Twilight Rounds, Random Strangers And The Golf Memories I’ll Never Forget

 

Golf Was Never Just a Game; It Was The Place Where I Belonged

 

 

Mark Twain wrote that golf is a good walk spoiled. He was wrong. Golf is the best five-mile walk a person can take.

 

When I was new to the game I was a dawn chaser. The birds hadn’t started, but our coffee had. My friends and I usually had the first or second tee time and what followed behind us were footprints on the dew-covered grass and trails of steam from our coffee.

 

Four friends, in near darkness, cold and damp weather, we had the course to ourselves and we could play at our pace.

After hacking around the course and shooting around 100 I decided I didn’t want to play at golf but wanted to become a golfer.

 

I found a teaching academy in Carlsbad, California just north of San Diego. A number of PGA pros practiced there and the facilities were considered superior. For the next five years I made a quarterly pilgrimage to Southern California to develop my game.

 

One morning I was in the pro shop to get my golf cart and I saw a single waiting to get assigned to a threesome.

 

Before I knew it a threesome walked in. No tee time needed, these guys were next level. The solo was assigned to play with Ahmad Rashad, Michael Jordan and some guy named Tiger.

 

The solo asked me, “What do I do?” I said, “Have the time of your life.”

 

The practice range at the academy was next to the ninth green and the solo came up to me at the turn.

 

“Dude, I’m two hours into this round and I’m still terrified.”

 

“I only imagine. The next hole is where the snack shack is located so you’ll have lunch with them,” I said.

 

“Thanks for the reassurance.”

 

My lessons took place on the course. My instructor believed it was more important to learn how to play than to pound balls on the range.

 

Nevertheless there was some range time. Pros such as Dennis Paulson, Chris Riley and Scott Simpson were regulars.

 

Because I was at the academy so often the pros got to see the quirks of my swing. Sometimes they’d take time to help me and would pass along observations to my instructor. “He’s a little cuppy at the top.”

 

“I know we’ve been working on that for six months,” my instructor would respond.

 

Chris was known for his short game and would work with me on my putting. He taught me a new grip to get rid of my yips.

 

I haven’t been to the academy in a while, and I miss being part of the group. I miss having lunch with my instructor–chicken salad in a cup with Baked Lays crushed over the top. I miss watching the pros hit balls because their balls flew vastly different from mine.

 

When I wasn’t at the academy I was at my local municipal course playing super twilight. Every day was the same, I’d get paired up with two or three other guys who had cut out of work early in order to play nine holes.

 

Twilight foursomes have their own special rhythm–no one talks for the first two holes and at the third people start opening up. Mostly we talk about how we cut out of work early and we hope to be home for dinner on time.

 

Once in a while I get to play with a rebel who wants to play 10 and then back to the clubhouse via 9. Most of the time we can barely see and help each other find our balls.

 

“I don’t want to go home. I’d rather play a few more holes,” the random stranger will say.

 

“I know, afternoon golf is the best part of my day.”

 

The only time I get mad is when a husband and wife team stroll up to the first tee in matching pastel outfits with sweaters tied around their shoulders. I always visit the starter and plead to get them away from me. Husbands and wives tend to fight and be too helpful with each other which slows the pace of play. The starters get it. “I’ll have the marshall separate you around hole 3,” they usually say.

 

My most memorable walk on a golf course was when I walked Pebble Beach backwards. I stopped at the 18th tee and touched the fence where Jack Nicklaus stopped to look at the Monterey Bay during his last US Open. I stood on the spot on 17 where in 1982 Tom Watson chipped in from the tall rough for birdie to help him win the US Open over Jack.

 

Golf is about memories, legacy and ad hoc friendships that can only be formed by walking and talking. I can no longer play golf because of my Parkinson’s. I would give anything for one more afternoon with three random guys playing a twilight half together.