Part one is here.
Anyway, I fell asleep trying to write and now it’s Sunday…Championship Sunday, supposedly coronation day, but between that double-bogey bogey start for Woods, either Rocco or Westwood may be typing some script revisions to Act IV. That can wait, for Fathers Day, I collected these stories of the tour players and their dads, several of them were really touching.
One of my favorite stories was from big-hitting Bubba Watson. “I was 6 years old and, for the first time in my life, dad gave me a club. He gave me a broken down left-handed 9-iron and we went out to play. I had so much fun and when I looked at him, I could see had even more fun watching me. He was smiling so much, it was like I hit a hole-in-one every shot.”
That’s how I feel about you. Having you for a dad is like getting a hole-in-one every day.
You had to know Boo Weekley would give me great copy. He smiled warmly at me in the locker room as if to say, “pull up a chair, boy” and then grinned that big ol’ smile before spinnin’ me a yarn. “I member playin’ wi’ mah dad the day I broke par for the first tahm. I had a ten-footer for a 69. My knees were knockin’ and it was scarier than a swamp snake!” he exclaimed, hands gesticulating, elbows flying and hands slapping his knee as his grin grew broader. “It twirled around the cup and fell in and he was smilin’ and we made us some money!”
I dined out on that story a couple times this week.
Todd Hamilton’s always friendly. You remember him? He plays like me, punch shots and stingers and one-hops and short game. He conquered Royal Troon back in 2004, narrowly beating Ernie Els in a playoff. “I was getting ready for the Illinois H.S. State Championships and it was also my birthday” he explained. “To help me prepare, Dad set up a match where he’d give me $5 for every hole on which I beat him, but I didn’t have to pay him $5 if I lost a hole.” He brightened and continued. “I won $40, which to a 14-year old back then was like $2,000.”
Rod Pampling had a similar one, “The first time I beat my dad, he wasn’t happy, he had to buy me a new set of clubs!” he laughed.
Then there were the stories that surprised me. I didn’t know Lee Westwood’s dad learned the game at the same time Lee did.
“My dad and I started playing golf at the same time” said Westwood, (whose valiant performance at the Open this week left him one shot shy of the playoff). “We both made the first birdies of our lives on the same hole. How about that for a story? It was at a muni in England called Kilton Forest. He made his putt first and then I followed it right up with one of my own. We were thrilled.”
Stew Cink was next. “I wasn’t old enough to play my dad’s home course, so he and I would sneak onto the country club on Mondays. It felt so good just having that time with him, especially since he was breaking the rules for me. I was so excited.”
Cink walked into the clubhouse while telling me this story this morning and Jim Furyk walked me right back out to the practice area. He also started a little trend. He triggering a run of stories by the guys about the first time they beat their dads. “Every kid remembers the first time they beat their dad” he said confidently. “Mine was at Conestoga Country Club, where they made the famous covered wagons.”
When I asked where Conestoga was, he looked at me sideways. Being a history major at a great school, he seemed to think “you oughta know that.” I promised him I’d go read up on Conestoga and the Old Wagon Trail and I’m glad I did. It’s always great to talk to Furyk, you get great answers and you learn stuff too.
Kevin Streeland, the journeyman pro who led after round one was next. “I beat my dad for the first time at Old Wayne GC in West Chicago Ill. I was so excited because I look up to my dad so much, it meant more than just winning a game to beat him. I was growing into him. He’s class and dignity all the way – beyond anybody I’ve ever met. He’s a role model and I’m proud to be just like him.”
Zach Johnson was right behind him with wonderful, glowing praise for his dad. Isn’t it fitting And inspiring that the homespun kid from Iowa is so eloquent and humble. “I don’t remember the first time I beat dad, but I remember all our great golf vacations form when I was young, like Hilton Head. And every weekend on Saturday and Sunday, he and I and would play eighteen both days.”
Sound familiar, dad? That’;s another mantra I learned from you, “when it comes to golf, the family that plays together, stays together.” Anyway, Zach continued, “My father is such a loving man. He’s a family guy through and through, he also loves people, everybody. He’ll shake everyone’s hand and share stories with them.”
Just like you dad, everyone, loves you because you treat them the same, whether they are beggar or king, mayor or dog catcher. You’re humble, you don’t have any airs or presumptions. You’re the same man handing down decisions from the court bench as you were falling in the pond at the fourth hole of Crestwood trying to fish out Vinnie Mazzie’s golf ball with that ridiculous 40-foot retriever. The same man who told the world at his retirement party, “Pleae don’t make me retire. Why do I want to retire? It’s half the money and twice the wife.” You’re humble and human, and you see the good in everybody all the time.
It’s not hard to see the good in Ben Curtis. He’s such an affable guy, I seek him out for interviews just for the added benefit of chatting with such a likeable person for a few minutes. He echoed Zach sentiments of dignity, grace, and class. He was so respectful, almost reverent of his pops. You know that expression, “if there’s two things people hate, it’s a dirty old man and a clean little boy?” Well Benji and Zach are two exceptions. They make being a role model look easy.
You do that too, dad. When it comes to being a good man, a man who stood up for what was right, no son ever had a better father, not Nicklaus or Woods, not Hogan or Jones. Here’s why:
There are eight great virtues in life: courage, loyalty, wisdom, honor, fortitude, temperance, justice, and compassion. You have all eight. You fight for what’s right, even if you don’t benefit from it. You’ll stick up for your family and friends no matter how tough their situation. You always take your time to do the right thing, the wise, the altruistic thing, the sensible, non-confrontational thing. You never give up. You stay calm in the toughest situations.
I know how hard that was for you. I remember you stuck that note “calma” in front of you on the bench to prove the naysayers wrong when you got elected and they all said you treated everyone well and without being rash or personal.
Justice? Ha! You’re a paragon of that. The gold standard for a judge. Of course, your noble, but imperfect heart is big enough for ten people. Your example is the glue that holds my rickety life together. If I’m half the man you are, then I’m twice the man the world could ever ask me to be. Having you for a father, being proud of your grace, class, dignity, and humility is better than any Green Jacket, Claret Jug, or silver encrusted trophy; my love, never fade or grow threadbare, a trophy that will never tarnish. I may never be able to pay you back, but I sure can pay your kindness forward.
I’ll tell you one last story. My friend Ed Ellis had a great one. His dad, Elon Ellis, Vice President of the Western Golf Association and the overseer of the Evans Scholarship Fund won a trip to St. Andrews. He got a hole in one, and this was back in the days when Golf Digest had their annual contest where you sent in your name and they drew one person each year for a trip. We won and it was the day and trip of a lifetime – The Old Course at St. Andrews, Muirfield, Troon, and Royal Lytham & St. Anne’s, Turnberry, and Ballybunion, and Royal Wimbledon. I’d love to take one more trip with you and mom. I now cherish every round I get to play with you.
There were two times I almost lost you and never got the privilege again. We were lucky with your two heart attacks. I think God kept you down here because he needs you to fight for the rights of those children in family Court, a court of misery and tears. I always remember my favorite round with you. It was our first round together after your quadruple bypass and I was so grateful, so elated to even get one more round in with you, I could do no wrong.
Remember? I shot 78. You were doing your typical gamesmanship stuff in the beginning, things like standing two inches away form me when I was hitting, but I didn’t get flustered. When I hit the fourth green and made birdie, you started rooting for me, pulling for me as though I were playing in the U.S. Open. I just rode you. Seeing you alive and well and back playing golf with the old gang at the course I grew up on lifted my up on the wings of an archangel. You’re still my hero dad, and everything I aspire to be. I’m so glad you know that. It’s the greatest peace of mind knowing that the greatest man I know is proud of the man I became – you.
Anyway, I better wrap this up. Deadline is approaching and we may have a p#$@*&f. I can’t say or even type the word, it’s bad luck. I won the lottery to play Torrey tomorrow, but if there’s a p#$@*&f, that’s off.
It’s strange but I heard two people talk about this taboo subject in the tent or during the event. That’s the ultimate party foul around here. Nobody wants Monday golf, so saying the word “p#$@*&f” during the event is deemed to be a curse. You don’t risk it because you get the Scarlet Letter for the rest of the week. It’s like you don’t say “MacB%$#” in a theatre, well you don’t say “p#$@*&f” during Our Open.
Well on Saturday, a local entertainment reporter got on the bus and said “I hope it goes into overtime!” [Good lord! Overtime?!] The rest of the bus snarled at her viciously and a vigorous exchange of discourtesies ensued. If they had tomatoes, lettuce, and eggs, they’d have made a nice salad out of her.
Then one of the guys from my magazine actually said the dreaded word to me this morning. I jumped and cringed as though he suddenly broke out in a viscid chicken pox. You just don’t tempt fate.
On another mote though, a p#$@*&f would allow Torrey and this Open to really reach hallowed status. It needs a historic occurrence, and a virtuoso performance by Woods qualifies.
So until I see you, happy Fathers Day. And again, dad. One more time, with feeling, a thousand times happy Fathers Day. Even tough you’re not here, you’re in my mind and heart. With that for inspiration, I can move the world.
Well, I gotta go. That guy is yelling again.
