cleaning out the heifer barn growing up. 2) I don't know how many people were trying to leave Bethpage, but it felt like a million as the line for the buses to the train station seemed endless.
I decided to avoid the masses and waited while enjoying a beer and a hotdog. As I sat on a low wall near a putting green, a woman excitedly described how she'd gotten Phil's autograph by scrambling through a hedge. I asked her where he was and she pointed me back toward the clubhouse.
Around the putting green in front of the clubhouse, I witnessed some makeshift press conferences being held. There were barricades and entry points all around, but with the breakdown in law and order it wasn't clear who was supposed to be on which side of them. Many were being breached.
I did get a glimpse of Phil's mini scrum as autograph seekers mauled him while he made his way to a car or a doorway (I wasn't sure which). He wasn't striding through the crowd signing a few hats and flinging them behind him, he was more like a fullback picking up a half yard at a time.
I give him credit, after just finishing second (for the 5th time) and wanting to go see his ailing wife, I can't imagine having the patience for that.
Speaking of patience, I was ready to get home myself. I arrived at the Farmingdale station the same time as an Eastbound train. I had to make a quick decision to retrieve the backpack from the "disallowed items" area, or jump on the train. The call of home won out and while I hated to leave behind the backpack I bought when I went to business school 13 years ago, it had a balky zipper and it was time to get home.
I'm glad I went. It's taken me all week to catch up on my sleep, (and staying up late writing this journal hasn't helped), but I think tomorrow, I'll be ready to watch some of the TV coverage, to see if it happened like I remember it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday at the US Open -- part I
When I first got the voice mail on Friday from Steve (see 6/18 entry), saying the USGA would honor Thursday US Open tickets on Monday (got those days straight?), I called him back and began to leave a message about how I probably wouldn’t go but would try to get my ticket to him.
It was obvious there would be Monday golf – at that point it looked like there might be golf into Tuesday or Wednesday of the next week (which for those of I've confused is this week). But by the end of my message to him, I was already talking myself into going.
Even though I’d been on the road a couple of nights during the week (last week) and out of town over the weekend, the chance to see a final round was too much to pass up. It didn’t come at a convenient time from a work standpoint either, but I could clear the decks for one more day.
(Hi, this is Tom, I’ll be out of the office Monday and won’t have access to voice mail or email. Dial zero if you need immediate assistance, otherwise I’ll get back to you Tuesday when I return. Translation: Hi this is Tom, I’m going to the US Open and per regulation, I’m leaving my dingleberry in the car, so if you want to reach me, you’re out of luck. My guess is whatever you’re calling about can wait until Tuesday, but press 0 if you feel the need be very important).
So Monday at 4:30 am, I headed South on I-91. I made good time to Bridgeport to catch the ferry to Long Island, where I was becoming a regular.
After an uneventful ferry ride and trip to the Ronkonkoma (still fun to say) train station, I caught the 7:57 am train with about 8 minutes to spare. I had to check my backpack at the "disallowed items" tent, though I was able to take all its contents (primarily my rain gear) with me -- go figure.
While my Thursday visit was interactive, this trip was all about the golf -- no wing man and no man on the street interviews.
The night before as I plotted my trip logistics, I also thought about where I wanted to station myself. The best way to catch the most golf is to position yourself on one hole, but I’m more of a wayfaring fan. So I decided to compromise and take a quick trip across the road (where holes 2 through 14 reside) to see Phil Mickelson play the fourth or fifth, and then settle in somewhere – and I’d decided 17 was the spot.
Before executing my plan, one of my best moves was obtaining an American Express Coursecast head set when I arrived. I’d seen them on Thursday -- people walking around with a device about the size of a half ping pong ball hanging off their ears.
I’d asked a couple of guys on the shuttle bus and they told me it provided play by play of the tournament. This would be a key enhancement, because it’s hard to follow the tournament when you can only see the hole in front of you.
The old schoolers might object to Coursecast. I’ll concede there is something nostalgic about people wondering what the roars from the other side of the course mean and waiting for updates to be posted on the manual scoreboard. But then, there's also something nostalgic about writing a letter on a typewriter. It has romance, but if there was a computer and a printer handy, you’d probably use them. The kicker is the Coursecast service was only available for AmEx customers. If you were at a certain level (maybe their new black card?), you actually could get a mini-TV to take on the course (seriously).
The good news is I have an AmEx card (no black card though). The bad news is my card was back in Massachusetts. So as I went up to get my headset, I pretended to fumble with my credit cards until the gal handing them out starting talking to a colleague and I snatched one. I enjoyed the microthrill of getting away with something, so if I come to your house in the future and something's missing when I leave, it's OK, because I have an AmEx card at home.
Play started with three blasts of an airhorn as I walked along the 18th fairway. I stuck to my plan and hustled to catch up with Phil's twosome at the reachable par-five fourth. I got there just in time to see him make a clutch par save (though a birdie would have been nice) and briefly got caught up in the Phil Phrenzy, nearly being run over by the grandstand emptying as he and Hunter Mahan headed toward the fifth tee.
It turned out to be a pretty inefficient trip to that part of the course, meaning a long walk without seeing much golf. I thought about staying to watch the final two groups play the fourth (plenty of good seats available), but the course was filling up fast, and thought it best to fight my tendency to wander and find a good spot (a thought that would occur many times before I actually followed through).
On my way back across the road (where 1, 15-18 reside), I couldn't help and stop at 13, the par 5 on the back nine. While it played 605 yards, it was downwind, and though I didn't realize at the time, the USGA had moved the tee up, so the green was definitely in reach.
One thing about a Monday finish is that the staff and volunteer force are noticeably reduced. This manifested itself in a number of ways, from a few concession stands being closed (most were open) to inaccurate scoreboards. The mini scoreboard at 13, for example had Phil at 1 over par, and 4 over for the day (at that point he was actually two under par, even for the day)
I saw a three groups roll through 13, including Andres Romero who made a nice up and down from a drop area for birdie. He was in the last of the groups who had started on ten (the last place group). After him, the lead groups started coming through, groups actually playing their 13th hole.
JB Holmes and Henrik Stenson were next, followed by Anthony Kim and Adam Scott. I watched the latter group play 13 and then followed them to the tiny par-3 14th. Poor Adam Scott. On 13, he was just over the green in two, hit a funky chip and then three putted for bogey, and then missed a short birdie putt on 14. AK birdied 13 after a zippy little pitch from just short of the green and then almost holed a swerving downhiller on 14 for biride, but tapped in for par. At the 14th hole my faith in scoreboard operators was restored -- at least they had Phil's score right.
As I crossed back across the road, I parted ways with the Scott Kim group. Tiger was turning to the back nine and I figured the seats would be filling up fast. On my way to 17 green, I waited at the 17th tee while Rocco Mediate and his playing partner waited for the green to clear. You could tell it had been a long week for him, and though he'd made the cut, he was at the tail end of the field (like Andres Romero), which had to be disappointing after he gave Tiger all he could handle last year. But Rocco's one of those guys who comes across as amiable just asking for a water bottle while he sat on the tee box.
As I was procrastinating my way back to 17, I was listening to the front nine action of the leaders, and while no one was making a major charge, Glover and Barnes were coming back to the field. As the announcers described their scrambling for bogeys, some level of collapse felt inevitable, especially with Barnes. (the coverage was the Sirius satellite coverage)
While 17 might not be the best spot for actual viewing (tough to follow long iron shots), I figured it would be the best place to experience the excitement and drama of the final round. It has an arena feel with a long grandstand lining the left side and a large hillside and another grandstand behind. It's in the middle of the final stretch of holes and you can get glimpses of what's going on at 15, 16 and 18 too.
I picked a crowded spot in the long grandstand that didn't work at all, and even thought about going back to 13 or 14. But I noticed some spots in the grandstand behind the 17th where there was more room. One advantage of being lone wolf (sans wingman) is being able to squeeze in anywhere.
I still couldn't follow the ball on 17 tee to green, but my perch near the top of the grandstand was a great spot nonetheless. I had a great view of the 17th green itself and had a clear view of the 16th green and 15th tee. If I looked over the back of the grandstand, I could see players going up the 15th and coming down 16th fairway. I could even see the 18th tee on top of the hill above the 17th and the 18th green in the distance.
That's not to say I could see what ball anyone was playing, but it was a great panorama of the whole scene that unfolded over the next couple of hours.
(I plan to post part II of Monday at the US Open sometime later this week and share a "few" more thoughts).
It was obvious there would be Monday golf – at that point it looked like there might be golf into Tuesday or Wednesday of the next week (which for those of I've confused is this week). But by the end of my message to him, I was already talking myself into going.
Even though I’d been on the road a couple of nights during the week (last week) and out of town over the weekend, the chance to see a final round was too much to pass up. It didn’t come at a convenient time from a work standpoint either, but I could clear the decks for one more day.
(Hi, this is Tom, I’ll be out of the office Monday and won’t have access to voice mail or email. Dial zero if you need immediate assistance, otherwise I’ll get back to you Tuesday when I return. Translation: Hi this is Tom, I’m going to the US Open and per regulation, I’m leaving my dingleberry in the car, so if you want to reach me, you’re out of luck. My guess is whatever you’re calling about can wait until Tuesday, but press 0 if you feel the need be very important).
So Monday at 4:30 am, I headed South on I-91. I made good time to Bridgeport to catch the ferry to Long Island, where I was becoming a regular.
After an uneventful ferry ride and trip to the Ronkonkoma (still fun to say) train station, I caught the 7:57 am train with about 8 minutes to spare. I had to check my backpack at the "disallowed items" tent, though I was able to take all its contents (primarily my rain gear) with me -- go figure.
While my Thursday visit was interactive, this trip was all about the golf -- no wing man and no man on the street interviews.
The night before as I plotted my trip logistics, I also thought about where I wanted to station myself. The best way to catch the most golf is to position yourself on one hole, but I’m more of a wayfaring fan. So I decided to compromise and take a quick trip across the road (where holes 2 through 14 reside) to see Phil Mickelson play the fourth or fifth, and then settle in somewhere – and I’d decided 17 was the spot.
Before executing my plan, one of my best moves was obtaining an American Express Coursecast head set when I arrived. I’d seen them on Thursday -- people walking around with a device about the size of a half ping pong ball hanging off their ears.
I’d asked a couple of guys on the shuttle bus and they told me it provided play by play of the tournament. This would be a key enhancement, because it’s hard to follow the tournament when you can only see the hole in front of you.
The old schoolers might object to Coursecast. I’ll concede there is something nostalgic about people wondering what the roars from the other side of the course mean and waiting for updates to be posted on the manual scoreboard. But then, there's also something nostalgic about writing a letter on a typewriter. It has romance, but if there was a computer and a printer handy, you’d probably use them. The kicker is the Coursecast service was only available for AmEx customers. If you were at a certain level (maybe their new black card?), you actually could get a mini-TV to take on the course (seriously).
The good news is I have an AmEx card (no black card though). The bad news is my card was back in Massachusetts. So as I went up to get my headset, I pretended to fumble with my credit cards until the gal handing them out starting talking to a colleague and I snatched one. I enjoyed the microthrill of getting away with something, so if I come to your house in the future and something's missing when I leave, it's OK, because I have an AmEx card at home.
Play started with three blasts of an airhorn as I walked along the 18th fairway. I stuck to my plan and hustled to catch up with Phil's twosome at the reachable par-five fourth. I got there just in time to see him make a clutch par save (though a birdie would have been nice) and briefly got caught up in the Phil Phrenzy, nearly being run over by the grandstand emptying as he and Hunter Mahan headed toward the fifth tee.
It turned out to be a pretty inefficient trip to that part of the course, meaning a long walk without seeing much golf. I thought about staying to watch the final two groups play the fourth (plenty of good seats available), but the course was filling up fast, and thought it best to fight my tendency to wander and find a good spot (a thought that would occur many times before I actually followed through).
On my way back across the road (where 1, 15-18 reside), I couldn't help and stop at 13, the par 5 on the back nine. While it played 605 yards, it was downwind, and though I didn't realize at the time, the USGA had moved the tee up, so the green was definitely in reach.
One thing about a Monday finish is that the staff and volunteer force are noticeably reduced. This manifested itself in a number of ways, from a few concession stands being closed (most were open) to inaccurate scoreboards. The mini scoreboard at 13, for example had Phil at 1 over par, and 4 over for the day (at that point he was actually two under par, even for the day)
I saw a three groups roll through 13, including Andres Romero who made a nice up and down from a drop area for birdie. He was in the last of the groups who had started on ten (the last place group). After him, the lead groups started coming through, groups actually playing their 13th hole.
JB Holmes and Henrik Stenson were next, followed by Anthony Kim and Adam Scott. I watched the latter group play 13 and then followed them to the tiny par-3 14th. Poor Adam Scott. On 13, he was just over the green in two, hit a funky chip and then three putted for bogey, and then missed a short birdie putt on 14. AK birdied 13 after a zippy little pitch from just short of the green and then almost holed a swerving downhiller on 14 for biride, but tapped in for par. At the 14th hole my faith in scoreboard operators was restored -- at least they had Phil's score right.
As I crossed back across the road, I parted ways with the Scott Kim group. Tiger was turning to the back nine and I figured the seats would be filling up fast. On my way to 17 green, I waited at the 17th tee while Rocco Mediate and his playing partner waited for the green to clear. You could tell it had been a long week for him, and though he'd made the cut, he was at the tail end of the field (like Andres Romero), which had to be disappointing after he gave Tiger all he could handle last year. But Rocco's one of those guys who comes across as amiable just asking for a water bottle while he sat on the tee box.
As I was procrastinating my way back to 17, I was listening to the front nine action of the leaders, and while no one was making a major charge, Glover and Barnes were coming back to the field. As the announcers described their scrambling for bogeys, some level of collapse felt inevitable, especially with Barnes. (the coverage was the Sirius satellite coverage)
While 17 might not be the best spot for actual viewing (tough to follow long iron shots), I figured it would be the best place to experience the excitement and drama of the final round. It has an arena feel with a long grandstand lining the left side and a large hillside and another grandstand behind. It's in the middle of the final stretch of holes and you can get glimpses of what's going on at 15, 16 and 18 too.
I picked a crowded spot in the long grandstand that didn't work at all, and even thought about going back to 13 or 14. But I noticed some spots in the grandstand behind the 17th where there was more room. One advantage of being lone wolf (sans wingman) is being able to squeeze in anywhere.
I still couldn't follow the ball on 17 tee to green, but my perch near the top of the grandstand was a great spot nonetheless. I had a great view of the 17th green itself and had a clear view of the 16th green and 15th tee. If I looked over the back of the grandstand, I could see players going up the 15th and coming down 16th fairway. I could even see the 18th tee on top of the hill above the 17th and the 18th green in the distance.
That's not to say I could see what ball anyone was playing, but it was a great panorama of the whole scene that unfolded over the next couple of hours.
(I plan to post part II of Monday at the US Open sometime later this week and share a "few" more thoughts).
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Mulligan
I thought Thursday was my one shot at the US Open, but thanks (or no thanks) to the weather Thursday and the days since, I'm heading there tomorrow, to hopefully see the final round.
At this point figuring out the best way to get there, drive, drive and then train to Penn Station and then LIRR to Farmingdale, or drive to Bridgeport, ferry across the Long Island Sound and then drive to Ronkonkoma to catch the LIRR. Anyway I slice it I'm leaving at O-dark hundred, but I'm not complaining mind you.
One more check of the weather then off to bed for four hours sleep, assuming I can get to sleep. . . .
At this point figuring out the best way to get there, drive, drive and then train to Penn Station and then LIRR to Farmingdale, or drive to Bridgeport, ferry across the Long Island Sound and then drive to Ronkonkoma to catch the LIRR. Anyway I slice it I'm leaving at O-dark hundred, but I'm not complaining mind you.
One more check of the weather then off to bed for four hours sleep, assuming I can get to sleep. . . .
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Being Your Own Wing Man
I was confused when the phone rang in my hotel room at 5:45 am. It wasn't just the hour -- I'd set my blackberry alarm for 5:45 -- but my wake up call wasn't scheduled until 6:00 (just in case). Had the blackberry and the hotel phone traded shifts during the night?
No the sound of the phone ringing was my wing man Steve calling to bow out of going to Bethpage, and as I hung up, my blackberry started beeping right on cue.
Being my own wing man isn't new for me. In the free time I have these days I spend a good chunk of it on my own. I'm a social person, but I tend to leave my options open for my free time (translation: don't get around to making plans), and mini-adventures like squeezing in a twilight nine are not planned in advance. Going to the US Open today was a notable exception.
So while Steve would have been good company, I was comfortable with the task of tackling Bethpage on my own. He was going to drive so he gave me the instructions for getting to Ronkonkoma (no, not a made up name) to catch the Long Island Railroad to Farmingdale where a shuttle would take me to the tournament. Despite the last minute jockey switch, the logistics piece went smoothly and I relished the prospect of being away from my blackberry, a device which is forbidden on the grounds (though I saw many that had been smuggled in).
The weather was not promising. It was cool and cloudy and moist as I drove to Ronkonkoma (it's even fun to type it) and the rain took it up a notch as I boarded the train. I had decided to go only with my DryJoys rain suit as I didn't want to tote around an umbrella (which would have come in very handy), so I would be putting the gore-tex to the test.
Without a wing man, I interacted with other fans (and myself) more than if I didn't have one, which was kind of fun, and the people I met represented an interesting cross section of the US Open.
First I met a young professional looking couple from Colorado on the train and compared notes on golf courses in the Denver area, where Jen and I lived for 7 years.
Next I met three gritty young guys who were working the hospitality area. We were all shuttling between the tail end of lines for the buses trying to gauge which one we could get on without having to wait for the next batch. We were the last four crammed onto one of the buses and I asked them how they liked the work. They said it was a good job, but they were long, tough hours (washing dishes, hauling ice and cases of drinks, etc.) One of the three lamented his decision to go out last night and another's ankles were bothering him because of his old sneakers and none of them looked forward to working their shift for which they were already an hour late.
Upon arrival, I wanted to jump right into the golf since there wasn't likely to be a full day of it, but I'd rushed out of the hotel without breakfast, and knew I would need the energy. The concession was out of sausage egg sandwiches (which nearly every customer asked for) and I settled for an everything bagel with cream cheese and a water. I noshed the bagel on the fly and sucked the the cream cheese out of its foil packet like gogurt.
As I finished my lightning breakfast, I looked up and saw the MetLife Blimp (one ending to the sentence "you know you're at a big time sporting event when. . . ") and the crowd signalled Tiger approaching the first tee for his 8:06 am tee time. I scrambled up the grandstands around the 18the green to get a glimpse of Tiger, Padraig Harrington and Angel Cabrera teeing off. A glimpse is about all I got from my subprime vantage point but I did get to see the top of his follow through and hear the live crowd reaction. They introduced Padraig as the British Open champ, and I thought to myself with the cold wet weather, he probably thought he was playing in it today (a quip I couldn't resist sharing later).
When it comes to anything golf, and particularly the nexus of golf and bad weather I think of my Dad, who passed away six months ago today. Given the weather and the approaching father's day weekend I thought of him a lot. He loved playing and following golf, both the PGA and the LPGA, and one our last outings with him was going to the PGA tour stop in Central New York last October around my brother Jerry's 50th birthday.
Though spry until the last few years, this would have been a tough trek for him, but if he had been there slogging through the rain, he would have been looking for coffee and toughing it out without complaint, kind of like I did.
For me, part of the attraction of an event like this is the course itself. I'm a self-taught student of golf architecture, and though I don't know a lot about it, I appreciate great courses, and this is one of the greatest I've seen.
The course itself is probably worthy of its own installment in this online journal, and I wish I could have seen more of the holes actually played to get a better sense of it. The words and phrases that come to mind are "sprawling," "grand" and "stern test". This course is a brute. You often hear people talk about long golf courses, but Bethpage Black is not only long but big. The holes are spread out and even holes like 11 and 12, and 15 and 16 which run paralell to each other have ample space between them.
Visually, a number of the individual holes are among the most impressive I've seen. I'd say Augusta is a more impressive collection, but I think part of that is how Bethpage Black is laid out. The holes are much more spaced at Bethpage, and holes 1, 15, 16, 17 and 18 and the rest of the course are divided by a roadway.
The elevation changes are amplified by the dramatic bunkering, carved into sides of the many valleys and ridges which the course winds through and over. Ringed with unruly bronze fescue, these aren't frame the hole bunkers, in many cases these bunkers define the holes. Yet as larger than life the rest of the course is, the green complexes in many cases do not seem large by comparison, making for some small targets on some very big holes.
Word is the greens are relatively flat, but I really couldn't get a sense of that without seeing them played. So much for not saying anything about the architecture.
I did actually see a few of these impressive golf holes played after watching Tiger tee off. To avoid the meandering mass that followed him, I started walking backwards from 18 until I found the first players who'd teed off the 10th hole.
It took a while and I didn't see a group until all the way to 13 where I watched the 3rd and 2nd group (yes, in that order, the 3rd group had actually played through during a ruling with the 2nd). So I saw some approach shots into the 13 and then continued on to 12. I saw a few big name players go by (Furyk, Ogilvy, Stenson, Stricker), and a few nice shots, but nothing that really stood out.
The front nine paralells the holes I was walking on the back, so I could hear some of the Tiger induced cheers along the way. I lost my bearings on other players when my rain-soaked pairings sheet, which I ill-advisedly put on top of my head while I was in the portajohn (don't ask me what I was thinking), fell into the urinal.
So I decided to fly without my radar and ended up in a spot stealing some umbrella coverage from a couple of people at the 10th green. I thought I'd watch a few groups come through, including Tiger who was midway through the front nine, when play was suspended about 10 am.
Confusion ensued as the players and caddies (Rory Sabbatini walked by me) were hustled off to vans while clueless spectators (and a few clueless volunteers) emptied the grandstands and tried to figure out what to do.
I continued backtracking, figuring if I was going to get soaked, I should at least see the rest of the course. I timed my circuit to reach the 4th tee at 11 am, a previously arranged meet up time/spot with a colleague. I found out later we were both there and missed each other. Perhaps we were distracted by the knucklehead who was sliding down the mud-slicked hill bordering the fourth tee in his rain suit.
I passed a lot of people who were walking the course, and while not pouring, it was steady rain and as we walked by the rivers and ponds beginning to form in the fairways and on the greens, reality was starting to set in about when play would resume (as in Friday). The mood lightened at noon when they started serving beer, and I found a festive outpost near the 14th green, where people milled about under their umbrellas (except for me) and commiserated about the weather. Some still held out hope about a rumor that there might be a window for some play that afternoon, but most didn't.
While at the 14th hole, I visited with a pair of fathers and sons. One pair who'd come from Montana and Virginia, and a man from Scotland who was visiting his New York-based son. We mostly talked about golf and the weather, but it was a nice way to pass the time with one of the best tasting Budweisers (wouldn't have been my first choice) I have had.
From there, I checked out 15 and 16, the only two holes I hadn't seen, and made the obligatory trip to the gift shop where I took my time (out of the rain) and came to the conclusion that some of the cheaper stuff you most want can only be found by the registers, so you go ahead and add it to your pile instead of having it replace things in your pile.
The short-lived boost from the Budweiser was wearing off, but the rain was not. I was completely saturated (I'd gone beyond the gore-tex's limits) and was starting to get cold. I donned the new windshirt I'd just purchased in the portajohn and managed to keep my belongings out of the urinal this time.
I'd seen the whole course including the expansive view from the first tee, where another drenched rat showed me the iconic Bethpage sign, "This is an extremely difficult course and is only recommended for highly skilled players," Interestingly he said it was turned around from its usual aspect and instead faced the players on the tee (I had to lean over the rail to see it), maybe an example of the USGA trying to get in its opponents' heads.
I knew I was reaching when I took a USGA survey at a kiosk, primarily so that I could loiter there out of the rain for a while. I was plotting my next move when play was called for the day at about 2 pm which was received with a mixture of disappointment and relief. So I joined the herd and waded through the mud soaked grounds toward the buses.
When I got back to the hotel I took one of the longest showers ever, and did manage to catch up with Steve for a great dinner.
The day hadn't turned out as I'd hoped, but it was great to spend a day away from the blackberry (and the laptop) watch a little golf, inspect Bethpage in person and meet a few fellow golf enthusiasts. Getting back to the hotel early also gave me the chance to share a few of these thoughts (using the word "few" loosely). And it was a good lesson in adjusting on the fly, so that if you're not with the wing man you expected, or the one who's always in your heart, sometimes it works out just fine to be your own wing man.
No the sound of the phone ringing was my wing man Steve calling to bow out of going to Bethpage, and as I hung up, my blackberry started beeping right on cue.
Being my own wing man isn't new for me. In the free time I have these days I spend a good chunk of it on my own. I'm a social person, but I tend to leave my options open for my free time (translation: don't get around to making plans), and mini-adventures like squeezing in a twilight nine are not planned in advance. Going to the US Open today was a notable exception.
So while Steve would have been good company, I was comfortable with the task of tackling Bethpage on my own. He was going to drive so he gave me the instructions for getting to Ronkonkoma (no, not a made up name) to catch the Long Island Railroad to Farmingdale where a shuttle would take me to the tournament. Despite the last minute jockey switch, the logistics piece went smoothly and I relished the prospect of being away from my blackberry, a device which is forbidden on the grounds (though I saw many that had been smuggled in).
The weather was not promising. It was cool and cloudy and moist as I drove to Ronkonkoma (it's even fun to type it) and the rain took it up a notch as I boarded the train. I had decided to go only with my DryJoys rain suit as I didn't want to tote around an umbrella (which would have come in very handy), so I would be putting the gore-tex to the test.
Without a wing man, I interacted with other fans (and myself) more than if I didn't have one, which was kind of fun, and the people I met represented an interesting cross section of the US Open.
First I met a young professional looking couple from Colorado on the train and compared notes on golf courses in the Denver area, where Jen and I lived for 7 years.
Next I met three gritty young guys who were working the hospitality area. We were all shuttling between the tail end of lines for the buses trying to gauge which one we could get on without having to wait for the next batch. We were the last four crammed onto one of the buses and I asked them how they liked the work. They said it was a good job, but they were long, tough hours (washing dishes, hauling ice and cases of drinks, etc.) One of the three lamented his decision to go out last night and another's ankles were bothering him because of his old sneakers and none of them looked forward to working their shift for which they were already an hour late.
Upon arrival, I wanted to jump right into the golf since there wasn't likely to be a full day of it, but I'd rushed out of the hotel without breakfast, and knew I would need the energy. The concession was out of sausage egg sandwiches (which nearly every customer asked for) and I settled for an everything bagel with cream cheese and a water. I noshed the bagel on the fly and sucked the the cream cheese out of its foil packet like gogurt.
As I finished my lightning breakfast, I looked up and saw the MetLife Blimp (one ending to the sentence "you know you're at a big time sporting event when. . . ") and the crowd signalled Tiger approaching the first tee for his 8:06 am tee time. I scrambled up the grandstands around the 18the green to get a glimpse of Tiger, Padraig Harrington and Angel Cabrera teeing off. A glimpse is about all I got from my subprime vantage point but I did get to see the top of his follow through and hear the live crowd reaction. They introduced Padraig as the British Open champ, and I thought to myself with the cold wet weather, he probably thought he was playing in it today (a quip I couldn't resist sharing later).
When it comes to anything golf, and particularly the nexus of golf and bad weather I think of my Dad, who passed away six months ago today. Given the weather and the approaching father's day weekend I thought of him a lot. He loved playing and following golf, both the PGA and the LPGA, and one our last outings with him was going to the PGA tour stop in Central New York last October around my brother Jerry's 50th birthday.
Though spry until the last few years, this would have been a tough trek for him, but if he had been there slogging through the rain, he would have been looking for coffee and toughing it out without complaint, kind of like I did.
For me, part of the attraction of an event like this is the course itself. I'm a self-taught student of golf architecture, and though I don't know a lot about it, I appreciate great courses, and this is one of the greatest I've seen.
The course itself is probably worthy of its own installment in this online journal, and I wish I could have seen more of the holes actually played to get a better sense of it. The words and phrases that come to mind are "sprawling," "grand" and "stern test". This course is a brute. You often hear people talk about long golf courses, but Bethpage Black is not only long but big. The holes are spread out and even holes like 11 and 12, and 15 and 16 which run paralell to each other have ample space between them.
Visually, a number of the individual holes are among the most impressive I've seen. I'd say Augusta is a more impressive collection, but I think part of that is how Bethpage Black is laid out. The holes are much more spaced at Bethpage, and holes 1, 15, 16, 17 and 18 and the rest of the course are divided by a roadway.
The elevation changes are amplified by the dramatic bunkering, carved into sides of the many valleys and ridges which the course winds through and over. Ringed with unruly bronze fescue, these aren't frame the hole bunkers, in many cases these bunkers define the holes. Yet as larger than life the rest of the course is, the green complexes in many cases do not seem large by comparison, making for some small targets on some very big holes.
Word is the greens are relatively flat, but I really couldn't get a sense of that without seeing them played. So much for not saying anything about the architecture.
I did actually see a few of these impressive golf holes played after watching Tiger tee off. To avoid the meandering mass that followed him, I started walking backwards from 18 until I found the first players who'd teed off the 10th hole.
It took a while and I didn't see a group until all the way to 13 where I watched the 3rd and 2nd group (yes, in that order, the 3rd group had actually played through during a ruling with the 2nd). So I saw some approach shots into the 13 and then continued on to 12. I saw a few big name players go by (Furyk, Ogilvy, Stenson, Stricker), and a few nice shots, but nothing that really stood out.
The front nine paralells the holes I was walking on the back, so I could hear some of the Tiger induced cheers along the way. I lost my bearings on other players when my rain-soaked pairings sheet, which I ill-advisedly put on top of my head while I was in the portajohn (don't ask me what I was thinking), fell into the urinal.
So I decided to fly without my radar and ended up in a spot stealing some umbrella coverage from a couple of people at the 10th green. I thought I'd watch a few groups come through, including Tiger who was midway through the front nine, when play was suspended about 10 am.
Confusion ensued as the players and caddies (Rory Sabbatini walked by me) were hustled off to vans while clueless spectators (and a few clueless volunteers) emptied the grandstands and tried to figure out what to do.
I continued backtracking, figuring if I was going to get soaked, I should at least see the rest of the course. I timed my circuit to reach the 4th tee at 11 am, a previously arranged meet up time/spot with a colleague. I found out later we were both there and missed each other. Perhaps we were distracted by the knucklehead who was sliding down the mud-slicked hill bordering the fourth tee in his rain suit.
I passed a lot of people who were walking the course, and while not pouring, it was steady rain and as we walked by the rivers and ponds beginning to form in the fairways and on the greens, reality was starting to set in about when play would resume (as in Friday). The mood lightened at noon when they started serving beer, and I found a festive outpost near the 14th green, where people milled about under their umbrellas (except for me) and commiserated about the weather. Some still held out hope about a rumor that there might be a window for some play that afternoon, but most didn't.
While at the 14th hole, I visited with a pair of fathers and sons. One pair who'd come from Montana and Virginia, and a man from Scotland who was visiting his New York-based son. We mostly talked about golf and the weather, but it was a nice way to pass the time with one of the best tasting Budweisers (wouldn't have been my first choice) I have had.
From there, I checked out 15 and 16, the only two holes I hadn't seen, and made the obligatory trip to the gift shop where I took my time (out of the rain) and came to the conclusion that some of the cheaper stuff you most want can only be found by the registers, so you go ahead and add it to your pile instead of having it replace things in your pile.
The short-lived boost from the Budweiser was wearing off, but the rain was not. I was completely saturated (I'd gone beyond the gore-tex's limits) and was starting to get cold. I donned the new windshirt I'd just purchased in the portajohn and managed to keep my belongings out of the urinal this time.
I'd seen the whole course including the expansive view from the first tee, where another drenched rat showed me the iconic Bethpage sign, "This is an extremely difficult course and is only recommended for highly skilled players," Interestingly he said it was turned around from its usual aspect and instead faced the players on the tee (I had to lean over the rail to see it), maybe an example of the USGA trying to get in its opponents' heads.
I knew I was reaching when I took a USGA survey at a kiosk, primarily so that I could loiter there out of the rain for a while. I was plotting my next move when play was called for the day at about 2 pm which was received with a mixture of disappointment and relief. So I joined the herd and waded through the mud soaked grounds toward the buses.
When I got back to the hotel I took one of the longest showers ever, and did manage to catch up with Steve for a great dinner.
The day hadn't turned out as I'd hoped, but it was great to spend a day away from the blackberry (and the laptop) watch a little golf, inspect Bethpage in person and meet a few fellow golf enthusiasts. Getting back to the hotel early also gave me the chance to share a few of these thoughts (using the word "few" loosely). And it was a good lesson in adjusting on the fly, so that if you're not with the wing man you expected, or the one who's always in your heart, sometimes it works out just fine to be your own wing man.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
What's in a name?
As the hole following the 19th hole, the 20th hole is the place you go after the clubhouse grill closes and you get asked to leave (translation: get kicked out). It's where big drives and holed putts get longer and your partners' shanks get shankier. I'd like to say it was my first choice as a blog name, but the truth is flog (golf backwards) and 19th hole were taken, but now I'm glad because it's a better name and certainly more original.
As I write in the description, it's a home for all things golf, but we'll let that figure itself out.
My first entry is appropriately being written on Long Island the night before I attend the opening round of the 2009 US Open at Bethpage. Though the weather forecast is lousy, I can't wait, which is probably why I'm blogging (note to self no more self references to blogging) instead of getting some sleep before my 5:45 am wake up call.
I'm a Phil Mickelson fan. I'm not the fawning, hero-worshipping kind, I'm the oh-my-gosh-yer-killing me again, love to root for him, but sometimes can't bear to watch fan (think 2006 US Open, whch fortunately I had it on DVR and watched in about 4 minutes -- I still don't wear my
Winged Foot US Open hat).
Like everyone I was taken aback by the annoucement of his wife Amy's breast cancer. The reaction since then has been heart-warming, especially the "pink out" at the third round of the Colonial.
I always have mixed reaction when the public has a huge response to public figures like that -- it's great to support the Mickelsons, but what about the millions of other women and their families who are battling breast cancer. I like to think the public reaction for Amy Mickelson is a proxy of support for all women and their families in those circumstances so to the extent it brings more awareness and resources to the fight, all the better.
I don't think it's a coincidence in recent weeks, besides the pink out, pink attire has become more prevalent on tour among players and fans. Not to be outdone, I bought a pink shirt earlier this week to wear tomorrow. Not too heavy on the pink, the shirt is a navy and pink striped number, but my support will be obvious enough. Hopefully it won't be hidden under my rain jacket all day.
Pretty heavy stuff for the 20th hole, huh? Well maybe the 20th hole is where you get into the
(long-winded) heavy stuff after getting your giggles out at the 19th hole. Perhaps I'll change the blog name to the 21st hole where you're exhausted and incoherent from a long day of golf and apres golf -- or maybe not.
So what's in a name? We'll find out as I had had dinner tonight at a place called Phil's restaurant in Wading River, (which looked like it might make a good 19th or 20th hole) so hopefully along with my pink shirt it will bring some good golf karma for the other Phil.
As I write in the description, it's a home for all things golf, but we'll let that figure itself out.
My first entry is appropriately being written on Long Island the night before I attend the opening round of the 2009 US Open at Bethpage. Though the weather forecast is lousy, I can't wait, which is probably why I'm blogging (note to self no more self references to blogging) instead of getting some sleep before my 5:45 am wake up call.
I'm a Phil Mickelson fan. I'm not the fawning, hero-worshipping kind, I'm the oh-my-gosh-yer-killing me again, love to root for him, but sometimes can't bear to watch fan (think 2006 US Open, whch fortunately I had it on DVR and watched in about 4 minutes -- I still don't wear my
Winged Foot US Open hat).
Like everyone I was taken aback by the annoucement of his wife Amy's breast cancer. The reaction since then has been heart-warming, especially the "pink out" at the third round of the Colonial.
I always have mixed reaction when the public has a huge response to public figures like that -- it's great to support the Mickelsons, but what about the millions of other women and their families who are battling breast cancer. I like to think the public reaction for Amy Mickelson is a proxy of support for all women and their families in those circumstances so to the extent it brings more awareness and resources to the fight, all the better.
I don't think it's a coincidence in recent weeks, besides the pink out, pink attire has become more prevalent on tour among players and fans. Not to be outdone, I bought a pink shirt earlier this week to wear tomorrow. Not too heavy on the pink, the shirt is a navy and pink striped number, but my support will be obvious enough. Hopefully it won't be hidden under my rain jacket all day.
Pretty heavy stuff for the 20th hole, huh? Well maybe the 20th hole is where you get into the
(long-winded) heavy stuff after getting your giggles out at the 19th hole. Perhaps I'll change the blog name to the 21st hole where you're exhausted and incoherent from a long day of golf and apres golf -- or maybe not.
So what's in a name? We'll find out as I had had dinner tonight at a place called Phil's restaurant in Wading River, (which looked like it might make a good 19th or 20th hole) so hopefully along with my pink shirt it will bring some good golf karma for the other Phil.
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