A Grinder of the Highest Order

While watching the drama unfold Sunday I looked down to discover my cynical nature was poking out from under the kilt I wear for Major and near-Major Sundays.

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Paul Goydos was battling to keep it together on the last few holes of the Players for what would have become one of the biggest life-changing events in golf...no in all of sports.

Along with the huge winner's paycheck, although 2nd is pretty stout in Ponte Vedra, this guy would have cruised to the Senior Tour in style...rich, happy, and exempt. But it wasn't to be.

The disappointment of this loss must have been soul-crushing yet this journeyman golf pro acted as if the better man won...as it should have been.

I was sitting there thinking he was covering up, faking it. No one could be that self-deprecating, that modest to act as if he was just happy to be there.

Then I read Bob Verdi's column and discovered I had completely missed the plot. This golfer IS all of these things and should be emulated...proves you're never too old for a good life lesson, and I got one.

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I'm a new fan Paul, keep grinding.

The Wizard of Wilshire

Sometimes the Best In Golf is a person, and this week is just such a case.

I have a friend more valuable to me than my Ping Zing who sells ad space with me out in LA, and no that's not Lower Alabama for my Southern readers.

His name is Bruce Taylor and although he's a good Cleveland kid, he's been out with the palm trees so long that his idea of a great meal is a tofu burger hold the sprouts, and a nice cold Life Water, whatever that is.

There are legends in our business and Brucie is one of 'em. He's sold more gatefolds and waved more bleed charges than you've had hot showers...Wait, I'm having a vision...I can see him now in the men's grill at Wilshire Cee Cee in about 20 years or so.

He'll be over at his regular corner table holding court, a la Hogan at Shady Oaks, having a little nap now and again. But it will be different, really different.


Unlike The Hawk, Brucie won't be on his 3rd double Dewers and 6th Chesterfield before a rare New York strip, baked loaded, wrapped up with a big piece of cherry pie.

No, he'll be swillin' a Sobe', Mango Rush would be my guess, telling tales of the day. Just then a young web-based media salesman will come in, look over, and say to his host "Is that Bruce Taylor? My Dad used to compete against him in the 80's and 90's, said he was the toughest strikeout in the game."

"That's him alright", says the host, "go over and talk to him...he'll probably snap your head off when you wake him up and if he screams 'what, can't you read a rate card??!!!' or 'I' ve got your multi-platform, integrated solution right here' don't let it bother you...he's harmless enough."

"And make sure and ask him to tell you about how he won the '07 Sr. Club Championship...every version includes an extra birdie or two but he loves to tell the story of how today's player could never contend with the antiquated equipment he used like the 500 cc driver (custom fit of course), only four hybrids, and a 68 degree lob wedge...no sir."

He'll tell you how he brought The Valley to it's knees but will be more proud of his family and the HR his kid hit in the 8th.

Best In Golf? Oh Yeah.

Things I Miss In Golf Part II

I miss the mornings in the summer when my dad would wake me up at O-dark-thirty to take me to the golf course. He was an Old Pro and the golf coach at Cornell University as many know, and his day started the same for as long as I can remember.

Wake up at 5:30 and be in the shop by 6. Do your paperwork, and it was really paper then...leave the shop at roughly 8:00 for downtown to deposit yesterdays receipts..then the payoff.

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Breakfast at The Home Dairy in Ithaca, New York consisted of a hard roll, made on the premises of course, and coffee for him...a cinnamon roll (unbranded) and the coldest whole milk in the land for me.

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He walked so fast I had to run to keep up.

The Golf Ball Whisperer

On occasion it is the goal of Best In Golf to expose you to the little things in the game that make us chuckle now and again.

Today I would like to introduce you to someone you already know, The Golf Ball Whisperer.

Do you talk to your golf ball? Of course. Wasn't it Trevino who said, and I paraphrase, "I hit a fade 'cuz it will listen, a hook won't listen"?


My friend Andy Groves is one of the greats. He helps me whenever I need an important question answered. How do you put up a ceiling fan? How do you replace the prop on your trolling motor? What in the world is a coterring pin anyway? How do you smoke a Boston Butt just right until it gives up and is ready to eat? You know real man stuff like that.

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I often tell people he's the perfect pal because he's not afraid of anything...and I'm afraid of everything.

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But what he is also is the undisputed heavyweight champion at guiding the g-ball verbally whether it be in flight or rolling.

He will, on a regular basis, tell the ball to "get up, get down, get left, get right, ZZZZZZT!!! (not really sure about this one), bite, hit somethin', jump and have a wreck!!!" Then as the putt slips by he'll look up at you and say "Dang I thought I made that, didn't you?"

Impressive I know, but he just might employ all these directions on the same shot!

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Now that's hang time bubba.

The Workover

Friends I've been around the old game longer than the back nine at Firestone and seen a lot of things, both impressive and repulsive.

But just the other evening I witnessed an unrivaled "free-stuff" flogging of the most embarrassing kind...now I have seen The Workover before but this event was like Palmer driving the first green at Cherry Hills...stunning in it's boldness.

An executive at a major golf apparel company was enjoying a crisp clear evening on the back porch of my favorite golf club recently. He was there enjoying a cigar with friends after a long day on the golf course.

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Then it began. You see whenever a chap with the ability to send a free shirt or two is in the house the scene turns to hunter and prey...seen it 100 times...The Workover was in full swing.

A foursome of ordinary guys from the Midwest were there also. When they saw what was happening, that is the executive taking down an address so he could be relieved of some of his finest product (no charge of course), the boys from The Land of All Things Frozen sprung into action...nothing was going to stand between them and a gratis 3-button pique' or two...nothing.

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So the leader of the hunting party actually says "You know I bought three of your shirts from my pro back in Bloomington (or wherever) and the buttons popped off" Huh?

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Now I've owned a few golf shirts in my day (as you have) and aside from the handmedown Izods my Mom had washed 456 times in my youth, I've never had a button pop off a golf shirt...have you?

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But of course it worked. The nice executive remarked this was of course unacceptable and he would be happy to send the victim of this most horrible of apparel malfunctions a package of replacements upon his return to the office.

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Mission Accomplished!

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Then in parting he said "Rick write down your address and I'll send you some shirts" to which I replied, "I buy your shirts from my pro and as soon as a button pops off I'll call you"

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Man O Man.