So I’m back in golf world this week—the world of golf, not the magazine.
I have to say, it’s always fun. I’ve made a habit the last five years of coming to The Honda Classic, which is the first east coast event of the year. I miss going to the west coast but the combination of basketball responsibilities, family responsibilities and my aversion to flying has kept me from places like Pebble Beach and San Diego tournaments I liked going to in the past.
The Honda, to be honest, is one of my favorite events. The logistics are about as easy as you could possibly hope for. The putting green, the driving range and both the front and back nine are all a few steps from the media room. Walking the golf course is usually enjoyable—it’s not hilly and there’s always a breeze, or this year, a high wind. It isn’t fun to play in but walking and watching is a lot of fun.
The nicest part for me though is being able to walk back in after months away and feel comfortable and, even better, be able to start getting work done right away. There are new faces every year and I always try to introduce myself to people so I can start to develop relationships with them. There is no doubt that being on Golf Channel the last three years helps me with the new guys. I’d prefer that they tell me they’ve read my books or my columns but if seeing me on Golf Channel is an icebreaker, well, that’s fine too.
And then there are the guys who have been around the tour as long (1993) as I have—or longer. On Wednesday I walked into the locker room and within two minutes ran into Davis Love, Justin Leonard, David Duval, Steve Flesch and—of course—Paul Goydos. Actually it was no coincidence I ran into Goydos: he owed me dinner since he had called me ‘an idiot,’ when I told him that Florida State would beat Duke back in January and then had bet me dinner when I suggested he might put his money where his know-it-all mouth was.
Paul knows a lot about basketball, especially Long Beach State basketball. He pays for Spike Lee seats at Long Beach home games and once got tossed from the arena years ago for arguing vehemently with a referee. Paul’s version of that story is wildly funny—as are most versions of any story he tells.
Davis’s son Dru (as in Davis Love IV—quadruple) and my son Danny were born six weeks apart and that’s usually our first topic of conversation. Danny’s now taller than I am and Dru is taller than Davis (who is 6-3) so we both roll our eyes and wonder how that has come to pass since the boys were only born about 15 minutes ago.
I’m really happy that Davis is going to be the Ryder Cup captain. I know how much it means to him, especially since his father was a member of the PGA of America for years until his death in a plane crash in 1988. In fact, the day that Davis was born in 1964 his dad was playing in The Masters. When Davis won The PGA in 1997, one of the most emotional finishes I’ve ever seen to a golf tournament, one of the first things he said to his younger brother Mark (who was caddying for him) was, “now I can be a Ryder Cup captain.”
Winning The PGA isn’t an absolute must for a Ryder Cup captain—neither Arnold Palmer nor Tom Watson (among others) ever won it, but it certainly helps. As it turned out, that PGA was Davis’s only win in a major. He came achingly close on several other occasions but never did win a second major.
Now though, he’s The Ryder Cup captain and I think he’ll do very well because the job will mean so much to him on an emotional level, not just a professional one and because the players like him so much. Davis is one of those guys who is constantly described as, “my best friend,” by other guys in the locker room. There aren’t that many guys you can say that about but Davis is one of them.
He was one of the first players I got to know well when I was working on, ‘A Good Walk Spoiled.’ In fact, it was while talking to Davis that it first occurred to me that covering golf was going to be a lot more fun than covering, say, tennis. We were in Williamsburg at the old Anheuser-Busch Tournament. Davis was staying in a condo right on the grounds and we went there to talk after he played his first round on Thursday.
About two hours into the conversation I began to wonder how much longer I could go. So I said to Davis, ‘how are you set on time?’
He shrugged and said, “you said you were writing a book so I figured you needed a lot of time. I just blocked off the whole afternoon.”
Hallelujah. This came after spending time with tennis players who thought 20 minutes was the absolute limit that anyone should ever spend talking to a reporter. Davis became one of the more compelling stories in ‘A Good Walk Spoiled,’ and has been a go-to guy for me ever since.
The most pleasant surprise was seeing Nick Price. When people ask me who are the nicest people I’ve ever met in sports, Nick is right at the top of the list. He’s just a genuinely warm, kind human being. He was also the No. 1 player in the world in 1993 and 1994. He won three major championships. A few weeks ago he called Ken Kennerly, the Honda’s Tournament director, wondering if he could get a sponsor’s exemption to play. The Champions Tour is off this week and Nick lives practically next door to PGA National. He’s been feeling good about his game and wanted to see how he could do against the kids since he hasn’t played the regular tour since turning 50.
Kennerly, who is a good guy, told him he really didn’t have any spots, that he had commitments to a number of younger players and international players. Remember we’re talking about someone who is already in The World Golf Hall of Fame. We’re not talking about some guy who won a couple times on tour, we’re talking about a three-time major champion. Nick just said, “I understand Ken, no worries.”
Then he decided to use his one-time exemption for being in the top 50 (29th entering this year) on the all-time money list and not only play Honda, but a few other events this year. As he walked up and down the range on Thursday morning, he introduced himself to younger players; said hello to old friends—players, caddies, media—just the most regular guy you’ve ever seen. That’s Nick.
The first time I met him was late in 1993 when he was No. 1 in the world. He had no idea who I was but told me he’d be glad to talk to me for the book. He said he really didn’t know his schedule for 1994 yet so could I call him in about two weeks because he’d know by then. He gave me a phone number.
A couple weeks later, I called, expecting to get his agent’s office or an assistant or some kind of tape. Nick answered. “Hang on one second John, I’ve got a guy at the front door.”
He’d given me his home number. The No. 1 player in the world—to a guy he had just met. That’s Nick Price.
That’s why it is always nice to come back to the tour.
Showing posts with label Paul Goydos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul Goydos. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2011
Friday, July 9, 2010
A day of the sublime and the ridiculous
Today is a day to write about both the sublime and the ridiculous.
The sublime came early yesterday when my good friend Paul Goydos shot 59—FIFTY-NINE!—in the first round of The John Deere Classic. For those of you who don’t follow golf, Paul was the fourth player in the history of The PGA Tour to shoot 59 in an official tour event. In all likelihood, he won’t even win this weekend—although he’s off to a pretty decent start—but he is now a part of golf history.
The ridiculous, of course, was ESPN’s LeBron James infomercial/love-athon. Let me just say two things quickly now: 1. ESPN flat out lied about when James would actually announce where he was playing. It insisted the public would know, “in the first ten minutes,” of the show. Jim Gray FINALLY stopped asking questions about the ‘process,’ at 9:27. I’m not good at math but 27 is considerably more than 10 last time I checked. 2. Some ESPN suit named Norby Williamson proudly declared yesterday that ESPN was in complete control of the show, “other than what comes out of his (James’s) mouth.” If so, everyone involved should submit their resignations this morning. ESPN at its best is very good; at its worst completely awful. This went beyond anything it has ever done for horrific.
Okay, let’s get back to Goydos because it is a far more pleasant topic. I make absolutely no secret of the fact that I’m in the tank for Paul and have been almost since the day I met him at The Buick Open in 1993 when I was researching “A Good Walk Spoiled.”
On that day, his opening line at a press conference was, “Most of you have never heard of me. There’s a reason for that. I’ve never done anything.”
My kind of guy. He ended up being the cult hero of the book and we’ve been friends ever since through a lot of ups and downs in both our lives. If you follow golf, you know that Paul’s wife Wendy got hooked on methamphetamines years ago trying to find some relief from constant migraine headaches. She ended up in and out of rehab but never was able to get completely clean. Paul ended up a single dad, dropping off the tour for a year to be with his teen-age girls. Then, a year ago in January, Wendy died of an apparent overdose.
I still vividly remember Paul’s phone call that day. I was driving home from a basketball game at Bucknell. I knew he had missed the cut at Hawaii but as soon as I heard his voice I knew he wasn’t calling to complain about his golf. Wendy was 44.
What makes Goydos a unique character is his sense of humor, which is about as dry and self-deprecating as I’ve ever seen—his opening comment that first day I met him being a good example. Later he was explaining how he plays his best golf when he gets his slice going. “I know when you’re on The PGA Tour you’re supposed to call it a fade,” he said. “But when you hit a seven iron and it goes 20 yards to the right that’s not a fade, that’s a slice.”
Paul has always described himself as “the worst player in the history of The PGA Tour.” Given that he’s been out there 18 years, has won twice and lost a memorable playoff to Sergio Garcia at the 2008 Players Championship even before yesterday, he’d have trouble making that case.
But he’s certainly not your typical golfer. He’s got a homemade swing and kind of slumps around the course, looking like a guy you might run into at the local muni on Saturday morning. He grew up on a muni in Long Beach and went to Long Beach State. When a problem with one of his hands—he couldn’t grip a club—seemed to end his golf career he did some teaching in the Long Beach school system, often working at inner city schools. That background has certainly given him a different view of life than most of his fellow pros.
Rarely does Paul get openly excited about a round of golf. I remember years ago when he played a U.S. Open qualifier at Woodmont and shot 63 the first 18 holes.
“Great playing,” I said.
“I didn’t make a single putt,” he answered.
“And shot 63?”
“Well, I guess I hit it pretty well.”
Yesterday was different. When I talked to him on the phone yesterday afternoon, he’d done hours of media because he’ll never say no when people want to talk to him. “Actually it caught me by surprise,” he said. “I mean, I know 59 is an iconic number, I was fully aware of what was going on the last few holes. I wasn’t going to sit there and pretend it wasn’t a big deal. I remember thinking on the 16th tee, ‘okay, lots of guys have the chance to shoot 59 but only THREE have actually done it. Let’s do everything possible to be number four.’”
He made three birdies to do it, holing a seven-footer on 18. “That’s the most nervous I think I’ve ever been over a putt in my life,” he said. “I KNOW winning is a bigger deal than shooting 59 but I also know people will remember me for this more than for the two wins or even The Players—which was a pretty big deal when it happened.”
Of course he had a memorable line which he had been repeating all day: “Most people dream of shooting their age. I shot my height.” He is 5-9 so shooting his height isn’t easy.
The irony is that a week ago when I’d seen him in Philadelphia he’d been legitimately down about his game—not just Goydos, worst-player-in-history down, truly down. He’d had a chance to win at Pebble Beach in February before making a nine at the 14th hole on Sunday. Since then, he hadn’t played well.
“I probably let that get to me more than I realized,” he said. “On the other hand, a four month slump for me isn’t exactly big news. I have one just about every year.”
I hope he’s out of it now. The day after a great round is the toughest one there is for a golfer. The good news is he starts out five shots clear of the field except for defending champion Steve Stricker, who went out in the afternoon and shot 60. “To start your round 12 shots behind the leader and finish it one shot back is pretty impressive,” Goydos said.
To shoot 59 is more impressive. And trust me, it couldn’t happen to a better guy. I hope he can keep it going through the weekend.
Okay, back to the ridiculous. We all knew the so-called, “Decision,” would be bad TV but did anyone imagine how bad? The painful stalling with more mindless chatter and a Stu Scott narrated paean to The King—in which he called him the greatest player in the game—was brutal. I can’t wait for Stu’s next conversation with Kobe Bryant. Even Chris Broussard, who had the story, hedged. “I hear Miami but it could be Cleveland, New York or Chicago,” he said.
I wonder: Was he ORDERED by ESPN to hedge to stretch out the “suspense.”
There were commercials galore; reminders who was sponsoring the show and then the five minutes of torturous questions from Gray—again, no doubt under orders from the suits. No one—NO ONE—cared about the damn process at that point.
Michael Wilbon, after the opening silly, “how tough was this,” question tried to get James to say something but he was strictly on message. Everyone in Cleveland was a great guy. He just wanted to win, blah-blah-blah. It was funny how he kept talking about, “everything I’ve done for the city.” Yeah, there are all those championship banners he helped hang. Oh wait, that’s not The King, he’s hung ZERO banners. Look, he has a perfect right to go wherever he wants but please don’t sit there and tell people in Cleveland how much you’ve done for them. The last thing they saw you do was wimp out against the Celtics.
Worst of all though was after the announcement finally was over and Wilbon’s attempts to get James to answer questions had failed, was Scott saying, “And the King has ANOTHER big announcement to make.” The big announcement was that someone ELSE was giving a bunch of money to The Boys and Girls Clubs. The only thing missing at that point was Jerry Lewis. Then again, Scott posing as any kind of journalist is funnier than Lewis and Martin at their peak.
I’m a little embarrassed that I watched but it was a little bit like trying to drive past an accident without rubber-necking. My new favorite owner is Dan Gilbert.
By the way, the NCAA announced—AGAIN—yesterday that it is ALMOST ready to announce what it is going to do with the 68-team NCAA Tournament format. (They called it the “enhanced,” 68 team field). I think they’re negotiating with ESPN for a special called, “The Decision."
------------------------------
John's new book: "Moment of Glory--The Year Underdogs Ruled The Majors,"--is now available online and in bookstores nationwide. Visit your favorite retailer, or click here for online purchases
The sublime came early yesterday when my good friend Paul Goydos shot 59—FIFTY-NINE!—in the first round of The John Deere Classic. For those of you who don’t follow golf, Paul was the fourth player in the history of The PGA Tour to shoot 59 in an official tour event. In all likelihood, he won’t even win this weekend—although he’s off to a pretty decent start—but he is now a part of golf history.
The ridiculous, of course, was ESPN’s LeBron James infomercial/love-athon. Let me just say two things quickly now: 1. ESPN flat out lied about when James would actually announce where he was playing. It insisted the public would know, “in the first ten minutes,” of the show. Jim Gray FINALLY stopped asking questions about the ‘process,’ at 9:27. I’m not good at math but 27 is considerably more than 10 last time I checked. 2. Some ESPN suit named Norby Williamson proudly declared yesterday that ESPN was in complete control of the show, “other than what comes out of his (James’s) mouth.” If so, everyone involved should submit their resignations this morning. ESPN at its best is very good; at its worst completely awful. This went beyond anything it has ever done for horrific.
Okay, let’s get back to Goydos because it is a far more pleasant topic. I make absolutely no secret of the fact that I’m in the tank for Paul and have been almost since the day I met him at The Buick Open in 1993 when I was researching “A Good Walk Spoiled.”
On that day, his opening line at a press conference was, “Most of you have never heard of me. There’s a reason for that. I’ve never done anything.”
My kind of guy. He ended up being the cult hero of the book and we’ve been friends ever since through a lot of ups and downs in both our lives. If you follow golf, you know that Paul’s wife Wendy got hooked on methamphetamines years ago trying to find some relief from constant migraine headaches. She ended up in and out of rehab but never was able to get completely clean. Paul ended up a single dad, dropping off the tour for a year to be with his teen-age girls. Then, a year ago in January, Wendy died of an apparent overdose.
I still vividly remember Paul’s phone call that day. I was driving home from a basketball game at Bucknell. I knew he had missed the cut at Hawaii but as soon as I heard his voice I knew he wasn’t calling to complain about his golf. Wendy was 44.
What makes Goydos a unique character is his sense of humor, which is about as dry and self-deprecating as I’ve ever seen—his opening comment that first day I met him being a good example. Later he was explaining how he plays his best golf when he gets his slice going. “I know when you’re on The PGA Tour you’re supposed to call it a fade,” he said. “But when you hit a seven iron and it goes 20 yards to the right that’s not a fade, that’s a slice.”
Paul has always described himself as “the worst player in the history of The PGA Tour.” Given that he’s been out there 18 years, has won twice and lost a memorable playoff to Sergio Garcia at the 2008 Players Championship even before yesterday, he’d have trouble making that case.
But he’s certainly not your typical golfer. He’s got a homemade swing and kind of slumps around the course, looking like a guy you might run into at the local muni on Saturday morning. He grew up on a muni in Long Beach and went to Long Beach State. When a problem with one of his hands—he couldn’t grip a club—seemed to end his golf career he did some teaching in the Long Beach school system, often working at inner city schools. That background has certainly given him a different view of life than most of his fellow pros.
Rarely does Paul get openly excited about a round of golf. I remember years ago when he played a U.S. Open qualifier at Woodmont and shot 63 the first 18 holes.
“Great playing,” I said.
“I didn’t make a single putt,” he answered.
“And shot 63?”
“Well, I guess I hit it pretty well.”
Yesterday was different. When I talked to him on the phone yesterday afternoon, he’d done hours of media because he’ll never say no when people want to talk to him. “Actually it caught me by surprise,” he said. “I mean, I know 59 is an iconic number, I was fully aware of what was going on the last few holes. I wasn’t going to sit there and pretend it wasn’t a big deal. I remember thinking on the 16th tee, ‘okay, lots of guys have the chance to shoot 59 but only THREE have actually done it. Let’s do everything possible to be number four.’”
He made three birdies to do it, holing a seven-footer on 18. “That’s the most nervous I think I’ve ever been over a putt in my life,” he said. “I KNOW winning is a bigger deal than shooting 59 but I also know people will remember me for this more than for the two wins or even The Players—which was a pretty big deal when it happened.”
Of course he had a memorable line which he had been repeating all day: “Most people dream of shooting their age. I shot my height.” He is 5-9 so shooting his height isn’t easy.
The irony is that a week ago when I’d seen him in Philadelphia he’d been legitimately down about his game—not just Goydos, worst-player-in-history down, truly down. He’d had a chance to win at Pebble Beach in February before making a nine at the 14th hole on Sunday. Since then, he hadn’t played well.
“I probably let that get to me more than I realized,” he said. “On the other hand, a four month slump for me isn’t exactly big news. I have one just about every year.”
I hope he’s out of it now. The day after a great round is the toughest one there is for a golfer. The good news is he starts out five shots clear of the field except for defending champion Steve Stricker, who went out in the afternoon and shot 60. “To start your round 12 shots behind the leader and finish it one shot back is pretty impressive,” Goydos said.
To shoot 59 is more impressive. And trust me, it couldn’t happen to a better guy. I hope he can keep it going through the weekend.
Okay, back to the ridiculous. We all knew the so-called, “Decision,” would be bad TV but did anyone imagine how bad? The painful stalling with more mindless chatter and a Stu Scott narrated paean to The King—in which he called him the greatest player in the game—was brutal. I can’t wait for Stu’s next conversation with Kobe Bryant. Even Chris Broussard, who had the story, hedged. “I hear Miami but it could be Cleveland, New York or Chicago,” he said.
I wonder: Was he ORDERED by ESPN to hedge to stretch out the “suspense.”
There were commercials galore; reminders who was sponsoring the show and then the five minutes of torturous questions from Gray—again, no doubt under orders from the suits. No one—NO ONE—cared about the damn process at that point.
Michael Wilbon, after the opening silly, “how tough was this,” question tried to get James to say something but he was strictly on message. Everyone in Cleveland was a great guy. He just wanted to win, blah-blah-blah. It was funny how he kept talking about, “everything I’ve done for the city.” Yeah, there are all those championship banners he helped hang. Oh wait, that’s not The King, he’s hung ZERO banners. Look, he has a perfect right to go wherever he wants but please don’t sit there and tell people in Cleveland how much you’ve done for them. The last thing they saw you do was wimp out against the Celtics.
Worst of all though was after the announcement finally was over and Wilbon’s attempts to get James to answer questions had failed, was Scott saying, “And the King has ANOTHER big announcement to make.” The big announcement was that someone ELSE was giving a bunch of money to The Boys and Girls Clubs. The only thing missing at that point was Jerry Lewis. Then again, Scott posing as any kind of journalist is funnier than Lewis and Martin at their peak.
I’m a little embarrassed that I watched but it was a little bit like trying to drive past an accident without rubber-necking. My new favorite owner is Dan Gilbert.
By the way, the NCAA announced—AGAIN—yesterday that it is ALMOST ready to announce what it is going to do with the 68-team NCAA Tournament format. (They called it the “enhanced,” 68 team field). I think they’re negotiating with ESPN for a special called, “The Decision."
------------------------------
John's new book: "Moment of Glory--The Year Underdogs Ruled The Majors,"--is now available online and in bookstores nationwide. Visit your favorite retailer, or click here for online purchases
Washington Post - Eighteen-year tour veteran Paul Goydos shoots a 59 in first round of PGA John Deere Classic
The first time I ever laid eyes on Paul Goydos was at the Buick Open in 1993. He was a 29-year-old PGA Tour rookie, and he had shot 66 on Thursday afternoon. Because he was the only player to go low in the late wave, he was brought into the interview room. I was about to leave, but for some reason -- kismet? -- I wandered into the back of the room on my way out the door.
The first thing I heard Paul say was this: "I'm guessing none of you have heard of me. There's a reason for that: I've never done anything."
He certainly can't make that claim anymore.
Goydos has had a very solid career. This is his 18th year on tour. He has won twice (Bay Hill in 1996; Sony Open in Hawaii in 2007) and been a very consistent money-winner. He's one of the game's most respected people: Corey Pavin asked him to be an assistant captain on the Ryder Cup team this fall, and he was just elected by his peers to the PGA Tour's policy board.
On Thursday, though, Goydos went beyond all that. Teeing off early at TPC Deere Run in the first round of the John Deere Classic, he shot a 12-under-par 59. To put the round into some perspective, here is the list of players who have shot 59 in the history of the PGA Tour: Al Geiberger, Chip Beck, David Duval -- and now, Paul Goydos.
"Most people try to shoot their age," he said afterward. "Today, I shot my height."
Paul is, in fact, 5-9.
A 59 is -- obviously -- a remarkable round of golf under any circumstances, but this one is perhaps more amazing because Paul has been playing lousy golf since February. Back then he had a chance to win at Pebble Beach before a quadruple-bogey 9 at the notorious 14th hole blew him back into a tie for fifth.
Click here for the rest of the column - Eighteen-year tour veteran Paul Goydos shoots a 59 in first round of PGA John Deere Classic
The first thing I heard Paul say was this: "I'm guessing none of you have heard of me. There's a reason for that: I've never done anything."
He certainly can't make that claim anymore.
Goydos has had a very solid career. This is his 18th year on tour. He has won twice (Bay Hill in 1996; Sony Open in Hawaii in 2007) and been a very consistent money-winner. He's one of the game's most respected people: Corey Pavin asked him to be an assistant captain on the Ryder Cup team this fall, and he was just elected by his peers to the PGA Tour's policy board.
On Thursday, though, Goydos went beyond all that. Teeing off early at TPC Deere Run in the first round of the John Deere Classic, he shot a 12-under-par 59. To put the round into some perspective, here is the list of players who have shot 59 in the history of the PGA Tour: Al Geiberger, Chip Beck, David Duval -- and now, Paul Goydos.
"Most people try to shoot their age," he said afterward. "Today, I shot my height."
Paul is, in fact, 5-9.
A 59 is -- obviously -- a remarkable round of golf under any circumstances, but this one is perhaps more amazing because Paul has been playing lousy golf since February. Back then he had a chance to win at Pebble Beach before a quadruple-bogey 9 at the notorious 14th hole blew him back into a tie for fifth.
Click here for the rest of the column - Eighteen-year tour veteran Paul Goydos shoots a 59 in first round of PGA John Deere Classic
Monday, May 10, 2010
To Paul (and others): after today, I will do my best to not write about Tiger anytime soon
On Saturday night I went to dinner with a group that included Paul Goydos, who people on the golf tour half-jokingly refer to as, “my guy,” because we’ve been friends since 1993 and because I openly root for him to play well. In fact, I felt a little bit guilty on Sunday when he played an awful final round at The Players Championship to drop from a tie for 15th to a tie for 52nd. In the vernacular of golfers, he spent a lot of cash on Sunday.
I like Paul because he’s smart and opinionated and funny and never afraid to share his opinions. On Saturday, as is always the case when people who care about golf get together, the subject turned inevitably to Tiger Woods.
“You write about him every day,” Paul said—referring to this blog and, as always, exaggerating, if only a little bit. “You just can’t resist.”
I told him he was right—and wrong. It isn’t so much that I can’t resist, it’s that the guy simply can’t stay out of the news these days. He’s a train wreck right now that keeps barreling through barriers day after day.
If there was ever a weekend when Woods should have been an after thought, it was this past one. He did NOT miss the cut at The Players so there was no reason for people to go off on tangents about the fact that he had missed consecutive cuts for the first time in his career. He did NOT make any kind of a move on the leaders on Saturday (Phil Mickelson did). He played early, finished bogey-bogey to shoot a one-under-par 71 and was tied for 39th place.
The only thing that even approached a news-making moment came as he was walking into the scoring cabin after finishing his round. Mickelson was standing outside signing autographs when a little boy, no more than 7 or 8-years-old, actually began heckling Tiger, saying something like, “You can forget about being number one Tiger, it’s over!”
Woods kept walking. Mickelson leaned down to the youngster and said, “hey come on, be polite.”
Sunday should have been a quick and easy day for Woods: play early (10:30 tee time) finish back in the pack and head for his plane to fly to Philadelphia for a media day scheduled Monday to promote The AT+T Invitational NOT hosted by Tiger Woods (according to a PGA Tour edict) but still benefiting his foundation and still being run by his employees. (A subject for another day).
Except it didn’t turn out that way. After two early bogeys and after missing the green at the 7th hole, Woods shook hands with fellow competitor Jason Bohn and told officials he was withdrawing. His neck hurt. Bohn, who has had serious back and neck problems in his career, said later he could see Woods was in pain.
And so, the last day of The Players Championship became NOT about eventual winner Tim Clark or runner-up Robert Allenby or Mickelson or anyone else in the field. It became about the pain in Tiger Woods’ neck. When Tiger’s neck hurts, the golf world needs therapy.
No sane person would question Woods’ pain threshold. He won the United States Open in 2008 playing on a broken leg. He’s had all sorts of physical problems throughout his career and played through them. Here’s what you do question: On Friday, after a desultory 71 left him well back in the pack, someone asked Woods how his knee felt. “Knee’s good,” he answered. Asked if he had any physical issues at all, Woods said: “No. Zero. Absolutely 100 percent.”
On Sunday, when Woods was asked by a small gaggle of reporters in the locker room what had happened on the golf course his first answer—helpful as always—was, “I withdrew.”
When he finally elaborated, he said his neck hurt; that he might have a bulging disc, that he’d been playing in pain for, “quite a while,” and that the neck problem had started before The Masters. Check me if I’m wrong on this: Is that the same as, “zero, absolutely, 100 percent?”
There are two issues here: the first is the fact that Woods and his IMG/Tiger Woods Inc. spin doctors simply refuse to give straight answers to straight questions. Is golf now hockey? Is Woods afraid that Mickelson will check him into a tree if he thinks his neck is sore? Maybe Woods should have told people Sunday he has “an upper body injury.”
If he was hurt before The Masters why did he play The Masters? If the pain was getting worse, why continue in a tournament that really means nothing to him? Neck injuries are a serious deal. They can ruin a golfer’s career (Jerry Pate comes to mind). Why mess with it at all if there was ANY kind of pain? Let’s not go down the path of, “he wanted to finish what he started,” because there isn’t a soul alive who is going to blame a player—especially one who is injury-prone to begin with—for being careful about an injury like this one.
If Woods would just answer direct questions directly—no one is sure to this moment whether Hank Haney is fired or not fired, his denial was a non-denial denial earlier in the week; no one knows if the clubs on e-bay were his or not although every equipment rep in golf swears that the ex-Titleist rep who put them up for sale is telling the truth—we all wouldn’t be left to speculate on what this means or what that means. Reading Tiger-talk right now is like plowing through a Latin test.
Of course there are far more important questions going on here. Does his neck need a massage or surgery? Should he even be trying to play golf right now? After Tiger had Left The Building on Sunday surrounded by EIGHT sheriff’s deputies plus his usual posse, I talked to a couple of players—no, Goydos wasn’t one of them—who have gone through a divorce.
Both made the same point: It took them at least a year, maybe longer, to even think about focusing on golf. The circumstances of the divorce don’t matter; nor does it matter who is to blame for it. “All you can think about,” said one, “is what’s going to happen to my children? Even Tiger Woods HAS to be affected by that.”
Maybe Woods’ neck will leave him no choice but to take an extended break from golf. Or maybe he’ll play more often than he planned—something he hinted at Friday while telling people he was 100 percent healthy—to get ready for the U.S. Open. But one thing one player said on Sunday resonates with me: “When he said at that first public appearance that it would be a while before he played golf I thought, ‘that’s the right play.’ I wish he’d stuck to that.”
Right now, Woods may be wishing that too. Of course he’s not about to tell us what he’s wishing or thinking anytime soon.
Paul, my apologies. I will try my best not to write about Tiger again anytime soon. But you might want to talk to HIM too. Believe me, I’d have rather have written about Dallas Braden’s perfect game today.
***
Several people asked last week for more details on, ‘Moment of Glory,” which will officially be published on Thursday. I will write about it later in the week but it is on sale online right now and at most bookstores. One person raised a question: How have most of my subjects reacted to the books I’ve written. I can honestly say that, with the notable exception of Bob Knight, I think just about everyone I’ve written about in detail has either been happy with what I’ve written or believed what I wrote was fair, even if some of the facts were painful. (The Navy kids reading about their 14-13 loss to Army in the final chapters of ‘A Civil War,’ come to mind). As for the response to a book that meant the most to me it would almost certainly be the note Tom Watson sent me after I had sent him an early copy of ‘Caddy For Life.’ (Which by the way will air as a documentary on Golf Channel on June 15th).
----------------------------------------------
John's new book: "Moment of Glory--The Year Underdogs Ruled The Majors,"--is now available online and will be in bookstores nationwide May 13th. Visit your favorite retailer, or click here for online purchases
I like Paul because he’s smart and opinionated and funny and never afraid to share his opinions. On Saturday, as is always the case when people who care about golf get together, the subject turned inevitably to Tiger Woods.
“You write about him every day,” Paul said—referring to this blog and, as always, exaggerating, if only a little bit. “You just can’t resist.”
I told him he was right—and wrong. It isn’t so much that I can’t resist, it’s that the guy simply can’t stay out of the news these days. He’s a train wreck right now that keeps barreling through barriers day after day.
If there was ever a weekend when Woods should have been an after thought, it was this past one. He did NOT miss the cut at The Players so there was no reason for people to go off on tangents about the fact that he had missed consecutive cuts for the first time in his career. He did NOT make any kind of a move on the leaders on Saturday (Phil Mickelson did). He played early, finished bogey-bogey to shoot a one-under-par 71 and was tied for 39th place.
The only thing that even approached a news-making moment came as he was walking into the scoring cabin after finishing his round. Mickelson was standing outside signing autographs when a little boy, no more than 7 or 8-years-old, actually began heckling Tiger, saying something like, “You can forget about being number one Tiger, it’s over!”
Woods kept walking. Mickelson leaned down to the youngster and said, “hey come on, be polite.”
Sunday should have been a quick and easy day for Woods: play early (10:30 tee time) finish back in the pack and head for his plane to fly to Philadelphia for a media day scheduled Monday to promote The AT+T Invitational NOT hosted by Tiger Woods (according to a PGA Tour edict) but still benefiting his foundation and still being run by his employees. (A subject for another day).
Except it didn’t turn out that way. After two early bogeys and after missing the green at the 7th hole, Woods shook hands with fellow competitor Jason Bohn and told officials he was withdrawing. His neck hurt. Bohn, who has had serious back and neck problems in his career, said later he could see Woods was in pain.
And so, the last day of The Players Championship became NOT about eventual winner Tim Clark or runner-up Robert Allenby or Mickelson or anyone else in the field. It became about the pain in Tiger Woods’ neck. When Tiger’s neck hurts, the golf world needs therapy.
No sane person would question Woods’ pain threshold. He won the United States Open in 2008 playing on a broken leg. He’s had all sorts of physical problems throughout his career and played through them. Here’s what you do question: On Friday, after a desultory 71 left him well back in the pack, someone asked Woods how his knee felt. “Knee’s good,” he answered. Asked if he had any physical issues at all, Woods said: “No. Zero. Absolutely 100 percent.”
On Sunday, when Woods was asked by a small gaggle of reporters in the locker room what had happened on the golf course his first answer—helpful as always—was, “I withdrew.”
When he finally elaborated, he said his neck hurt; that he might have a bulging disc, that he’d been playing in pain for, “quite a while,” and that the neck problem had started before The Masters. Check me if I’m wrong on this: Is that the same as, “zero, absolutely, 100 percent?”
There are two issues here: the first is the fact that Woods and his IMG/Tiger Woods Inc. spin doctors simply refuse to give straight answers to straight questions. Is golf now hockey? Is Woods afraid that Mickelson will check him into a tree if he thinks his neck is sore? Maybe Woods should have told people Sunday he has “an upper body injury.”
If he was hurt before The Masters why did he play The Masters? If the pain was getting worse, why continue in a tournament that really means nothing to him? Neck injuries are a serious deal. They can ruin a golfer’s career (Jerry Pate comes to mind). Why mess with it at all if there was ANY kind of pain? Let’s not go down the path of, “he wanted to finish what he started,” because there isn’t a soul alive who is going to blame a player—especially one who is injury-prone to begin with—for being careful about an injury like this one.
If Woods would just answer direct questions directly—no one is sure to this moment whether Hank Haney is fired or not fired, his denial was a non-denial denial earlier in the week; no one knows if the clubs on e-bay were his or not although every equipment rep in golf swears that the ex-Titleist rep who put them up for sale is telling the truth—we all wouldn’t be left to speculate on what this means or what that means. Reading Tiger-talk right now is like plowing through a Latin test.
Of course there are far more important questions going on here. Does his neck need a massage or surgery? Should he even be trying to play golf right now? After Tiger had Left The Building on Sunday surrounded by EIGHT sheriff’s deputies plus his usual posse, I talked to a couple of players—no, Goydos wasn’t one of them—who have gone through a divorce.
Both made the same point: It took them at least a year, maybe longer, to even think about focusing on golf. The circumstances of the divorce don’t matter; nor does it matter who is to blame for it. “All you can think about,” said one, “is what’s going to happen to my children? Even Tiger Woods HAS to be affected by that.”
Maybe Woods’ neck will leave him no choice but to take an extended break from golf. Or maybe he’ll play more often than he planned—something he hinted at Friday while telling people he was 100 percent healthy—to get ready for the U.S. Open. But one thing one player said on Sunday resonates with me: “When he said at that first public appearance that it would be a while before he played golf I thought, ‘that’s the right play.’ I wish he’d stuck to that.”
Right now, Woods may be wishing that too. Of course he’s not about to tell us what he’s wishing or thinking anytime soon.
Paul, my apologies. I will try my best not to write about Tiger again anytime soon. But you might want to talk to HIM too. Believe me, I’d have rather have written about Dallas Braden’s perfect game today.
***
Several people asked last week for more details on, ‘Moment of Glory,” which will officially be published on Thursday. I will write about it later in the week but it is on sale online right now and at most bookstores. One person raised a question: How have most of my subjects reacted to the books I’ve written. I can honestly say that, with the notable exception of Bob Knight, I think just about everyone I’ve written about in detail has either been happy with what I’ve written or believed what I wrote was fair, even if some of the facts were painful. (The Navy kids reading about their 14-13 loss to Army in the final chapters of ‘A Civil War,’ come to mind). As for the response to a book that meant the most to me it would almost certainly be the note Tom Watson sent me after I had sent him an early copy of ‘Caddy For Life.’ (Which by the way will air as a documentary on Golf Channel on June 15th).
----------------------------------------------
John's new book: "Moment of Glory--The Year Underdogs Ruled The Majors,"--is now available online and will be in bookstores nationwide May 13th. Visit your favorite retailer, or click here for online purchases
Monday, May 3, 2010
Rory McIlroy’s bravura performance; Tennis schedule reminds me of a player in the past
I’m not sure who to write about this morning: Rory McIlroy or Andrei Chesnokov.
Andrei Chesnokov?
Let me come back to him in a minute. It is impossible to ignore McIlroy this morning given his performance on Sunday at The Quail Hollow Club in Charlotte. Looking up at a leaderboard that included Phil Mickelson, Davis Love III, Angel Cabrera and Jim Furyk—to name a few—McIlroy went out on Sunday and shot 62—finishing his round with six straight 3’s—to win The Quail Hollow Championship by four shots over Mickelson and five over Cabrera.
It was a bravura performance, climaxing with a 40-foot birdie putt on 18 that was never going anywhere but the middle of the hole almost from the moment it left his putter. I just finished writing my weekly Golf Channel essay and the thing I kept coming back to wasn’t so much the brilliant golf but the absolute joy McIlroy clearly brings to the golf course.
The kid turns 21 on Tuesday, which means he’s about the same age that Tiger Woods and Mickelson were when they burst onto the scene—Mickelson by winning a tournament while still a junior in college; Woods by winning twice on tour at the end of 1996 a few months before his 21st birthday.
Woods was always a golf prodigy, a genius on the golf course—and still is in spite of his performance this past week—but one thing he never was going to be was fun. Mickelson tried a little harder. He’s always made a point of signing autographs and smiling back at people but it has never been something that has come naturally to him.
This kid has a little Arnold Palmer in him. He’s got all the shots but he’s also got a natural way of connecting with the fans that you rarely see on the golf course. A lot of players complain that it is unfair for fans to expect them to smile or acknowledge them when they’re working—which is what they’re doing on the golf course. I get that. But when a player is naturally inclined to be that way it is all the better for him, for the fans and for the game.
McIlroy walking up 18 on Sunday applauding for the fans was cool. It also was natural, not concocted in any way. Fans like him; other players like him; the media likes him and he can flat out play. If Tom Watson doesn’t win the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach next month, a McIlroy victory might be the next best thing. That’s no knock on Mickelson by the way, it would just be a fresh new story line.
Okay, onto Chesnokov. Unless you are a real tennis geek you have no idea who I’m talking about. In fact, unless you are a real tennis geek you are probably wondering why in the world tennis would be on my mind at all right now. I do keep up with the tour, at least enough to know who is winning week-to-week. This past week, the men were in Rome for what was once known as The Italian Open. Now, thanks to some marketing silliness it is called The Rome Masters or some such thing. Rafael Nadal won for, I think the sixth time.
When I was a kid, NBC used to televise The Italian Open, The French Open and Wimbledon. Only Wimbledon was actually on live, but I watched raptly anyway. Bud Collins called it, “The Old World Triple.” I still remember Vitas Gerulaitis winning The Italian one year and how big a deal it was back then.
I dreamed back then of someday doing the “Old World Triple,” in the same year. Not only did I get to do it in 1990 when I was researching, “Hard Courts,” I got to do it while hanging out with Bud a lot of the time which only made it about 1,000 times more fun. Bud believes he is part-Italian and traveling around Rome with him was a little bit like being with Vito Corleone at Connie’s wedding—except Luca Brasi was nowhere in sight.
My fondest memories of that week in Rome though center on Chesnokov—who liked to be called Chezzy. He was then a solid clay court player, the first really good player to come out of the Soviet Union in years. He liked to pretend he didn’t speak much English but in truth he spoke it about as well as I did. He and Natalia Zvereva were in a battle back then with the Soviet Tennis Federation about purses. The federation was getting about 90 percent of the money they were making on tour. Chezzy and Zvereva didn’t see that as fair.
It took a while for me to get Chezzy to trust me—which was understandable. At first when I told him I was writing a book on life on the tennis tour, he was suspicious. “Why do you want to talk to me?” he asked. “I never win anything important.”
He never did win a major, but he had beaten Mats Wilander at The French in 1986—the first time I encountered him—and had been in the French semis in 1989, losing in four sets to Michael Chang. He won at Monte Carlo in 1990 and made it to the Italian final a couple of weeks later. What was amazing was HOW he made it to the final. He kept losing the first set, falling behind in the second and then rallying—somehow—to win. The matches took longer and longer--Chezzy was a classic stay-back clay-courter who simply wore you down—but he kept winning.
Every time he was asked in a press conference what he was going to do to get ready for his next match he would smile and say, “I go to disco.”
He was joking. He was very serious about his tennis, but not about much else. When I finally got him to sit down and talk to me over a long breakfast that week, he talked in detail about how he had fallen in love with the game as a kid and had known early on that it was his ticket out of a rudimentary job in Moscow.
“I know this because of the Olympics,” he said. “Once they say tennis will be in Olympics (1988) I know the government will put serious money into the tennis programs and I will have a chance. If not for the Olympics, they don’t let us travel to compete.”
I like to think that Chezzy and I found common ground that year. He became one of the non-star stars of “Hard Courts,” much the same way Paul Goydos did in “A Good Walk Spoiled.” Unlike with Goydos, who I am still friends with and see all the time on tour, I haven’t seen Chezzy for years. There aren’t that many people I’d like to sit down with at length again from my years covering tennis, but Chezzy would be right near the top of that short list.
He was a very good player. And a better guy, though I doubt he ever did see the inside of a disco.
Andrei Chesnokov?
Let me come back to him in a minute. It is impossible to ignore McIlroy this morning given his performance on Sunday at The Quail Hollow Club in Charlotte. Looking up at a leaderboard that included Phil Mickelson, Davis Love III, Angel Cabrera and Jim Furyk—to name a few—McIlroy went out on Sunday and shot 62—finishing his round with six straight 3’s—to win The Quail Hollow Championship by four shots over Mickelson and five over Cabrera.
It was a bravura performance, climaxing with a 40-foot birdie putt on 18 that was never going anywhere but the middle of the hole almost from the moment it left his putter. I just finished writing my weekly Golf Channel essay and the thing I kept coming back to wasn’t so much the brilliant golf but the absolute joy McIlroy clearly brings to the golf course.
The kid turns 21 on Tuesday, which means he’s about the same age that Tiger Woods and Mickelson were when they burst onto the scene—Mickelson by winning a tournament while still a junior in college; Woods by winning twice on tour at the end of 1996 a few months before his 21st birthday.
Woods was always a golf prodigy, a genius on the golf course—and still is in spite of his performance this past week—but one thing he never was going to be was fun. Mickelson tried a little harder. He’s always made a point of signing autographs and smiling back at people but it has never been something that has come naturally to him.
This kid has a little Arnold Palmer in him. He’s got all the shots but he’s also got a natural way of connecting with the fans that you rarely see on the golf course. A lot of players complain that it is unfair for fans to expect them to smile or acknowledge them when they’re working—which is what they’re doing on the golf course. I get that. But when a player is naturally inclined to be that way it is all the better for him, for the fans and for the game.
McIlroy walking up 18 on Sunday applauding for the fans was cool. It also was natural, not concocted in any way. Fans like him; other players like him; the media likes him and he can flat out play. If Tom Watson doesn’t win the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach next month, a McIlroy victory might be the next best thing. That’s no knock on Mickelson by the way, it would just be a fresh new story line.
Okay, onto Chesnokov. Unless you are a real tennis geek you have no idea who I’m talking about. In fact, unless you are a real tennis geek you are probably wondering why in the world tennis would be on my mind at all right now. I do keep up with the tour, at least enough to know who is winning week-to-week. This past week, the men were in Rome for what was once known as The Italian Open. Now, thanks to some marketing silliness it is called The Rome Masters or some such thing. Rafael Nadal won for, I think the sixth time.
When I was a kid, NBC used to televise The Italian Open, The French Open and Wimbledon. Only Wimbledon was actually on live, but I watched raptly anyway. Bud Collins called it, “The Old World Triple.” I still remember Vitas Gerulaitis winning The Italian one year and how big a deal it was back then.
I dreamed back then of someday doing the “Old World Triple,” in the same year. Not only did I get to do it in 1990 when I was researching, “Hard Courts,” I got to do it while hanging out with Bud a lot of the time which only made it about 1,000 times more fun. Bud believes he is part-Italian and traveling around Rome with him was a little bit like being with Vito Corleone at Connie’s wedding—except Luca Brasi was nowhere in sight.
My fondest memories of that week in Rome though center on Chesnokov—who liked to be called Chezzy. He was then a solid clay court player, the first really good player to come out of the Soviet Union in years. He liked to pretend he didn’t speak much English but in truth he spoke it about as well as I did. He and Natalia Zvereva were in a battle back then with the Soviet Tennis Federation about purses. The federation was getting about 90 percent of the money they were making on tour. Chezzy and Zvereva didn’t see that as fair.
It took a while for me to get Chezzy to trust me—which was understandable. At first when I told him I was writing a book on life on the tennis tour, he was suspicious. “Why do you want to talk to me?” he asked. “I never win anything important.”
He never did win a major, but he had beaten Mats Wilander at The French in 1986—the first time I encountered him—and had been in the French semis in 1989, losing in four sets to Michael Chang. He won at Monte Carlo in 1990 and made it to the Italian final a couple of weeks later. What was amazing was HOW he made it to the final. He kept losing the first set, falling behind in the second and then rallying—somehow—to win. The matches took longer and longer--Chezzy was a classic stay-back clay-courter who simply wore you down—but he kept winning.
Every time he was asked in a press conference what he was going to do to get ready for his next match he would smile and say, “I go to disco.”
He was joking. He was very serious about his tennis, but not about much else. When I finally got him to sit down and talk to me over a long breakfast that week, he talked in detail about how he had fallen in love with the game as a kid and had known early on that it was his ticket out of a rudimentary job in Moscow.
“I know this because of the Olympics,” he said. “Once they say tennis will be in Olympics (1988) I know the government will put serious money into the tennis programs and I will have a chance. If not for the Olympics, they don’t let us travel to compete.”
I like to think that Chezzy and I found common ground that year. He became one of the non-star stars of “Hard Courts,” much the same way Paul Goydos did in “A Good Walk Spoiled.” Unlike with Goydos, who I am still friends with and see all the time on tour, I haven’t seen Chezzy for years. There aren’t that many people I’d like to sit down with at length again from my years covering tennis, but Chezzy would be right near the top of that short list.
He was a very good player. And a better guy, though I doubt he ever did see the inside of a disco.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Racing, Olympics and ESPN-ABC Announcers; Goydos keeps his sense of humor
I apologize for not having written a blog yesterday. On my way home Sunday from the Holy Cross-Bucknell game I kept having to pull over because there were potholes on Rte. 15 that I was afraid to go through at 200 miles per hour.
Sorry stock car fans, couldn’t resist. But seriously, the biggest event in racing delayed for more than two hours because the track has potholes in it? Who was in charge of track maintenance, the NCAA? Look, I know nothing about auto racing—I covered the Indy 500 once; thought the start was about the most thrilling thing I’d ever seen and then had little idea what was going on for the rest of the race. To be fair, that was the year when officials had to go back and look at the tape to figure out who finished second to Rick Mears. So it wasn’t just me.
But I don’t think you have to be a racing fan to understand that two delays caused by potholes is not exactly great theater nor is having the race finish when it is already dinnertime in the east. Apparently Dale Earnhardt Jr. finished second. Where was Danica Patrick? Oh, that’s right she was in the race Saturday that only the real racing geeks pay any attention to at all. She’s the biggest star in the sport—at least based on how often she’s on TV—and she runs in the equivalent of the NBA rookie game.
She got more attention for finishing 32nd in that race than all the other drivers combined did for the entire week. Gee, I wonder why. Couldn’t have anything to do with her looks could it?
Meanwhile, back at sports I know something about…(which means there isn’t going to be too much talk about the Olympics although I got a kick out of Bode Miller caring enough to win a bronze medal in the downhill and an American with a great name—Johnny Spillane--winning the first U.S. medal in Nordic skiing since Bill Koch in 1976. Seeing Koch’s name reminded me that when he won his medal (a silver in the 30 kilometer cross country race) I was in college and avidly reading The Washington Post. One American writer had thought to show up for the race—Lenny Shapiro from The Post—who was my hero then as he is now. He talked to Koch and wrote a great story about him and his solitary quest to be a Nordic skier in a country that had zero interest in Nordic skiing.
I swear I’d watch more of the Olympics but every time I switch over it seems that NBC is either in commercial or Bob Costas is saying, “let’s return now to figure skating….” Bring back Janet Lynn and I’ll return to figure skating. I finally figured out last night as I clicked back to college hoops as two more figure skaters graced my screen why I simply can’t stand it anymore: it’s not a sport, it’s a reality show. All it lacks are early tryouts with people who can’t stay up on their skates and Simon Cowell telling them that they suck).
Okay, now you are looking live at today’s blog. Sorry, I spent some of last night listening to Brent Musburger and Bob Knight. Talk about memories. Brent is now 70 and Knight is 69 but they both clearly love being in places like College Station, Texas doing a game on a Monday night in February. Hey, good for them. I wish I had that kind of energy sometimes.
Brent sometimes sounds like he’s doing an imitation of Brent but who cares? If ABC-ESPN gets the NCAA Tournament contract this summer, there’s going to be a battle royale over there about who gets The Final Four games. Dick Vitale HAS to do color because he’s Dick Vitale and he’s been waiting more than 30 years to go to The Final Four and not sell pizzas all week. I’d pair him with Knight because Knight’s sarcastic presence might tone Dick down a little and they could be the sort of Odd Couple that Al McGuire and Billy Packer became.
The smart betting on play-by-play would have to be Dan Schulman, who is the company’s rising play-by-play star and works most of the time with Vitale. Nothing against Schulman but I’d stick Brent right there in-between Vitale and Knight. It would be the climax to a comeback that began 20 years ago when CBS unceremoniously fired him on the eve of the 1990 national title game. And the guy still gets it done when the red light goes on.
Okay, I’m rambling. Some day I’ll tell the story about Brent and I almost getting into a fight about 10 minutes before the national championship telecast went on in the air in 1989 in Seattle. Billy Packer was standing there preparing, as he said later, to open the telecast himself. The whole thing has a happy ending. Brent and I have gotten along fine for years now.
The downer of the weekend for me was my buddy Paul Goydos coughing up the lead on the back nine at Pebble Beach. Anyone who knows me at all knows that Goydos and I have been friends since 1993 when I first began researching “A Good Walk Spoiled.”
I was at the Buick Open on the first day killing time in the afternoon before going to meet Billy Andrade for dinner. Larry Mize had shot 64 in the morning and the only player in the afternoon wave who had gone low at all was a rookie named Goydos, who had shot 66. After a lengthy debate, Chuck Adams and Mark Mitchell, the two on-site PGA Tour PR guys, decided to bring Goydos into the interview room.
“There’s no one else to bring in this afternoon,” Mitchell said. “Plus, it’ll be good experience for Paul.”
With nothing else to do, I wandered into the back of the interview room to see if there was any reason at all to listen. The first thing I heard Goydos say was, “I’m sure none of you have ever heard of me. There’s a reason for that: I’ve never done anything.”
Hang on, I thought, this guy might be worth listening to for a few minutes. He launched into a 10-minute monologue that was supposed to be a recap of his round but was more like a standup routine. “At 17 I hit 7-iron. When I’m playing well it’s because I get my slice going. I know if you’re on the PGA Tour you’re supposed to call it a fade but when you hit a 7-iron and it goes 20 yards to the right, that’s a slice.”
I needed to meet this guy. I introduced myself as he was walking out, said I was doing a book on life on tour and wondered if we could talk at some point. “Sure, I’ll talk to you all you want,” he said. “But you’re wasting your time writing a book on the tour. No one’s going to buy it.”
Fortunately Paul is better at golf than predicting book sales. He became the character in the book few people had heard of but continued to follow long after it was published. We became good friends. He’s won twice on tour and pieced together a pretty good career for someone who likes to describe himself as, “the worst player in the history of the PGA Tour.”
He had a great chance to win on Sunday, but came undone on the back nine with a couple of bogeys and then, disastrously, a quadruple-bogey nine that sent him spiraling to a disappointed tie for fifth. Talk about hitting a pothole.
On Monday I sent him an e-mail offering condolences. Typical Paul, this was the answer I got back: “Well, when I made my back-nine 9 on Sunday at The Hope it was on a par-three. This time it was on a par-5. I guess that’s progress.”
You have to love a guy who NEVER loses his sense of humor. There aren’t many people you can say that about.
Gotta go. I think Costas is about to introduce some more figure skating.
Sorry stock car fans, couldn’t resist. But seriously, the biggest event in racing delayed for more than two hours because the track has potholes in it? Who was in charge of track maintenance, the NCAA? Look, I know nothing about auto racing—I covered the Indy 500 once; thought the start was about the most thrilling thing I’d ever seen and then had little idea what was going on for the rest of the race. To be fair, that was the year when officials had to go back and look at the tape to figure out who finished second to Rick Mears. So it wasn’t just me.
But I don’t think you have to be a racing fan to understand that two delays caused by potholes is not exactly great theater nor is having the race finish when it is already dinnertime in the east. Apparently Dale Earnhardt Jr. finished second. Where was Danica Patrick? Oh, that’s right she was in the race Saturday that only the real racing geeks pay any attention to at all. She’s the biggest star in the sport—at least based on how often she’s on TV—and she runs in the equivalent of the NBA rookie game.
She got more attention for finishing 32nd in that race than all the other drivers combined did for the entire week. Gee, I wonder why. Couldn’t have anything to do with her looks could it?
Meanwhile, back at sports I know something about…(which means there isn’t going to be too much talk about the Olympics although I got a kick out of Bode Miller caring enough to win a bronze medal in the downhill and an American with a great name—Johnny Spillane--winning the first U.S. medal in Nordic skiing since Bill Koch in 1976. Seeing Koch’s name reminded me that when he won his medal (a silver in the 30 kilometer cross country race) I was in college and avidly reading The Washington Post. One American writer had thought to show up for the race—Lenny Shapiro from The Post—who was my hero then as he is now. He talked to Koch and wrote a great story about him and his solitary quest to be a Nordic skier in a country that had zero interest in Nordic skiing.
I swear I’d watch more of the Olympics but every time I switch over it seems that NBC is either in commercial or Bob Costas is saying, “let’s return now to figure skating….” Bring back Janet Lynn and I’ll return to figure skating. I finally figured out last night as I clicked back to college hoops as two more figure skaters graced my screen why I simply can’t stand it anymore: it’s not a sport, it’s a reality show. All it lacks are early tryouts with people who can’t stay up on their skates and Simon Cowell telling them that they suck).
Okay, now you are looking live at today’s blog. Sorry, I spent some of last night listening to Brent Musburger and Bob Knight. Talk about memories. Brent is now 70 and Knight is 69 but they both clearly love being in places like College Station, Texas doing a game on a Monday night in February. Hey, good for them. I wish I had that kind of energy sometimes.
Brent sometimes sounds like he’s doing an imitation of Brent but who cares? If ABC-ESPN gets the NCAA Tournament contract this summer, there’s going to be a battle royale over there about who gets The Final Four games. Dick Vitale HAS to do color because he’s Dick Vitale and he’s been waiting more than 30 years to go to The Final Four and not sell pizzas all week. I’d pair him with Knight because Knight’s sarcastic presence might tone Dick down a little and they could be the sort of Odd Couple that Al McGuire and Billy Packer became.
The smart betting on play-by-play would have to be Dan Schulman, who is the company’s rising play-by-play star and works most of the time with Vitale. Nothing against Schulman but I’d stick Brent right there in-between Vitale and Knight. It would be the climax to a comeback that began 20 years ago when CBS unceremoniously fired him on the eve of the 1990 national title game. And the guy still gets it done when the red light goes on.
Okay, I’m rambling. Some day I’ll tell the story about Brent and I almost getting into a fight about 10 minutes before the national championship telecast went on in the air in 1989 in Seattle. Billy Packer was standing there preparing, as he said later, to open the telecast himself. The whole thing has a happy ending. Brent and I have gotten along fine for years now.
The downer of the weekend for me was my buddy Paul Goydos coughing up the lead on the back nine at Pebble Beach. Anyone who knows me at all knows that Goydos and I have been friends since 1993 when I first began researching “A Good Walk Spoiled.”
I was at the Buick Open on the first day killing time in the afternoon before going to meet Billy Andrade for dinner. Larry Mize had shot 64 in the morning and the only player in the afternoon wave who had gone low at all was a rookie named Goydos, who had shot 66. After a lengthy debate, Chuck Adams and Mark Mitchell, the two on-site PGA Tour PR guys, decided to bring Goydos into the interview room.
“There’s no one else to bring in this afternoon,” Mitchell said. “Plus, it’ll be good experience for Paul.”
With nothing else to do, I wandered into the back of the interview room to see if there was any reason at all to listen. The first thing I heard Goydos say was, “I’m sure none of you have ever heard of me. There’s a reason for that: I’ve never done anything.”
Hang on, I thought, this guy might be worth listening to for a few minutes. He launched into a 10-minute monologue that was supposed to be a recap of his round but was more like a standup routine. “At 17 I hit 7-iron. When I’m playing well it’s because I get my slice going. I know if you’re on the PGA Tour you’re supposed to call it a fade but when you hit a 7-iron and it goes 20 yards to the right, that’s a slice.”
I needed to meet this guy. I introduced myself as he was walking out, said I was doing a book on life on tour and wondered if we could talk at some point. “Sure, I’ll talk to you all you want,” he said. “But you’re wasting your time writing a book on the tour. No one’s going to buy it.”
Fortunately Paul is better at golf than predicting book sales. He became the character in the book few people had heard of but continued to follow long after it was published. We became good friends. He’s won twice on tour and pieced together a pretty good career for someone who likes to describe himself as, “the worst player in the history of the PGA Tour.”
He had a great chance to win on Sunday, but came undone on the back nine with a couple of bogeys and then, disastrously, a quadruple-bogey nine that sent him spiraling to a disappointed tie for fifth. Talk about hitting a pothole.
On Monday I sent him an e-mail offering condolences. Typical Paul, this was the answer I got back: “Well, when I made my back-nine 9 on Sunday at The Hope it was on a par-three. This time it was on a par-5. I guess that’s progress.”
You have to love a guy who NEVER loses his sense of humor. There aren’t many people you can say that about.
Gotta go. I think Costas is about to introduce some more figure skating.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Time for Players Union to Decide to Out the Rest of the List, They Owe it to Non-Cheaters
I had hope this morning to write about my friend Paul Goydos. Yesterday marked the 16th anniversary of the day we met during the first round of The Buick Open. Paul was a tour rookie—and so was I—I’d just started researching, “A Good Walk Spoiled.” He shot 66 on Thursday afternoon and was brought to the interview room because his was the only low score among the late starters. Bored, killing time before I met someone for dinner, I wandered into the interview room.
The first thing I had head Paul say was, “I’m sure most of you have never heard of me. There’s a reason for that: I’ve never done anything.”
The next 15 minutes were filled with dry, self-deprecating one liners. “I play best when I get my slice going. I know on the PGA Tour you’re supposed to call it a fade but if you hit a seven iron and it goes 20 yards to the right, it’s a slice.”
Since I was looking for players at all levels who had stories to tell, I introduced myself to Paul when he was finished and explained that I was writing a book about life on the tour. “I’ll give you all the time you want,” he said. “But you’re wasting your time doing a book on golf. No one’s going to buy it.”
We still joke about how fortunate I was that he wasn’t my agent.
There’s more—he’s been a fascinating character to know and follow since then—but I have to save it for another day. Like everyone else in sports I’m trapped today (again) by the subject of baseball and steroids.
To say, ‘here we go again,’ doesn’t begin to describe how completely out of control this whole mess is—and has been for a good long while now. The latest revelation is one of the good guys, David Ortiz. The New York Times also nailed Manny Ramirez yesterday for testing positive during the so-called ‘secret,’ testing of 2003 but that’s now old news since Ramirez has already been suspended this year.
As I’ve said before, everyone’s guilty in this and yesterday was evidence of that once again. There was union chief Don Fehr once again wanting to shoot the messenger, expressing anger at the fact that Ramirez and Ortiz’s names were leaked. I’ve always respected Fehr but on the issue of drugs he has done massive damage to baseball by taking the approach that this is a privacy issue. It’s NOT. There are some jobs in the world—airline pilot, law enforcement official to name two—where drug-testing in today’s world must be mandatory. Is it constitutional when we’re all practically strip searched trying to get on an airplane? Hell no. But it is absolutely necessary.
The same’s true in professional sports. Drug use is epidemic in every sport you can possibly think of and, unless you just want to throw your hands up and say, ‘go ahead and cheat AND jeopardize your health,’ you HAVE to drug test. In fact, pro athletes need to be blood-tested because I guarantee you HGH (Human Growth Hormone) is now the drug of choice because it can’t be detected by urinalysis.
While Fehr was spluttering the TV talking heads gathered to cluck and shake their heads and wish this wouldn’t happen. But they STILL won’t take on the players. There was my pal Tim Kirkijian on ESPN saying, “I don’t think one positive test necessarily proves you’ve been doing it your whole career.”
Come on Timmy, one thing we know is that one positive test means for damn sure that the player—whomever it was—didn’t try the drugs ONCE. NONE of these guys and I mean none of them should be allowed to set foot in The Hall of Fame. Ramirez sits there and arrogantly says that he and Ortiz are, “mountains,” and that, “we’ll just keep hitting.” You do that Manny, but I swear you shouldn’t be allowed into Cooperstown even if you buy a ticket. You and the rest of the cheaters.
The fans are guilty too. Everyone is against steroid use EXCEPT if it’s one of their guys who is producing for them. Barry Bonds was cheered in San Francisco until the day he finally went away. (He’s never retired as far as I know). Thursday in Boston Ortiz got a curtain-call standing ovation after a three run homer. Then he put out a strange statement saying he was “surprised,” to learn he’d tested positive. Who is this guy Inspector Renaud in Casablanca? He’s SHOCKED to learn he’s been taking steroids?
Baseball needs to release the remaining names among the 103 who tested positive in ’03. For one thing, it isn’t fair to Alex Rodriguez, Sammy Sosa, David Segui (a really bad guy by the way) Ortiz and Ramirez that their names have been leaked and not the others. Other names will continue to dribble out and we’ll have endless speculation on who did and did not test positive until the names are released.
This is one time when Bud Selig needs to get in a room with Fehr, much the same way he did in 2005 after the embarrassment of the McGwire-Sosa-Palemeiro-Schilling-Canseco Congressional hearing and say, ‘Don, we’re drowning here. Enough with the self-righteous right-to-privacy crap,’ He needs to shout this to the highest roof tops and he needs to do one other thing: pressure the players to tell the union to release the names.
Right now the players who are clean—who are still a majority—should be losing their minds that this is still going on. They should be screaming at Fehr and the rest of the union, ‘OUT THEM ALL. ENOUGH. WE'RE DONE WITH THIS!”
That was a big part of the problem when all this began. The non-users, the good guys, let the bad guys go free because they let Fehr and Gene Orza make this into a privacy issue rather than an issue of CHEATING. How can any of them now in good conscience sit back and say, ‘yeah we’re upset this got leaked,’ rather than saying, ‘this needs to end NOW. Out ‘em all and let’s try to move on from there.’
I still remember the day the Mitchell Report came out. I was finishing writing, “Living on the Black.” I had talked to both Tom Glavine and Mike Mussina about steroid use during the season and they had each estimated that at least 25 percent and maybe a lot more of the guys they’d played with had used performance-enhancing drugs at some point. Of course they couldn’t go on the record and name names.
Now, names had been named and I called them both. Neither expressed surprise about any name that was on the list. In fact, Glavine said this: “I’m more surprised by some of the names NOT on the list than by the names ON the list.”
That says it all doesn’t it? For all the names that has been revealed, we’ve probably only hit the tip of the iceberg. And, as long as people stonewall or cluck about how this doesn’t prove all that much or cheer cheaters because they’re producing, it’s just going to go on and on and on.
And I’ve got so many funny Paul Goydos stories to tell.
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