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The PGA Championship at Hazeltine National: A Day in the Life

CHASKA, MN – Minnesota is the Native American word for “cloudy water.” It fits: Lake Hazeltine, named for Susan Hazeltine, the first teacher in Carver County, is a wide expanse of murky currents, seaweed green and turbid blue. Still, surrounded by tall hardwoods and with the golf course’s 10th and 16th holes hard by the water, it would be tranquil enough to lull one to repose and reverie but for the thousands of ardent golf fans circling each hole, whose unquenchable love for golf makes Hazeltine ring with cheers that will echo throughout golf history.

It’s been a glorious, sublime week. Each day the sun shone like it was newly born. From the urbane twin cities, to the bucolic, rustic splendor of the farming towns, all the golf world has come to tiny Chaska, a cheerful hamlet of smiling faces. We drive through the tiny town center and park in the immense acreage recently purchased by the golf club, which fits all the cars and infrastructure needed to host a massive event.

All week, the attendance has been prodigious; oceans of fans form a sea of humanity 8-10 deep around entire fairways, even 600-yard par-5s. It’s been this way even during the practice rounds, and it’s not just for Woods, but everybody. Pre-teens squeal with delight at Adam Scott, (but when you only have eyes for Kate Hudson, it’s hard to eve notice your golf clubs, let alone blushing blondes in Daisy Dukes). Well-wishers buoy Phil Mickelson with deafening support on every shot. The young guns – Sergio, Camilo Villegas, and Anthony Kim – had fans seven deep around the driving range during the practice rounds. Stew Cink had the Claret Jug with him and was mugging for the camera with grateful fans, who’ll never forget when they got to shake hands and take pictures with a British open champion and the oldest trophy in professional sports.

And the roars this week have been cacophonous. I haven’t seen a love in this strong for golf since Pinehurst. Everywhere you look, all Minnesota is Hazel-nuts over Hazeltine.

“We love it, we absolutely love it,” gushed Mary Aldersson, as her four year old daughter Sandy, blush and hid her face in mommy’s legs. “The state is one golfing family after another, and when tournament’s come it’s like one big family reunion.”

Jock Olson former PGA Master Professional at Interlachen and the 2002 PGA National golf professional of the year agrees. “People are what we call “Minnesota nice,” welcoming, caring, and sincere. It’s a Midwestern ethic. You can feel it everywhere you look.”

The energy has been palpable, and not the hard edged, loud-mouthed, “I want to be on TV and part of the story” energy of Bethpage. Those people thought they were attending a football game – vomiting, screaming at players, offering suggestions, heckling, and making themselves a part of the event in a self-aggrandizing way. The Minnesotans are much better golf fans. They understand the altruistic ethos of golf and are grateful to see a major championship. They don’t act like hosting a sporting event is their birthright.

“It’s remarkable their love of golf. They not only want, but need to get out and take advantage of the weather,” said Olsson. Our per capita ratio of players to population is one of the highest in the country, and we were the first state to host all thirteen U.S.G.A. national championships.”

In return, the players are giving them a show, even if they aren’t playing well. Boo Weekley, who is 3-over on the week, still had a smile on his face and played to the crowd. He gave everyone that patented two-all-beef-patties-special-sauce-lettuce cheese smile and shouted, “this course ate me like a turkey. Gobble Gobble!” The fans roared with delight.

Still, Woods has been the rock star all week and, for two days, he didn’t disappoint. Woods had been magical; he did everything, including sawing Phil Mickelson and half and making Sergio garcia disappear in a puff of smoke. David Copperfield could be no more mesmerizing. He continually thrilled with his exploits, chewing up hundreds of yards with effortless swings. His glance of Amazonian fiercness, severity incarnate, froze on his face, lips curled in that scowling death stare. It’s unnerving to anyone, but another major champion, and even they are not immune. With a few birdies today, the tournament will belong solely to Woods, soft wax in his hands.

“They have to come and get him,” said one venerable old seadog of a sports writer. “If they don’t show a little fire, Woods will use another trophy for a doorstop.”

But now the wind has kicked up an octave, its ghostly moans have turned to banshee howls, and that’s good news for the field. Woods can’t swing a club in the wind, but he sure throws one just fine. Everyone is making a charge except Woods. There are 68s and 69s in progress, but Woods isn’t one of them for a change. Even Y.E. Yang is working on a 67. (If he wins this tournament, every journalist in the house will pull their hair out.)

So now the excitement, diminished from “New Years Eve celebration” to simply “dull roar” has heightened again. Woods leads, but only by one as we go to press. Miraculously, his apple turnover (hard left hook), into the peninsula green at the par-4 16th stayed up in the rough instead of sinking into Lake Hazeltine, but the lie is dicey. A great chip saves par, but now thunder peals and not from the crowd. It will be a dark and stormy night, both in Chaska and at Camp Woods. He leads, but things are much less certain than at daybreak. Still, as everyone files out, spirits are still as bright and sunny as the sky was this morning. It will be a glorious day tomorrow, no matter how gray the skies turn.