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Memorial Golf Tournament
Winless, I was never
paired with General, Freddie Couples or Tiger Woods for the first
thirty-six holes. From a television standpoint, marquees plays with
marquees. Why waste time showing Jack Austin trudging eighteen holes,
when viewers can see Phil Nicholson walk the fairways with David Duval?
I have no problem with this. In golf, fame is earned. Teammates never
carry you. There's no place to hide in the batting order. If you can
dunk but can't hit the outside shot, you'll be sent packing. In our
sport, you play well or go home. I had played well this week and thus,
this day, would get plenty of airtime.
General was standing near
his caddie again, reviewing the yardage book. His wife, Angela, stood in
the front row of the gallery, her pass, in a clear plastic holder, hung
from a string around her neck. For a moment, I thought of Lisa and Darcy
in Chandler, Maine.
"Slight cross breeze,"
Silver said to me. He'd arrived early, stopping to get extra Gatorade
packets on the way. "The breeze will push the ball right. You probably
want to play for the left side of the fairway, let the wind move the
ball back to middle."
I nodded. The bag stood
between us, my hand atop the three-metal.
"Well, bossman," he said,
"it's your show. Let's run and gun."
I looked at him. "Where
the hell did that come from?"
"'Run and gun'? He
shrugged and grinned.
"You've said the exact
same thing on the first tee for more than two hundred tournaments."
He nodded. "Straight and
long."
"Yeah."
"We haven't won. Time for
a change, so now it's 'run and gun.'" He handed me the driver.
Still looking at him, I
took the club.
The first hole at
Muirfield Village is 451 yards. The tee is elevated, and three traps
collect a push or slice. Driver is plenty of club. Three-wood, then a
nine-iron approach, is the typical choice. However, the fairway is wide.
Hitting driver could replace the nine-iron with a pitching or sand
wedge. Run and gun. |
