Changing Your Grip

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?

It was sad news to hear this week that the venerable Atlanta Classic — formerly held at Atlanta Country Club — has joined the rosterof PGA Tour tournaments that are ending.  Gone.

Aside from the loss of yet another big tournament with a wonderful history, the loss of god knows how much money in charitable contributions and income to the economy of Atlanta in hotels, restaurants, every kind of rental company from cars to port-o-potties — okay, that’s a whole other story — . I have fond memories of that tournament as the birthpace of the concept of Very Sudden Death Golf.

It amounted to about four hours of creativity and insanity at the hands of Jeff Allen.

…. Geez, you know — I’m not sure if I have even seen Jeff since that tournament. And it’s been years now.  Jeff still lives in Atlanta and is still a friend of TJ’s and his second wife… But anyway!

He was one of the funniest guys I ever knew.  Definitely the most fun guy to walk the course with as I followed TJ.  I was at the Atlanta Classic on one of my few trips alone to be with TJ without the boys.

I made the most of my time with TJ on those trips. I once figured out that, adding up the times when we traveled together, times when TJ came home for the odd week or two, and the eight weeks he spent at home after the Tour year ended (it used to end in those days)– we actually spent about nine months apart over the average year.

So to be out on the Tour was quality time, and I was a wife that followed every day. Some wives spent their time by the pool or shopping; some stayed in the clubhouse out of the elements; some of us walked every step of the way.

I liked walking, following TJ. I had little idea what was really happening out there on the course. I mean, I knew when TJ would hit a bad shot — that was obvious. While everyone else followed the ball, I would watch his face.  And he was an emotional player. Some of his reactions were legendary — and not in a good way.

But for the most part, he was magnetic. 

Having a good friend along to follow — especially one like Jeff, who could make TJ laugh and ease some tension if necessary — was always a bonus.

Maybe it was the heat and the sun in Hotlanta, or whatever was happening with TJ on the course — or maybe it was just two warped imaginations melding together as we manuevered through the gallery, but we started to make up a new kind of golf game as we wound our way along the holes.

People are always talking about how boring golf is to watch. Not us, of course — when your livelihood depends on each shot, it’s very engrossing — but people who don’t know what they’re talking about.

So, we figured — what if golf was really dangerous? What if there were real boobytraps and bunkers with more than sand in them? What if the water hazards contained real hazards? If reaching into the cup after a putt might be the last move you made? What if a sudden death play off meant really sudden death?

The last man standing would win the check. Would that make golf exciting for the masses?

You know that saying Funny at the time?

OK, you had to be there. I don’t know what was in the Coke at the concession stands, but Jeff and I were staggering around in our own laughter, trying to keep decorum and quiet. TJ looked jealous from the ropes — jealous because he had to focus on his game, which may or may not have been going well at the time. (I believe he made the cut.)

Then we reached the hole bordered by a small hill on one side. Sitting on the hill was a woman in full sundress- and-heels regalia. You know — not exactly golf course attire. And eyes were sliding her way from the green.

TJ gave Jeff and me the high-sign. He came over to the ropes while waiting for the other player to line up his putt and whispered.

Miss Sundress had positioned herself on the hill to be in the line of sight so that the players could see she wasn’t wearing undies.

Ah yes — The Atlanta Classic. You will always remain in my memory.

Welcome to the new corporate hospitality tent at your next PGA Tour event.

Well, maybe that image is a bit premature. But today brought two very big pieces of news on golf — Tour golf, that is. And one of the pieces could lead to some drastic changes on the tournament event landscape.

The other piece of news is being treated like the Second Coming, the savior of golf as we know it.

If you judge by what’s been lighting up Twitter today, the Big News is:

• Tiger is back! Golf is saved.

Tiger (yes, he’s a one-word name now, like “Jack” and “Arnie” and “Batman”) has returned to the Tour to play, after 8 months off recuperating from ACL knee surgery. Oh – and he and his wife Elin had another baby, a son named Charlie. Tiger has a beautiful little family. He got to spend time with his daughter, Sam. These are the stories — the major events of his life — that fell aside once he committed to playing this week in the Accenture Match Play Championship.

But:

Congress blasts banks for their sponsorship activities with the PGA Tour. Banks feel the heat in view of the bailout money they’ve received.

Or as one blog put it: Golf Is Screwed.

Oh my. Ouch.

These two items and their subsequent media storm in the golf world — and beyond — stirred a flurry of Tweets and posts on news sites… and some unusually strong reaction in me.

After all, the Tour no longer pays my bills. My life there ended a long time ago. But as I said in my inaugural post — once a Tour Wife, always a Tour Wife.

Headline: Wells Fargo Cutting Costs at Golf Event Amid Political Pressure

Morgan Stanley pulls participation. Northern Trust takes a tongue-lashing by Congress. Sponsorships of Tour events are falling off all over the place.

Words like ”wasteful” and “frivilous” are being used by politicians regarding the perks and feebies banks and corporations typically use for their clients at Tour events. The implication is: Golf itself is frivilous and wasteful – We’re in a boatload of trouble here, people! Ditch the fun!

First of all — it says a lot that golf tournaments are even a subject in politics. Golf has always been very popular with politicians. I’ll be willing to bet that many of them have received those very perks and pleasures of tournament golf.

But this isn’t a political rant. I know it isn’t as simple as that.

I just want to point out that the sponsors of Tour events help to contribute to the economy of the locales where the they are held. And the PGA Tour and their sponsors have always been great contributors to charities

.

I’ve been on the courses and in the corporate tents. Business takes place there. Relationships are developed.  

This is just a show of support for the PGA Tour, and the sponsors. Because if you didn’t have those sponsors, there would be no Tour. And if there wasn’t a Tour, you wouldn’t have statements like these:

“I can start watching golf again. Tiger’s back.”   “I don’t care about golf unless Tiger’s playing.”   “Golf sucks without Tiger.” 

And so on.

I realize that Tiger has brought golf to a whole new generation of fans and inspired new players. The sport (which I don’t play, I repeat — but which has had a powerful impact in my life) needs a blazing star like him.

But I can’t help feeling a bit put off by fans who discount everything and everyone in golf except for Tiger.

If you ONLY care about golf if Tiger is playing, and think it sucks otherwise — you are a fan of a celebrity. Not a golf fan. 

It strikes me as disrespectful and rude to discount all the other players on Tour. To say they’re not worth following. That golf doesn’t exist unless Tiger is in it.

So — a shout out to all the players. I know how hard it is to do what you do. I know the talent it takes. The work. The focus and drive. The patience you must have with jerk “fans” who know little about the game and are all about the fame.

And a shout out to the Tour and its sponsors, for providing a place for the top 1% of guys who have the goods to play at that level.

What do you think? Would the Tour exist without Tiger? Is golf screwed? Will  it survive?

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away (Tampa, Florida),  they held the very first mini-tour.

This was a novel idea at the time: Give guys who were pros, but who had not gotten their Tour cards yet, a chance to play and hone their competitive edges — and earn paychecks.

We were at the very beginning — fresh out of college. The days of playing the college NCAA conferences — which amounted to university-sanctioned “tours” for their golf teams — were over. TJ had turned pro. We were living with my parents, and had our first son, Matt.  Matt was two.

Phil Bundy wrote a recent post on his blog about seeking sponsorship to play the Tour.  We were lucky to have a sponsor back then — the first of three different, consecutive sponsors over ten years.

TJ’s first sponsor — God bless him and keep him, he’s passed away young — was a very young entrepreneur and a young gun at Oak Hill CC then. Somehow, we ended up packing up and hitting the road to Lutz, Florida for the mini-tour. The guys would rotate playing four courses in the area, so there was no traveling involved.

It was the first time we sailed forth from the safety net of my family into the unknown, into a real golf life.

The mini-tour sponsors set up the golfers and their families (actually there was only a handful of us who had a child then) in a  newly-constructed apartment complex near the University of South Florida golf course.  We had a two-bedroom with a balcony, and rented furniture. It was like a palace to us.

A couple of months into the mini-tour, I was pregnant again. 

We young moms set up at the pool apron with our peanut butter sandwiches and popsicles — the pool had no water yet — and watched our little ones play on their Little Wheels or on the surrounding lawn. The bulldozers and graders roared in the background, dusting the air in clay, making way for the rest of the complex. The guys would come out after playing in the week’s rounds, hot dogs would grill, and it was an elite neighborhood of fairly broke, club-wielding men obsessed with every shot and break of the day. We mini-tour people were the only ones who lived there.

We were always the married couple in the crowd, the ones with the home golfers came to, to be a little less lonely and have a home-cooked meal. TJ often brought someone home for dinner.

But this pregnancy was a tough one. While I had breezed along with Matt, no such luck with #2 — I was nauseous morning, noon and night. So when TJ called one day to say he was bringing fellow player Fritz home for dinner, I was not happy.

He’ll have to take what he gets, I said ungraciously.  Bottled spaghetti sauce. (In those days that was like watery tomato ketchup.)

No problem! TJ said.

That evening, TJ walked in with Fritz, who carried two grocery bags.

Fritz was a handsome Italian from Utica, New York.  He was anxiously awaiting the arrival of his girlfriend, Suzi, who was going to move in with him when she got to Tampa from Utica. Suzi ended up becoming one of my good friends there, though the other wives couldn’t get past her knockout looks and Victoria Secret body. They ignored her.

So Fritz unloaded his groceries and set me aside in my own kitchen.

I’m going to make my mom’s “quick sauce”, he said. That’s a sauce you can make right away. It  doesn’t have to cook all day long.

I felt embarrassed with the bottled sauce sitting in readiness on the counter. But mostly, I felt pukey.

Fritz proceeded to put together olive oil, a couple of cloves of sliced garlic, a can of plum tomatoes crushed up, lots of dried basil, some oregano, more parsley than oregano, salt and some water and — that was it.

The kitchen filled with the most delicious aroma.  My nausea vanished. Suddenly I was starving.

See? You don’t ever have to use that bottled crap again, Fritz said.

From that day on, I only made Fritz’s marinara sauce.  Time passed, TJ got his card, and we went on Tour with our first two boys. TJ won the last tournament of his rookie year (another whole story) and was invited to play in the Masters.

Then the Junior League of Augusta decided to do a cookbook. I got asked to submit a recipe. I chose Fritz’s marinara sauce — by this time it was hugely popular with our friends. To this day, I still think Tea Time at the Masters is one of the best cookbooks around. I’m in some great Tour Wife company in it.

If you want the recipe, look for it there. Or contact me and I’ll give it to you.

Fritz didn’t get his card. He went on to become a club pro. He and Suzi got married. And we lost touch.

I still make Fritz’s marinara. I could eat it twice a week and not get tired of it. When I do, I think of Fritz, of Tampa, of being a part of a little world you had to live in to understand.

 A place where you barely had any money, the future was up for grabs, and a baby –and a dream — were waiting to be born.

Pearls of Tour Wisdom

Changing Your Grip started out a few years ago as a presentation I gave. Eventually, I hope it will become a book.

But why wait for that? The lessons contained in the presentation are valuable at any time.

In addition to my career as a writer, I also speak to groups on subjects like fear and risk, humor in the workplace (I’ll have to resurrect that one and re-read it — it’s not that funny around my office lately), communications skills and more. I gave this presentation to a district meeting of businesswomen.

It’s about lessons I learned and the skills they gave me to succeed and lead. So you see, even if you don’t play golf — even if you hate golf or think it’s boring — and I would’ve, had I not been personally involved with it — there are simple parallels anyone can relate to.

[Don't worry -- what I have to say won't always be serious or teacher-ish. I have a lot of stories from our days with the Tour. All kinds. Stick around.]

For now, I thought I’d give you the first five “pearls” and a little  of what they’re about. Then later on, I’ll talk more about each one in detail.  I hope eventually we can get some players’ takes on their own “pearls.” The nice thing about a blog is that you can explore as many as you want.

Okay? Here goes:

1. Sometimes you need to change your grip.

Often, pros change something about their game — a fundamental, like their grip or swing — because what they’ve been using isn’t working for them. Even Tiger did it. After all, they’re out there to win. To make a living. To be champions.

Changing something within is a monumental task – but one worth doing. Because — what if you could get a different result? One you really wanted?

It’s about changing a belief, self-talk, a behavior, a reaction — whatever keeps you from “hitting the shot where you want it to go.”

2. Play It One Shot At a Time.

If there is any principle or maxim in life that has absolutely worked for me, it’s taking it one step at a time, one day at a time.

People used to ask me: “How do you do it ?” — living alone with our (then) four boys (we had 4 under 8 years old on Tour) for about 9 months of the year, coping with crises, the ups and downs of competitive golf… I used to say I lived one day at a time, sometimes one hour at a time. I was very young — still in my 20’s — but I instinctively knew that’s what worked.

How many of us are really living in the present? When a pro starts letting his previous shots get to him, he loses focus on what he needs to do next. As they say on the Tour, the wheels start to come off.

3. Is that shot possible from here?

Pros can find themselves facing terrible luck. Or maybe they hit terrible shots. Just a couple of weeks ago, during the FBR in Scottsdale, I saw Anthony Kim trying to figure out what to do when his golf ball stuck in a big cactus. 

The much loved Bob Rosburg followed guys on the course during ABC golf broadcasts. He was famous for his assessments of disaster when a shot was “challenging.”  He’s got no shot from here, he’d say. It’s impossible.

Smart players assess the situation: What are the obstacles to making a good shot? What’s blocking their path to get back on track? They have to practice every conceivable shot. Be ready for anything. That way, no shot is impossible.

This is about not letting other people decide what you can and can’t accomplish.

4. Know when to lay up. Know when to go for the stick.

Pros will often “lay up.” This technique enables them to better place their approach shots to the green in a more advantageous position — avoiding trouble, like a big water hazard or nasty sand bunkers. Or getting into perfect position to land nearest the pin with a good break, and have a chance to birdie.

Sometimes it’s smart to recognize trouble ahead, play it safe and stay away from danger. But sometimes, you have to take the risk and just go for it.  I loved the movie Tin Cup. It showed — among other things — that you have to have balance in anything.  Going for it every time is a recipe for… exhaustion and stupid moves.

5. Let It Happen.

Trying to force something often causes problems.

This is closely related to one shot at a time… Don’t project ahead. Don’t get caught up in the “what ifs.”  You will drain your energy from what you need to do in this moment and put all your thought and attention into something that hasn’t happened yet — and probably won’t, unless you subconsciously make it happen.

The greatest players are those who can see each shot as a new opportunity, and the last shot as a lesson.

So — there ’s a start.

If you have your own pearl — golf or otherwise, I’d love to hear it.  That’s one of the things I loved most about being around golf and Tour players — the rich wisdom that was often buried in humor and slang. It was never, ever boring.

And it works for all of us.

To be honest, there are a lot of players on the Tour today that I don’t know. In fact, most of them are in the age range of my four sons, who were once Tour Kids. If you read my first post, you’ll know that it’s been a long time since we were on the Tour. But some things never change.

I was watching a golf report yesterday, and there was a very nice piece about Paul Goydos I don’t know Paul Goydos, but now I respect him, I admire his story, and I will follow him on the Tour.

You see, listening to what Paul has been through – and why other players respect him — got me thinking about some of the reasons why guys don’t win on Tour — or win fewer times than you’d expect, given their talent… or don’t win ever.

So here are three reasons why a win might not come. All three have to do with a player’s real life. The one that most fans never see, or don’t imagine exists:

• Illness and tragedy at home.  Paul Goydos fits in this. He’s had about every tough time you can imagine. A couple of weeks ago, Paul’s ex-wife Wendy died. When they said “ex-wife” my ears perked up. I’m an ex-wife of a Tour player. There are A LOT of us.  Apparently, many people loved Wendy when she was on Tour and married to Paul. She was a great person, and mother to their two daughters. But something happened — illness, depression, the stresses of being married to someone who was struggling to achieve his dream (only Paul and Wendy could say) — and the wheels came off her life. Paul has also struggled with his own surgeries, pain, loss of his Tour card/regaining his card. He was a teacher in a tough school for a while… This family had plenty of tough times.  Now Paul is a single dad with two daughters — . We wish him many wins. But it may take a while.

When my former husband played the Tour, we had our third and fourth sons. Our son Graham was a preemie. TJ was playing in the old Colonial tournament in Texas and couldn’t make the connection home in time for the birth. He spent the night on the phone with the labor room nurses, getting updates. Then I was ill and had to stay in the hospital for a few days. Two weeks later, he was back at work on the Tour, and I was back in charge of the homestead alone, with a newborn and two little boys.

Our youngest son (the “Change your grip, Mom” inspiration for this blog) was also a preemie. This time, TJ was able to be home when it happened. But nine weeks later, we had the baby in the hospital for a liver biopsy. He was orange as a pumpkin with jaundice and no end in sight. The doctors feared biliary atresia — a fatal liver defect. For the five days our baby was in the hospital, we were terrified he would die before he was two. TJ stayed at home with our three boys while I spent my days with the baby in the hospital. And then we had a miracle — the baby was fine. We brought him home. He’s a strapping guy over six feet tall today.

• Great expectations.  No — not a player’s expectations of himself. The expectations of those around him. It may have started in his childhood. Having shown some talent at an early age, a parent may see “Tour” written in bold letters above the kid’s head. The path is set (maybe not so subtley) before him. Lessons, golf camp, junior tournaments… maybe a scholarship to college.  Like all sports, only about 1% of people ever reach that top level. But the hopes and expectations sit like a secret club inside the head. And then there are the expectations of other people — fans, armchair analysts, teachers and club members at home. The media. Pretty soon you have a whole gallery of mind chatter. It can make it hard to think out there on the course.

• Lonely in a crowd.   What a fantastic life it is to play the Tour. You are special. You are treated like royalty. People follow you and your every move — on and off the course. You can go places no one else is allowed to — at the course, special rooms at restaurants, whatever. You da man! And in a crowd of 50,000, you are alone. At the end of a day, the hotel room may still be empty. You talk to your family on the phone. So hanging out can look pretty tempting. The people who make themselves available may not be the most interested in your welfare.  They don’ t have to play and make that living. But it beats loneliness… And the next thing you know — you’re not winning.

I’m just saying.  You never know.

Whenever you’re tempted to judge someone, keep in mind there are a lot of factors in success. Or the lack of it.