Just because I carry a high number on my handicap card, doesn't mean I love the game of golf any less. I have tried to get the number down, and it is slowly going in the right direction, but I don't think it is lack of trying, or lack of athletic ability, or lack of good equipment; I think it is distraction that keeps it there. Yes, distraction.
I love not just the game, but the whole experience-whether it is watching or participating. Take me to a beautiful course and my senses go crazy. The fresh air, the wildflowers, the animal tracks, the baby ducklings, the perfectly groomed sand traps, the wind swaying the trees - the list could go on. I also obsess with the rules, and techniques of the shots, the slope of the greens and how the putts will roll. How can a person not be distracted with all this going on?
And then there was Pebble. The 100th U. S. Open. Just the mere fact of being at Pebble Beach with all it's history, and the memory of Payne Stewart everywhere, is humbling. From the moment I walked onto the grounds, I knew this was something special.
The weather was uncharacteristic of the area - bright sunshine and sunscreen blanketed the course. No fog, no wind - the hallmarks of Pebble. Even with the sunshine, evidence of the "real" Pebble Beach could be felt. The cool salt air bathed the sun-heated faces of the crowd. The trees, sweeping towards the east, like fingers reaching for some distant object, they both stand sentinel over the course, and give refuge to sun soaked bodies.
The course itself was perfectly manicured, except for the crossings, where 35,000 people trampled the grass for five days. Their own special variety of rye grass seed, you know, formulated just for Pebble Beach, and grown in Oregon! From tee to green, every hole, the view was breathtaking. I'd hold my breath as their shots sailed high in the air, looking for a landing spot on the green with the bay and the sand just as ready to receive their effort. Their accuracy is awesome.
Up by the Clubhouse, near the practice greens, you could get a good look at the players, still out practicing after many hours already spent on the course. Ever seen Tiger without his hat?
Then there were the flowers! Not a dead bloom in sight. Hanging Fushia baskets, fushia trees, and acres of sunny and shady flower beds looking like the height of the season, even though it is only June. Their greenhouses were working overtime this spring to fill every bed to the max.
And Payne was there too. From the little red ribbons tucked onto most everyone's attire, to the knickers worn by a few in the crowd. A touching memorial early one practice morning and the salute of the golf balls hit by his brethren sailing into the sea. He was there.
Distracted? You bet! Who won? Who cares! This is Pebble Beach.