What Not To Tell a Player At the Masters
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.
