Changing Your Grip

2010 at the Masters – photo by Ryan Ballangee @waggleroom

My second visit to the Masters was more of a brush-by.  But it became a family legend.

By 1978, TJ was climbing his way up the money list and showing an impressive flair for performing in majors. We were not yet out of our 20’s, but now comfortable with Tour Life and traveling.

[I just had to do a little figuring. I think I said in my last post that TJ played in the 1977 Masters. Wrong. ]

We were also one of the larger families on Tour. Matt was nearly 8 years old — now a veteran traveler, navigator and bell-captain. John was five and Graham — born prematurely the previous May — was 11 months old.  Each spring, when the Tour came back east, we’d go on the road with TJ for a month.

Augusta was our last stop that trip before the boys and I headed home back north.

TJ rented a house in Augusta for the Masters stay.  It was a pretty place on a nice side street and a welcome break from having to live in hotels with little boys. We traveled in a Lincoln Continental the size of the Titanic. The trunk was enormous – packed to the brim for a mobile household.

Greensboro always preceded the Masters. I just remember Greensboro, NC being cold – it was a relief to get to the warmth of Georgia in the springtime. And the house had a small yard with a brick patio.  Perfect for  boys cooped up too long and a baby in a stroller.

There wasn’t any point to the boys and me staying for the tournament. Back then, child care was dicey on the Tour — the Tour Wives of today have it so much more together — and I would have wanted to be at the course following TJ. The plan was that I would leave with the boys and one of our very good friends – Graham’s godfather — would arrive after me, then TJ’s parents, and his new sponsor &his wife, to stay at the rented house.

And the Masters — I knew — was no place for kids. TJ needed to concentrate, and the week’s guests from home would be in no mood for the restrictions of children’s bedtimes or meal schedules or playtime.

TJ loved having us with him on Tour.  It was always hard to say goodbye. I had the house and kids to keep me busy at home. He had his game, and the courses, and one hotel room after another — home was on the other end of the hotel telephone line.

There was no texting, no web cams, no cell phones to keep in constant touch. It was hard, and it was  lonely.

But it was the Masters!

He was there again! Another invitation, more status, more validation as a player. He was becoming a media darling. He was gaining the attention of the CBS television talent.  He’d been taken under the wing of one of golf’s great champions. He was excited.

He was nervous, of course.

And so was I. But not about the Masters.

Back in February, he’d taken a week off from the Tour — I think he skipped Hawaii — and came home. He hadn’t been home since a couple of days after Christmas. February in western New York State is bitter with cold and often knee-deep in snow.

It got hip-deep in snow that week with a storm. Normally I did the shoveling, but TJ took over. I fixed us lunch, nursed the baby and put Graham down for a nap.  The boys were at  school.

“A nap sounds good,” TJ said. “I’m freezing.”… Why didn’t I join him? he asked…

I knew that smile. And with the wind whipping snow against our bedroom window, I did.

Now it was April. Now I was 10 weeks pregnant. And I hadn’t told him yet.

Because — when was there ever a good time, I wondered? On the phone? No. During tournaments on the road? No.

The night before we left, I couldn’t keep it from him a minute longer. Yeah, I know it was Masters time.

Call it hormones, or sadness at another stretch of weeks apart, feeling alone –  I broke into tears and I told him.

To his great credit , he laughed with relief. He had no idea why I was crying. I might have said I was sick. (I was fairly nauseous.) I might have had bad news about  family — or whatever.  It could have been worse.

But the news was that we were going to have 4 children. The youngest would end up 15 months apart — Colin was a preemie too. TJ had his own entourage.  Next to Johnny Miller, TJ was the Big Daddy on Tour.

I left with the boys (all “4″ of them) feeling better. We managed traveling with three children, we could do it with four. Although probably less often.

The next night, Graham’s godfather sat with TJ watching TV in the rented house. He was concerned. TJ sat in silence, staring like a zombie. The friend thought it was anxiety about TJ’s parents and sponsor arriving — pressure.

It became a family legend – a story repeated many times by the godfather — of how, just before TJ’s second Masters, he went into shell shock over becoming the father of four.

The golf nuts just couldn’t believe I’d pick that time.

The Masters!! Of all tournaments!! — But that’s life.

I think TJ made the cut that year.

Yes, I’ve been to The Masters. Twice.

Let me qualify that. I’ve been to Augusta National and actually walked the course and followed TJ once. That was his first Masters in 1975.  The second time, in 1977, I was there the week before the Masters started. TJ was playing for the second time — but I left just before the start.

If you read my post Why I Missed Hazeltine, you’ll know that my experiences of majors were sometimes wholly off the course itself.

So you should know I don’t write about the play-by-play. I’m all about the life beyond and around the actual Tour event. But still, I have plenty of memories of the Masters experience. No matter what, if you’ve been there, you never forget it for a lot of reasons. Here are mine:

The Masters 1975. A Cinderella Story.

The invitation actually comes (came? maybe they changed it) as an actual engraved invitation. Like a wedding invitation. I knew when TJ received his in the mail that I would have it framed for him to hang on our wall. He earned it by winning the very last tournament of 1974, his rookie year — The Texas Open in San Antonio. He ate the course up to win and save his Tour Card.

Of course, with an event like that, a small entourage from home went down to Augusta to see him compete. Among them were his parents, his first sponsor Billy, and two “regulars” of TJ’s Oak Hill pals, Buzzy and Hozzy. And me, of course. There may have been a few more guys from Rochester who had tickets.

As a rabbit’s wife, I was still feeling on the outside of the golf insiders. So when I rode down the tree-lined avenue of Augusta National, I didn’t get a chill. In fact, I felt cynical.

People were practically prostrate with worship at this old-time southern golf club.

I remember a veranda with white-coated waiters serving drinks. I remember TJ being assigned a weathered veteran black caddy. I remember everyone talking in much quieter, more polite voices than they did at other Tour events and clubhouses.

The course was pretty. I liked the azaleas and magnolias and rhododendrons. The fairy-like dogwoods peeking out of pine stands. The greens surrounded by these flowers, looking like a venue for a bridal shower.

But the You-should-be-so-grateful-to-be-here insinuations floated around me like a mist, and I, unsure, not out of my 20’s, non-golfer, member of a women’s consciousness raising group (It  was the ’70’s after all), female persona-non-grata that I was –  I felt false if I put on that I was delirious with the idea that I was privledged to be there.

I was there to support my husband — to share in his happiness at achieving a pinnacle in any golfer’s life.

I remember walking the course during his practice round. I got blisters from the free golf shoes I got from Foot Joy. Luckily, I brought a paperback. While we were waiting in between shots, I read. This scandalized my MIL. (See, again, the Hazeltine post).

So I went back to the clubhouse. I think I was only allowed inside to use the ladies room. Male bastion and all that. As I came on the screened door, it flew open and the man coming out and I bashed into each other. This is how I met Arnold Palmer.

I remember Arnie grabbing me by both arms and apologizing. Are you okay!? — I remember how fit and strong he was. His smile. That he looked me in the eyes, didn’t brush by with a cursory “sorry.”

Ha! That certainly impressed  the MIL and everyone else we were with.

I also remember  a riotous dinner with TJ, Billy, Hozzy, Buzzy and I at some very well-known local resaturant, where half the tournament went to eat. It was the first time I felt accepted into the “guys” circle. The first of many, many dinners on Tour where I was the only female at the table and — for better or worse — gained entrance into the world of men.

I don’t remember if TJ made the cut that year. I don’t think so. I think we stayed for Saturday and Sunday and followed a couple of player friends. I don’t remember which ones.

I don’t remember who won that year.  Oh. Gary Player. (I looked it up.)

The 1977 Masters was unforgettable for me — and for TJ — however.  Even if I didn’t get to the course.

But that’s for Part II. Stay tuned.

It may seem as if I abandoned this blog. If you thought that, I don’t blame you. But I haven’t. I’ve just been “going through.”

One of my favorite sayings — a mantra for me — came from the incredibly awful ’80’s movie Flash Gordon. The King of the Tree People (played by Timothy Dalton) has Flash in this gnarly forest and Flash has to find his way out.

“Sometimes,” Dalton says,  “The only way out is through.”

We were living in Florida at the time. TJ had quit playing and was working for the Tour. I was deep into trying to control what I could not control. Aside from having a crush on Dalton, which is why I was paying attention to the scene, this line just stood out to me. Little did I know then how that line would impact me a few years later.

Life fell apart after we moved back north. I liken it to a nuclear explosion. Everything changed for us — career-wise, financially, and in our marriage. I fell into a black hole, but fortunately I fell in the right place.

I was wrapped in support and love. I found some of the best friends I’ve had in my life. And part of what I learned (which was massive and life-changing) was that there is no way around the times that are bad. No way to avoid those emotions and fears that I’d been stuffing pretty much my entire life.

The only way out is through.

To go through all of it. Step by step. Day by day. Sometimes, minute by minute. If you’re in a tunnel, you must go through it to get out into the light again.

That’s what I did.

About three years later, I won a state-wide  speech and professional development competition for businesswomen. The speech was about an obstacle for women in the workplace. I chose my number one obstacle – fear. And I talked about risk as my ally.  I was asked to give that speech to other women’s groups all around New York State.

By then I knew that not only must you go through — you may also have to “take the leap and build your wings on the way down.”

Sometimes I’ve found myself on a figurative cliff. I have to make the choice to either be pushed off or jump.

I’m back on the cliff again. I feel pushed. The economy and my own doubts about what I should do next are forcing me in a new direction.

I have no idea what to do. If I have to be on a cliff, I’d much rather be on the cliffside of Santorini Island in Greece, sitting on a terrace overlooking the Aegean. But instead I’m where I am, and the “view” isn’t pretty.

While I’ve been away from this blog, Tiger’s life blew up. And he too will only find his way out by “going through.” No one is immune.

So I will keep telling myself to keep going. Go through the scary dark forest of the Tree King. Feel the fear and keep going despite it. I can survive. I’ve done it before.

If you want to listen in and it helps you, we can make it out together.

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.