A few months ago, the golf coach where I teach came up to me and said, "Hey, I got a chance to get some tickets to the U.S. Open at Olympia Fields. You interested?"
"What a dumb question!" I thought to myself. I mean, I try for tickets every year practically. They seem harder to get than getting on the season ticket holder list for the Green Bay Packers. And just as hard, unless you have an arm and a leg to spare, as Masters tickets.
And these tickets were for the final round of the Open. Of course I said yes immediately.
So instead of spending Father's Day, the traditional last day of the tournament for at least the past few decades, vegetating in front of the television merely watching the greatest players on the planet make some of the greatest shots, I got to spend it experiencing those same players making those same shots.
I don't have pictures from the event since the USGA has this stupid rule about no cameras being allowed. These guys make millions of dollars doing what nearly any other golfer would give his left nut, along with his first born child, to be able to do, and they can't put up with a few clicks of a camera? Hell, there was a damn train near many of the holes and it didn't cause any of those guys to miss a putt or chunk a shot into the bunker. I can understand not allowing cell phones. Anybody who brings a cell phone to a public venue for anything other than emergency purposes is obnoxious. NOBODY needs to stay in touch that much. But a camera?
Most people put up with their playing partners joking, farting, belching, and doing anything to disrupt the flow. These guys are good, but they are not gods. Ryan Dillon, a little, if at all, known pro picked up $13334. That's more than the poverty level for a husband and wife in the United States. It's nearly half of the national average income for a single white male. This is for finishing dead last in the Open.
Something is wrong with somebody making so much money and being pampered into thinking that the slightest distraction is detrimental to him.
I know the game of golf is difficult and frustrating. That is part of what makes it so great and keeps me coming back even after my most feeble attempts to master it. But, it IS the fans of the game that keep these guys in the spotlight, that keep the golf industry alive, that watch the telecasts, and buy the tickets. The least the USGA could do is allow cameras during its premier event.
So all I have of my U.S. Open experience is my memories, and, other than the no camera inanity, it was thoroughly enjoyable.
The difference between a U.S. Open course and the ones I normally play on is obvious. The rough, where I regularly can find my ball, is long and treacherous. The sand is soft and the bunkers are so deep that a player standing in one usually has to jump up if he wants to see where his ball goes. If he gets it out of the trap, that is. The fairways are cut short. It is not a wonder why these guys can put so much spin on the ball. The cut is so short that it's better than most greens on public courses. The greens are as fast as putting on linoleum tile in the kitchen. Maybe that's how some of the pros practice their putting.
Having grown up on mostly muni courses, I can't help but wonder how these guys would play on the less than perfect conditions that people find on public courses. You know, unwatered, weedy fairways, crowded, waiting on every tee for the group ahead. It would sorta be like playing with the slowest menon earth Sergio Garcia and Bernhard Langer. They'd probably do all right, but just once it would be interesting to see. They'd probably be saying, "Hit the fucking ball already."
I arrived with my friends at the course shortly just as the first group had finished the first hole. Joe Don Blake hit a tremendous second shot into the first hole and sank his snaky 25 footer for an eagle. I got my first feeling for a U.S. Open crowd as the cheer reverberated in the trees.
We walked the course, followed Goosen for a while, but he wasnÕt shooting well. Neither was Lefty, Mr. Watch My Wedges Mickelson, Mr. I Ain't Ever Gonna Win a Major If I Keep Playing Like This. We watched Vijay Singh, who I can't stand but don't know why except that my dislike for him was around long before the flack he caught about his Annika Sorenstam comments.
I did get a feeling for the Tiger Woods phenomenon. He teed off and crowd followed him, leaving the rest of the groups behind him in relative solitude. After his tee time, we sat in the bleachers at the 18th green to watch the world of golf go by. And they did.
Ryan Dillon and J.P. Hayes finished first and as they walked up, the crowd began singing Happy Birthday to Dillon's wife Shanna who also was his caddy. It was sorta cute, but the guy still made thirteen grand and change for finishing dead last.
To pass the time in the bleachers, we started making bets on which of the player from each twosome would be closest to the pin in regulation. I won more often than not, but it was pure luck, as the guy I was betting with tended to have his players shooting for the green from the rough or a bunker strategically placed about 300 yards from the tee. It quickly became known as the Berkholtz Bunker.
Oddly enough, the guys shooting from the rough or a less than idea fairway position tended to put the ball closer than the guys who put the ball in ideal positions. One such ideal position was the tee shot of Tom Kuene, an amateur. He led the tournament in driving distance during the week, and on the 18th he blasted one about 340 yards past the spectator walkway by a good 50 yards. His wedge was lousy and he had a fifty footer. The only one close to his drive during the day was Woods.
We refused to give Mickelson a standing ovation when he walked off the green. Most everybody else did, but we figured, here's a guy who wears the big tight collar in the majors and he's finishing nine over par. What's to applaud? Well, okay, his wife is a babe.
One touching moment, obviously, was Tom Watson coming in. I hated him when he sank that chip shot to steal the Open from Nicklaus in 1982, but his loyalty to his caddy, who has Lou GehrigÕs disease, was touching. He put his second shot in the bunker and nearly holed it for the birdie. A class act was Kirk Triplett, Watson's playing partner in the final round. As the twosome walked up the fairway, the crowd was giving Watson, and his caddy, a well-deserved ovation. Triplett stopped, removed his hat, and joined in the applause.
When Watson nearly holed out from the bunker, the crowd erupted into a patented Open cheer. Triplett sank his birdie putt, which started from the middle of the green, went toward the back of the green and broke about 15 feet right into the center of the cup. There was that Open cheer again. As they walked off, Watson got his standing ovation. Unlike Mickleson, he deserved it. The crowded also started chanting, "Bruce," his caddy, in appreciation for an unsung hero's grit.
After Tiger Woods finished his round, half the people in the stands left. Is was as if they had only come to see Woods. That's bad for the game of golf when there are so many other good players and when the game is so fickle that on any given day, even the worst hacker can play one hole just like Tiger.
I got to see some of the greatest players on the planet. I got to see Mike Weir, the current Masters champ. I got to see Ernie Els the current British Open champ. I got to see Watson in what is probably one of his last Open appearances. I got to see that Triplett putt. I got to see Mark Calcavecchia sink the only birdie on 17 all day. I got to see a naked woman try to give eventual winner Jim Furyk a flower.
And you want to know why I think they should let spectators have a camera at the U.S. Open?
Here's my ticket, and no I didn't spend six bucks for a damn lanyard or whatever the hell they call a strap and a piece of plastic to hold the ticket. I don't need to preserve anything but my memory. And at least this is one use of a camera that the USGA can't forbid.
