Changing Your Grip

So I was on Twitter this morning, as I am most weekdays (hey, it’s business) and I was reading the usual motivational, uplifting, positive, inspiring thoughts and quotes that normally fill up my stream. This is because I follow a lot of great people… positive, passionate people… professionals and many entrepreneurs… all sort of preaching to the choir, because we tend to follow like-minded colleagues.

And I felt… annoyed, actually. It was just all so — positive and motivational. And so alike. Boring, sort of. I don’t always feel upbeat every minute of the day.

I’m known as a very positive, good-energy person. Some people think I’m inspiring. I am, most times.

But this morning I had a headache. I was looking at the tweets (short communiques) and looking for a laugh. Irreverence. Satire. I find that, too, on Twitter.

So I asked — is it just me, or is anyone else overdosing on all the motivation? I felt kind of nauseous, like I’d eaten too much chocolate.

Leave it to my “golf guys” on Twitter to come to the rescue.

Mike Gray – who is known as @doubleeagle on Twitter, made a wise-guy response, which perked me up considerably. In fact, my headache disappeared.  He called himself a “wisenheimer” — a term I haven’t heard for many years, but a common one in my family.

I answered that I also have a Wisenheimer side — which I have repressed for years by my Good Girl side.

Don’t be afraid to let it fly, he answered, because repressing it can’t be good.

And I don’t know why… feel like lettin’ my freak flag fly…

(from Almost Cut My Hair — Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young)

Let It Fly — a golf exhortation.

Letting it fly in golf refers to the ball — hit it big and let it fly down the fairway, straight and true. Let it fly toward  the pin. Toward the place you want to be. Free it. Hit it with all the talent and skill and power you possess.

That’s my interpretation anyway.

Free.

Yes, I possess a wisenheimer inside — a wry, satirical, funny smart aleck who loves to laugh at humor that’s slightly twisted or “inappropriate.” I used to write humor when I first started publishing. I did improv in college, and wrote wicked things as a teen.

jeez.

What happened, I wondered?

Well, being a Tour Wife took a lot of it away. In all the craziness and responsibility, in being in the public eye and representing TJ, I had to be the grownup. The funnier and more original TJ became, the more serious I was.

Then I had to become A Professional, supporting myself. I am my business. I have to be credible. Not “silly” — or who will take me seriously?

So. Here I am — boring the crap out of myself. My Wisenheimer is getting headaches from it. She’s also kicking at the door of the closet Good Girl has kept her in.

This all makes me edgy and fidgety about how I want to write and work at this point in my career.

I can do better, I think. But I need to do it differently.

I need to let it fly.

How about you? Are you keeping yourself and your talents under wraps to follow someone else’s rules?

Tell me about it.

PS – I know I was going to write about The Grass That Saved a Golf Course next — and I will. But this was more important today.

PPS — Be sure to visit Mike Gray’s site www.lifeintherough.com, too — He’s a brilliant, generous and fun guy.

Where in the world is the golf course pictured here?

It’s Kauri Cliffs in New Zealand.

Kauri Cliffs is just one of the 60-odd golf courses that I had to choose from for a guest post on travel writer Andy Hayes‘ blog Sharing Experiences. You can read about 11 of the World’s Most Inspiring Golf Courses there.

Kauri Cliffs didn’t make the cut — not because it isn’t drop-dead inspiring for its location, design, etc — but because I had to choose between it and another blow-you-away course in New Zealand — Cape Kidnappers.  Here’s a peek at what you’ll find on the blog post…

This is Cape Kidnappers — built on 600 foot high bluffs that “jut out on the ocean like fingers of God” (I wrote that — read the post).  I love course designer Tom Doak’s statement: “If it were any bigger or any more dramatic, it would probably be cordoned off as a national park.”

Choosing the 11 was a monumental job, as you can imagine. I had certain criteria — there had to be something inspiring about each course — the topography, natural environment, a place with heart… mere awards and great PR were not enough. Also, it had to appeal to non-golfers as a travel destination.

The course had to generate questions like these…

Where can you play 144 holes in 24 hours all on one course?

What golf course in the longest in Africa and situated in a huge bushveld wildlife sanctuary, where you can go on a safari after you’re finished playing golf?

What do Tom Kite and Donald Trump have in common?

What course has the only natural island green called “Tail of the Whale?”

Where will you find the world’s original Redan hole?

Choosing the only U.S. course I could (Andy’s rule — they had to be from all around the world) was the hardest. About 85% of the courses that contacted me were in the U.S.

In the end — my U.S.  choice may surprise you. But it certainly met the inspiration factor.

Now I still have a great many courses that I would like to tell you about — and I will, here on Changing Your Grip.

Coming next time: The Grass That Saved a Golf Course From a Hurricane.

We’re going to have fun with this.

I got a call today from my ex-mother-in-law. That in itself is a milestone, but on top of it she and my former father-in-law want to take me out to lunch this week.

That’s nice, you say. What’s it got to do with anything?

Coincidentally, everyone’s focused on Hazeltine Golf Club in Minnesota right now, for the 91st PGA Championship. Hazeltine and my in-laws — now this takes me back. I won’t be at Hazeltine for the PGA. In fact, I haven’t been to Hazeltine since the U.S. Open in 1970. But I never forgot the tournament.

The course I don’t remember… except for being there with my in-laws.

I was a disappointment as a daughter-in-law to rabid golfing in-laws. They both play and they’re in their 80’s now. At the time they were at their prime in the country club golf set, and regularly in the paper for their constant presence as TJ grew from sub-junior dominator to college NCAA star.

And then he fell in love with a non-golfing girl. And we married while still in college. And then we had Matt. And I became a nightmare in their eyes. A career-killer.

TJ qualified as an amateur to play in the 1970 U.S. Open. It was his first major. It was my first big golf tournament as a young wife and very new mother. The in-laws decided to go and — probably reluctantly — decided to take me too.

Matt was about 8 weeks old. He stayed at home with my parents.

In a way, Hazeltine was kind of a baby too. This was its first major and it was in the middle of nowhere. Much was written about it being carved from a cow pasture. That much I remember. There was controversy.

So we get to Minnesota, and something arrives with me.

*** RED ALERT: If you are squeamish or uber-male, the following contains information of a female nature — but not that much. I leave it to your imagination. ***

It’s The First One after delivering… and sometimes that’s a doozy. This was a doozy. I made it to the first practice round and started to walk with his mother, but walking became problematic (are you still with me?) and I had to go back to the hotel via courtesy car.

I think my MIL spared TJ the dreaded trip to the drugstore (you know, guys…that one) but I became a liability to their having a good time. I was young, overwhelmed,scared and in the middle of the biggest tournament in the U.S.  At a hotel near a former cow pasture.

So I called my mom, of course. And she called my OB-GYN. And he said, have her get off her feet and stay flat. In bed. Until it gets better. (Which it did, after a couple of days.)

But this was a major bummer to my former in-laws. I was at the U.S. Open! At Hazeltine! And I was lounging in bed at the hotel! I was missing everything… I was a definite drag as a daughter-in-law. And some kind of weakling child-bearer to boot.

Well, TJ missed the cut. So by the time we were ready to go back home, I was OK. But I never saw a thing, and I have a dim memory of a wide-open course under a Minnesota sky. That’s it.

When I hear the name Hazeltine, that’s what I think of. Being young and clueless. And the new mother of the most perfect baby son.

Sometime after TJ and I split and we got new lives (and they got a new daughter-in-law who does play golf) — the sands of time wore away their memories of me in a negative light, and now I’m their long-lost daughter-in-law. I was freed from the old role, and it is easy to be kind.  Plus, we shared a life that meant a lot to both of us. In very different ways. But it was, as my son Colin calls it “Our Old Life.” We were all there.

The Lesson is: Everyone deserves a Gimmee now and then. You might even get a nice lunch out of it.

Extreme 19th play off hole in South Africa

Be careful what you ask for.

Especially if you ask for it on Peter Shankman’s media site HARO (HelpAReporterOut). Earlier in the month, I put up a query on HARO asking for suggestions for “The World’s Most Inspiring Golf Courses” for a guest blog post I’m writing for travel writer Andy Hayes‘ blog. Andy is based in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Each day, Shankman sends out a batch of queries from all media morning, noon and evening. My query went out in the evening post, around 5pm. By 10 o’clock that night, I had 27 responses. By the next day, I was heading toward 50. And they kept coming.

This is what I asked for:

As part of a series of posts, I’m looking for golf courses that have an
impact, not only on people’s games, but on their spirits. These are courses
that may have been designed on unusual topographies, in places you’d least
expect, or they can be well-established courses that stand up to the test
of time and beauty. I’m a former PGA TOUR wife, so I’ve seen some great
ones in my day. Yes, let’s acknowledge Augusta National — I’m looking for
the lesser-known inspirations. You don’t have to play golf to appreciate a
place. I’m looking for the ones that make you say — “You should see this!”
On the flip side, a sweet little course that soothes your soul can also
qualify as inspirational.

Well, I’m here to say that the world is full of inspiring golf courses. And I can only use about ten of the nominations for Andy’s post. That leaves so many terrific and deserving courses — the majority of them in the U.S. And there are probably a lot in other parts of the world that don’t read HARO.

So I’m deciding what I will do — because I want to give these courses their time in the spotlight. People who don’t play golf have no idea that — for instance — a golf course can also be a certified Audubon wildlife sanctuary. Or environmentally friendly. Or built to preserve the spectacular natural topography.

I love courses. I’ve written about them in the past for Golf Digest. So you just might see a series about them apprearing on this blog. What do you think?

The photo above is of one of the most spectacular and unusual golf courses in the world — The Legend Golf and Safari Resort in South Africa, with its Extreme 19th playoff hole — which is accessible only by helicopter.

See? That’s the kind of thing that even non-golfers would be interested in. I know I’m excited!

Sometimes, the hardest thing in golf — or life — is to Let It Happen.

This is one of my main principles in Changing Your Grip. As a presentation, this nugget was one of my top five.  Of course, it’s also a gem from golf itself.

Performance psychologists refer to top players, athletes, speakers, competitors, business people — heck — anyone who wants to achieve — as being “in the Zone” or “in flow.” It’s the moment when, after much preparation and practice, each of us comes to the point of peak performance.

If we reach the Zone or are in flow, we let go of our conscious efforts and slip into a place where we fly. We don’t strain or struggle. Everything works perfectly. We seem to glide on passion, soar on the pure joy of doing whatever it is we love.

As a writer, this comes to me once I get beyond that opening sentence. Before that, there have been many hours of preparation — maybe I’ve done research and interviews. I’ve organized and transcribed notes. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, I know what the “picture” should look like — how it should flow, where it should transition, how to bring the ending back to my beginning point.

In golf, it’s the same thing — having the right equipment, taking lessons, practicing, stepping up to the first tee. Visualizing the first shot.

At some point, if all goes well, you catch a rhythm and take off. The words come, the inspiration flows. The ball goes where you intend it to go. You get lost in the moment. You’re present –not  thinking about what happened an hour or two days ago, not thinking about going to the bank later… Etc… Etc… All the head chatter fades away to silence.

Letting it happen means you let go of the control. You let go of the steering wheel. (Of course, if you’re playing golf — don’t let go of the club. We don’t want any seven irons flying through the air and decapitating someone.)

“Nnnnaaaahhhhnnnaaaahhh… Nnnniiiihhhhnnniiihhhhhnnnn…”

– Chevy Chase in Caddy Shack

The beautiful thing about it is that — in flow — it’s as if someone or something has taken over and you’ve become a channel, a conduit for the best to move through you into being. It’s a wonderful feeling — endorphins carry you along. The complete natural high.

Yeah, it all sounds so simple. And I’ve actually been able to achieve that state at crucial times.  But it sure doesn’t happen every day.

Learning to let it happen has been — and continues to be — one of my greatest life lessons. Because I was once locked into thinking I had to control as much as I could. I’ve been an achiever all my life. It’s hard for me to let go of the idea that if I’m not accomplishing or achieving something every day — well, things might fall apart.

I was probably at my worst in this respect when TJ was playing the Tour. So much depended on me at home — the care of our home, and most importantly, the care of our precious boys. I felt that I had to be a rock for TJ, the most supportive and loving long-distance wife in the world, so that he could find the Zone without worrying about home.

Well. I began to believe that if I sent out enough energy, enough will — I could prevent disaster — on the course while TJ was playing, or at home, or in my own career…

What happens is — You start getting in your own way. You’re blocking the good that you so desire. On the course, I would see players struggling. Their faces showed the straining inside, the small (or in cases like TJ, not so small) expressions of frustration, the knit brows, the gripping and re-gripping of clubs as they walked from one green to the next tee. The tight body posture.

These days, I’m still struggling with letting “IT” happen. Because I don’t know what “it” is. There’s a big question mark. Most of the friends I have are uncomfortable with  uncertainty. And we all seem to have so much of it these days. Though on the outside, not much seems to have changed, I’ve sensed seismic shifts. There is no escaping change. And this next one may be huge for me.

With my old “grip” on things, I would flail and thrash and get in my own way.  I would fear the worst. But I’m learning to let it happen. Because whatever “it” is could also be something good for me. The coin’s in the air. Maybe I need to step out of the way and let the very best flow to me and through me.

How about you? Do you struggle with letting go? Have you ever let it happen and gotten great results? Or do you think that’s just a fairy tale – and you make your own luck?

I found myself procrastinating on writing a new post.

I told myself that I had a lot of other writing to do… but maybe it wasn’t that.

Maybe it was about having to be at a family occasion where I saw TJ. He has a new life, you see. And that’s fine. I have my life, he has his, we have the boys on common. And now grandchildren. Those four beautiful boys we had and raised around the Tour are now grown men with wives, children, fiancees… They’re magnificent, if I do say so myself. I have so much to be grateful for.

The hard part is the awkwardness. The stiffness that seems to exist now between us. We did manage to have a short conversation about — you guessed it — golf. I told him about Dan Parks at Ravenwood Golf Club in Victor, NY. I wrote a short article about Dan’s involvement in 3D golf and biomechanics. TJ seemed interested. We spoke briefly about Pat Perez. TJ told me that Pat Perez “used to beat the pants off” Tiger when they were in high school. I didn’t know that.

Then we drifted to separate parts of the house for the rest of the party.

So…

Sadness led to procrastination. We went through a great adventure together from the time we were college sweethearts until we were past forty. I feel compelled to tell that story. I wish he and I were able to talk about it now — I’d like to get his take on things, ask him questions for facts and figures… He’s brilliant at that.

Instead, I will go back to the beginning and tell my story and glean the lessons. Thanks for being here to share them.

In the beginning

I had never seen such tiny grass. I was 18 and it was the first time in my life I’d ever been on a golf course. I was there with TJ while he practiced at his home course. We were at the beginning of being wildly in  love. We’d known each other since we met at a parish youth club dance. (Can you get any more wholesome?) My BFF Lynn — and her girlfriends — grew up with TJ. I was spending the night at Lynn’s and we went to the dance in the church basement. TJ was 15, already tall and brawny.

We had the usual short up & down romance of 16 year olds, then didn’t go out together again until we were both about to graduate from our respective high schools.

Now it was summer. I was headed for Europe on a trip with my mom,aunt and cousin — 21 days out of the country. TJ was well into his amateur schedule of golf tournaments before we both headed for college.

He got a kick out of me loving that tiny grass. I took my shoes off and felt the velvet green on my toes. The sun was setting. He kissed me between practice putts.

That began my time of learning to follow. Maybe it was those kisses and moonlit parking on the golf course that led to me to always see TJ as pure electricity when he played.

By the end of our sophomore year in college, we were married.

We were married on a Friday evening — during a very prestigious amateur better ball tournament TJ was playing in. They changed his tee time so he could be finished in time for the wedding. And the next day, he teed off at 8a.m. And played 36 holes. And I followed him. We were a source of curiosity and not a little ribbing.

On Sunday, he won the tournament. And for the first time, he had a wife at the course to share it with.

We went home with a silver trophy. We opened wedding gifts. And I started my life then — married to golf.

The lessons began.

Welcome to my Caddy Hall of Fame. And the Hall of Infamy.

Once TJ got beyond rookie year and was a tournament winner, he became a more desirable player to the caddies who didn’t have a regular bag. And he had his own picks — guys he’d prefer carry for him. So it was only natural that different caddies became more familiar to me.

At first, I didn’t get to the course much when the little guys and I were out with TJ on Tour. I only met caddies when I was able to get out for a week on my own. By the time Graham came along (our third son), TJ was into his  fourth year playing. And certain caddies were beginning to stand out.

Being in my Caddy Hall of Fame means these guys stood out in some way. Maybe only because I still remember them:

• Hollywood — Hollywood got his name because he was tall, blonde and gorgeous. He may or may not have come from California. He was in his early twenties. He may have been a surfer. Who knew? All anyone knew was that when Hollywood carried a bag, he had his own gallery. He was also rumored to be a Himbo. And thick as a plank. But I couldn’t say. I only knew Hollywood from afar. But if any female at a tournament saw him, you remembered him.

• Zito – I don’t know how Zito got his name. Zito caddied for TJ for a while. Zito is a Harmon — pro Billy Harmon, son of Claude, brother to Dick and Craig. Since Craig was a good friend of TJ’s (good enough to be godfather to our son, Colin) we knew Billy before he became Zito. Anyway — Zito/Billy was part of the Triumvirate of hottie caddies on the Tour, along with Hollywood. Billy was a great caddy. He did an excellent job for TJ. But caddying was a pit stop for him. It has to be, if you’re a Harmon.

• John — The third part of the young Triumvirate. John was his real name. I can’t remember his caddy “name,” but I sure remember him. John actually stayed at our house. By now we had four kids. So when we traveled, it was en masse. In TJ’s last year on Tour, John was caddying on a pretty regular basis for TJ, and he had no place to stay and no ride to the Anheuser Busch tournament at Kingsmill, in Williamsburg, VA. So he became one of my “boys.” I liked John. He was always well-mannered around me. Traveling in our beloved “Wagon Queen” — a gigantic  Pontiac station wagon — we packed all six of us, all the luggage and John on an 8 hour car trip. God love him! Sadly, TJ had to let him go after he found out John was carrying “20 years to life” in drugs inside TJ’s bag. (I always thought his man purse was a little odd.)

• Gypsy — Gypsy was one of the older caddies, one of the veterans. Unlike Hollywood, Zito and John (I think John eventually got arrested), Gypsy was there for the long haul. When he caddied for TJ, he was quiet, a serious worker. He also watched out for me, helping me get through the gallery to an advantageous spot, or coming over to the ropes when he could to let me know what was up. He had longish, wild graying hair, a Poncho Vila moustache,  and a weathered, leathered face. I remember Gypsy most because TJ invited him to stay at our house when he drove up north to drive TJ’s car to a tournament, and instead of waking us in the night when he arrived, he slept in the car out in our driveway. That, and the time he pulled out a tooth while walking down a fairway, and threw it in the grass. All in a day’s work.

And in my Hall of Infamy:

• The nefarious “Uncle Mikey.” When the Tour wound down at the end of October (in those days), Mike the Caddy had been caddying for a while for TJ. There was always something I didn’t trust about him, but somehow he wheedled an invitation from TJ to stay with us for a few weeks. (If you remember from my post about our days on the mini-tour, you know TJ was big-hearted that way.) I’m pretty generous too — so I put up with this guy from New Jersey ensconsing himself in our home. But he was… slimy in some way. Too “buddy buddy” with TJ. Yes, caddies get close to players, but this guy acted like he’d gained some status no caddy had ever reached. And he criticized the way I cared for our boys (then 8,5,3 and 1), my cooking, and housekeeping. Ultimately, he stole checks from TJ and wrote series of rubber. We ended up having to deal with the police. He disappeared, never to appear on Tour again.

Uncle Mikey is the only caddy to appear in my Hall of Infamy, I’m happy to say.

Do you have any nominees? Caddies have changed a lot — why do you think that happened? I’d love to hear.

Lately I’ve been reading blogs that impress me, and I’m becoming a fan.

One blog is by Tour caddy Mark Huber.

Mark writes at length about his experiences on Tour, and he’s honest. He gives the kind of details and stories people love – the kind of “I was there and I know what happened” view you don’t get from sports blogs unless you lived it. He’s authentic and I like that. I guess most of the caddies I knew were authentic in some way. If you were a phony, you were exposed and if you got on a high horse, you were dismounted without mercy.

Caddies are the Dickens characters of the PGA Tour

Mark started caddying maybe a few years after TJ & I left the Tour, but he reminds me of some of the caddies I came to know. Some I liked, one I really loved (he was the assistant pro at Oak Hill and took a year off to caddy for TJ. We all loved him — Tom Cavicchi) and a couple were real nightmares. I was always fascinated by the caddies, though. They were a subculture unto themselves. I suppose I saw them as characters in the backstory that is the Tour.

I was a little in awe of the caddies when we first started out on the Tour. I know– if you’re at all familiar with the early times that Mark describes, you’d probably wonder why.

Being the wife of a “rabbit” — a Tour rookie who had to qualify on Mondays if he didn’t make the cut the week before — I was on the low rung of the Tour heirarchy.  Caddies weren’t even on that radar. Oh, I don’t mean my radar. I was very aware of the fact, as Mark describes, that caddies were not allowed in the same areas as the public, not allowed in or near the clubhouses, and could only walk around the outside tournament areas if they were accompanying their player.

Many times I walked by the area where the caddies waited for a bag if they had one that week, or where they watched for players who might need a caddy. Some of them had the relative security of being a regular for one of the more established players. Some had a regular gig, but their player wasn’t out that week.

Others tried to pick up anyone they could. Like jockeys, they appeared to follow the players who had a good tournament  and made the cut the previous week. If a player seemed like he was hot, of course he’d be desirable. Some gambled on rookies like TJ. You never knew when a bag would bring a good paycheck.

I thought sometimes — especially if the caddy area was roped off and had signs warning them to stay in it– that they looked like they were in a corral. Some were older, wizened and hardened, sitting smoking cigarettes. There were men with missing teeth, or eyes red-rimmed from a night’s drinking the evening before. Some seemed a little desperate, calling out to players with a kind of wheedling, cajoling patter as if they were in a carnival. Mixed in were young guys, new to the Tour, on some sort of life adventure.

Once a deal was made and a caddy chosen, the caddy was all business. He’d hoist the big tour bag onto his shoulder and nod at me to proceed ahead, as I followed TJ to the practice area. It was always a gentlemanly gesture, and suddenly — we were a team. A procession.

The role of the caddy — a matter of perspective

But I always sensed that divide: we were not equal. We were each in a defined role. On the course, the caddy was now a part of TJ. He went where TJ went; they were connected. He wore TJ’s colors into battle. Crowds parted for him as he hefted that heavy bag from one green to the next tee, and I used him as a pathway, trotting behind as close as I could. Then he would enter the inner sanctum with TJ– where I couldn’t go: inside the ropes.

I once wrote in Jacksonville Today magazine for a TPC issue:

He’s a valet, a squire, a pack horse. He’s a jockey to a fine thoroughbred. He plays counselor, confidante, psychologist. He’s a one-man cheering section. He is sometimes expected to be a mind-reader. Sometimes he’s a whipping boy. He’s a gambler.  A businessman. He’s the supporting actor with a stage name – “Golfball,”  “Black Rabbit,” “Mama Jack,” “Gypsy,” “Big Lee,” “Zito,” or “Six-Iron Jack.”

Above all, he’s man worthy of attention. When he’s really good at his job, his worth to a player can be inestimable.

There are legendary caddies. Do you know any? If you do, I’d love to hear about them.

Next time: Caddies who became legends to me — for better or worse.

This has been one of those weeks.

It’s reminded me of one of my favorite “change my grip” tools : One shot at a time. One day at a time.

This is a tool of survival. And it’s especially important when the chips are down. Recessions. Missing cuts. Uncertainty. Illness. (I’m fine, by the way — but there have been times when I’ve gone through vulnerable, scary periods of healing from major surgeries, or the illnesses of loved ones.)

Some days the future can look like a dense fog. The questions start rolling  in: How will I? What IF? What should I do?

Even the bravest of us can succumb to those feelings of fear, uncertainty, and the idea we’re alone in our decisions.

Certainly I felt scared once I was alone with a traveling husband and little boys who depended on me for everything that was safe and secure.  That’s when I learned the value in taking it one day at a time. Sometimes, on the days when it hit 5pm and everyone else’s husbands in my neighborhood were arriving home from work, while mine was 500, 1,000 or 3,000 miles away — no relief in sight from four children wound up and wrestling/needy or crying — I took it all one HOUR at a time.

After years and years of practice, I’m able to pull myself out of whatever is causing me anxiety and focus on today.

What can I do right now? What action can I take? What can’t be done — what needs to be let go of for now?

What small thing can I notice or do that is positive?

Yesterday I decided to take my 7 month old puppy, Brit, up the street to the old VA hospital golf course for a run.  The golf course was a par 3 course that was pretty popular with the veterans who played there. But a few years ago, at a time when the Bush administration was planning to close this VA hospital down (and the community was rallying behind it — a major center for the treatment of PTSD and substance abuse) — they decided to cut out the golf course.

(You know — does that make a lot of sense? Cut out something that helped the vets enjoy something?)

Anyway — I took Brit up for the first time. It was the first time he was able to run free off leash. The old course is fenced. Not a soul was around. I needed to work with Brit on “Come (Back) “. Always a dicey moment with a puppy… what would he do, after being at the end of a leash on a sidewalk since I brought him home?

By the way — Brit is a black Lab.

Once we got into the course a bit, I let him off the 20′ training lead. It took about a minute for him to realize — Oh, the pure joy he had! Running. Smelling! Ears flopping, tongue lolling, he raced around and then doubled back to me, ran off a few yards, looked back at me — yes!

Every so often I would call him to me, and he’d come running and go into a perfect sit. Treat time! Then off again. Over and over.

We walked for a long time. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and it was brisk but not cold. The ground was spongy with the snowmelt. I tried to make out — what was that? A tee box? A raised green? Sand was piled in a spot with gravel and other pieces of cement and remnants of things that were on the course once. The grass has grown so long, bleached out by winter, that it looked like the blonde hair of a woman lying in waves.

I love golf courses. This one’s going back to the crickets and the deer and to dogs who get a chance to run and be dogs for a while.

One shot at a time. One step at a time. One hole at a time… Take the time to breathe and BE.

I did, and it helped. As always.

Halfway through a recent hour-long phone conversation with Phil Bundy, a realization came to me:

Phil Bundy would be the perfect representative for Twitter on the PGA Tour. And Twitter should be his sponsor.

I can see Twitter’s little blue bird logo on Phil’s golf shirt and visor. It would fit so perfectly. Phil fits Twitter. It’s a perfect match for the new Tour.

Before you dismiss this idea, let me make my case:

Phil joined Twitter on November 15, 2008. His blog about his quest to play the PGA Tour is part of a whole utilization of social media — something few players are making a part of their brand. Guys like Pat Perez have cool websites, but Perez doesn’t necessarily write his blog each time. This is understandable: You don’t make hundreds of thousands — or millions — of dollars being on a computer, you make it on the golf course.

Phil chose to engage people in his quest through many avenues — and one of them has been through social media.

In the process, he’s been “overwhelmed” by the response. “It resonates with a lot of people,” he says. “By talking about my quest and the reasons why I’ve chosen to pursue my dream [at 43 -- more about that in a minute], it’s motivating other people to pursue their dreams, too.”

“A year ago, the opportunity to build an audience like this wasn’t there. Not that many people were on things like Twitter,” Phil says.

He utilizes a personal philosophy with Twitter that consists of three main tenets:

1. It’s better to be interested than interesting. When you talk to Phil, you feel a very genuine interest in who you are as a person. It’s not about what you can do for him. Judging by his blog roll– and the number of blog articles, on line interviews and podcasts that appear on his blog site– he’s making a lot of friends. I’m now one of them. That comes from being truly interested in others.
2. Conduct yourself on Twitter as you do in person. Be real. Be authentic. If you read Phil’s posts, his character comes across as an intelligent, mature, decent guy who is firmly grounded in reality — after all, he knows very well what he’s up against trying to qualify to play the Tour at 43 against 20-something thoroughbreds who are often right out of college. The guy you tweet on Twitter is the same guy talking to you on the phone, or meeting you in person, or representing you at tournaments and corporate functions.
3. Use your mind and creativity. I’ve only been on Twitter since January, but it’s become a part of my working day. It’s a living ocean of creative, fascinating people. It brings new ideas to me every day. It’s opened up the world. Phil Bundy knows this too — there may be sponsors out there who will become convinced that he is the kind of player that can bring them exposure and profit. After all, he’s an MBA who’s worked in the golf industry for twenty years. And he’s also got the playing chops as a competitor. A lot of people talk about digital PR — he’s living it and working it now.

But aside from the whole social media aspect — and I think that’s a major innovation in his branding that Twitter should consider — there’s the quality of person that he is.

Whatever you can do, or think you can, do it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.

— Goethe

The inspiration for Phil’s “quest” (and I like that he terms it that way. Very Man of LaMancha ) is his little son, Charlie. How can you tell a child he can dream and become anything if you yourself have not experienced having a dream and pursuing it?

Some may feel that being 43 and trying to compete on a national level may be futile: It’s just too late.

Some may ask, why give up a successful career in sports marketing for such risk of failure and no guaranteed paycheck?

Some may scoff at someone who chooses to launch into a sport that is suffering. Sponsors are pulling out. The whole Tour centers on Tiger Woods.

• I think Phil Bundy has more substance than a lot of young players. He’s seasoned. He’s mature. He’s already had more experiences to learn from, to draw from, to gain balance. He’s tested himself in competition. He’s calculated his odds.

• He’s a person who believes in giving back. He’s demonstrated that in his work with junior golfers, and in the work he’s doing for his corporate partners.

The Tour life is unlikely to derail this man. He’s got his head on straight. He’s a thinking golfer — but one who knows not to let too much thinking paralyze his flow on the course. He uses words like “reflection” “perspective” and “feedback” in the tools he’s got in his game.

He’s a player that would be awesome in the press tent — eloquent, approachable and a hell of a story.

Most of all, maybe the magic and power in his quest is in inspiring his son — and thousands of others — to be bold and take a step toward whatever dream they have.

After all, Twitter creators — isn’t that what you did in the first place?

What do you think? Should Twitter become a sponsor for Phil on the PGA Tour?