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GOLF RESOURCE GUIDE:
Editor's Note
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Want to get your kids fired up about golf? Then, for the love of all that’s good and true, don’t tell them how much fun it is, don’t tell them how it will get them outdoors in the fresh air, don’t tell them how it will focus their minds and harden their bodies, don’t tell them about the camaraderie, the strategy, the satisfyingly subtle duality of the physical and the mental, the glory of a shot well struck, the deep pleasure of pocketing a Nassau, or even how the food in the grill tastes so much better. Just shut up and take them to a pro tournament. Then be prepared to keep reattaching their jaws every time they thump to the ground. Because they—and you—are going to see stuff that is basically impossible. You are going to see mortal humans punching the lights out of golf courses that would chew you up like an hors d’oeuvre. You’re going to stand almost within arm’s reach of people who are known all over the world by their first names, and you’re going to watch them hit the ball so hard and so far that it will make your fillings hurt. Can you see all that on TV? Yes. And no. As hyper-competent as modern televised coverage of pro golf tournaments has become, it still can’t transmit the visceral sensations that are available to those lucky few who are actually there. It’s one thing to watch a do-or-die putt from deep in your Barcalounger; it’s quite another thing to be in the middle of a throng of hundreds around the green, straining forward, not breathing, not moving, trying to will the ball into the cup, waiting to hear the little click of putter on ball that will be the cue for everyone to uncoil and start rooting like maniacs. Any veneer of false sophistication vanishes in a moment. The people who make up the galleries at pro tournaments may have a (mostly) deserved reputation for polite gentility, but let Tiger roll in a birdie putt for a win like he did recently at the Chevron World Challenge and all those sophisticates start leaping around and screaming like Raider fans. It’s wonderful. We in Southern California are ridiculously lucky. Unlike, say, North Platte, Neb., we get to host not one, but four of the most prestigious tournaments on the PGA Tour calendar every year. (We’re going to call Pebble Beach part of Southern California. Quibble if you like; they won’t mind.) And once the guys have decamped for pastures new, the ladies arrive to play two of the top LPGA events. And to round things out, the Champions Tour stops by Newport Beach in March to play the Toshiba Classic. This is an embarrassment of riches. And it leaves precious little room for excuses. Can’t get out and join the gallery, you say? Then you’d better be 1) playing in the tournament yourself or 2) dead. Because what’s it worth to be able to walk a magnificent golf course with your heroes? What’s it worth to watch the best players in the world tackling the toughest game in the world and doing it with the sort of panache d’Artagnan could only dream of? And there’s this: What’s it worth to watch one of the true greats hit a ham-and-egg tee shot that makes you think, “Hey … I could have hit that shot. In fact, I’ve hit it better.” You don’t think that’s enough to propel your kids to the nearest driving range the instant you get home? So go. Get your tickets now, and go. You—and your kids—will remember it forever. |
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