Daily Log From The City Championship: Final Round

Watching in mock disgust as my tee shot on the 196-yard, par-3 second hole at Leslie Park Golf Course hits a bank by the green and bounds into a sand trap. (photo by Leisa Thompson)

8:00 a.m. - Hey, whaddaya know, I actually slept in for a change. Since I played halfway decent the first two days of the tournament (75-73  148,  good enough for fourth place going into Sunday's final round) I'll be teeing off in the second to last threesome of the day at 2:30 p.m.

This is cool on two fronts. The first being the fact I could sleep in, which I did, and the second being the fact I could watch the entire final round of the British Open before I had to play myself.

And what a British Open. Tom Watson coming oh so close to pulling it off at the age of 59. Even my kids were into it. But alas, it wasn't to be. My adrenaline was pumping and my heart was racing and I was so nervous watching him come down the stretch. I can only say this wasn't the best way to prepare for a round of golf. 

When I got to the course I was already emotionally drained and I had yet to hit a shot. I also had skipped a lot of other things I normally do before playing a round of tournament golf. Things like cleaning my clubs, or for that matter, cleaning myself.

A good two days growth of beard stayed in place and I'm pretty sure I just skipped deodorant all together. But really, it's not like I'm Ian Poulter. I just came to play golf, not make a fashion statement.

Now for the best part. The actual account of what it's like to be in contention while playing a final round in a tournament.

First, let it be known that I have won golf tournaments before. In fact, three of them. The only problem is they were all in the same year and that year was 1982. Two of them were high school tournaments which were one day affairs, the other was the Huron City Championship, a match play tournament I won as a 17-year old before I knew what pressure was.

For some reason, as you age, the pressure feels even greater if you ever find yourself sniffing a trophy. They say it gets easier the more times you find yourself in that position. Certainly Mike Weir, who shot a final round 80 in the 1999 PGA at Medinah after entering the day as a co-leader,  can attest when he came back to win the Masters a few years later.

But I haven't found that comfort level yet. It took me years to break 70, but when I finally did it, it didn't seem like that big of a deal and I've done it every year since. But for some reason, breaking into the top three is a lot harder. 

The swings you put on the ball can be mighty ugly when you're nervous and fatigued. A few years ago, after 12 holes at or around par in the final round, I completely lost all my touch around the greens. Chips, putts, pitch shots - all a mystery. I played the final six holes way over par and shot 79. It was as if I had an out of body experience.

The next day; a normal Monday, I returned to Leslie Park and shot 71; amazed at how natural it felt to swing a golf club or go for a par-5 in two without thought of potential horrible outcomes.

It's the weirdest phenomena, struggling with fatigue and feel and fear. I mean really, what's there to be afraid of? It's not like we're playing for money or anything. Still, the pressure is there, as is the fear of chopping the hell out of the course and posting a score in the 90's (no offense to anyone who shoots in the 90's).

You can tell yourself it doesn't matter. You can tell yourself to just relax and play golf. You can tell yourself to just hit the clubs you normally hit and play the way you normally play, but the truth is, it's different.

First of all, if you're playing for fun and you miss a putt, chances are you'll rake it back and try it again, and maybe again and again, until you make it. Even though this doesn't seem like a big deal, the whole time you're getting a feel for the greens and you're grooving your stroke and your confidence. If you blow a three-footer in the tournament, it's just pick it up and move on with your tattered confidence in tow.

With all that in mind, and with Tom Watson's heartbreaking loss looming large, I still found myself rather calm as I stepped to the first tee for the final round. Once again, my playing partners Alex Wunderlich, a friendly 16-year-old Huron High School student, and Zach McCurley, another affable youngster, were younger than I was combined.

It's weird playing with a couple kids who are young enough to be your kids. Both boys bombed their tee shots well past mine, yet, at the turn, the old man of the group was even par. Of course, like most days in the city tournament, the axe was bound to fall, and it did. This time it was the tenth hole where I decided to dig myself a three-shot hole to try and recover. A horrible drive followed by an ill-placed layup, followed by a pushed third shot into the hazard and the next thing you know - TRIPLE!

Well, I'd been there before, but this time the putter couldn't save me. I did rebound fairly well with some good saves and a tee shot on the par-3, 12th that actually hit the side of the cup on the fly creating a bit of damage to the hole, but nothing else. By the time my near hole in one (missed it by that much) came to rest, I was 18-feet from the cup. I did birdie the 16th, but for the second time in three days I put a shot against the fence on the 18th and had to take an unplayable. Still, I had my chance to salvage par after knocking my approach shot to 15-feet after my penalty drop. I missed and had to settle for a round of 76. 

By day's end I wound up in fifth place. Not bad for an old dude. Once again there will be no trophy this year, but that only means I'll be back again next year marking time until I either finish in the top three and quit, or turn 50 and take my game to the senior championship.

In the end, this year may have been my most memorable city tournament ever. Sure, the 5th place finish was nice, but this week was so much more than a top-5 finish. I'll always remember Tom Watson's run at Turnberry, as well as my two triple bogeys, my kid puking the morning of the second round making a WD a real possibility, my wife's successful year at art fair, my last week as a photographer at The Ann Arbor News and, of course, the amazing disappearing ball mark fiasco.

A special thanks to tournament director Andrew Walton and course director Doug Kelly for making this year's course setup one of the best. Kudos also to all the course volunteers and the many special folks who work at Leslie Park. Folks like Mike, Logan, Andrew, Joe, Lance, Scott, Terry and everyone else. You guys are the best and it's no accident that Leslie Park was recently named the best municipal course in the state of Michigan.

Congrats also to Matt Paterini, winner of this year's tournament after a long (at least six holes) playoff with Aaron Peterson.

Later this week I will return to Leslie Park to play for fun. And I'll probably shoot a 75 or a 76 and I'll get in my car and drive home and never think another thought about the round. But tonight I'll think of the two triple bogeys that kept me from a third place trophy. But those 15 strokes on two holes are also the reason I'll be back again next year! 

Daily Log from the Ann Arbor City Championship- Day 2

The normally easy par-5 fourth hole at Leslie Park, has been anything but for me the first two days of the city championship. I've taken 14 blows on this hole so far, including a beautiful, triple bogey 8 today. (photo by Lon Horwedel)

6:50 a.m. - Well, I have to admit, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind to start my day. Instead of sleeping in, like I had planned, I found myself stirred awake by the elegant sound of my 9-year-old son barfing in the bathroom.

"Geez, that's all I need." I thought as I rushed in to see if he was okay. "At least he made it to the bathroom instead of throwing up on his bed."  Sure enough, the poor guy was in the bathroom, but he wasn't doubled over the toilet like I expected, he was sitting on it instead. He decided to take care of his bottom half, but in doing so he puked all over the floor at his feet.

My wife cleaned up his vomit as I went to the basement to get a bucket for future upheavals. 

"I guess I'll withdraw from the tournament." I told my wife, who was getting ready for her fourth and final day as one of the selected artists in the Original Ann Arbor Street Art Fair.

"No, don't do that." She said. "My sister can come over and stay with him while you go play."

With that settled, now all I had to do was deal with the anxiety that's inevitably instilled anytime vomit is involved.

Soon you're thinking, "Do I feel warm?  Am I a little nauseous too?" I mean I've thrown up on myself many times while coming down the stretch in contention at the city tournament - I  just had never done it literally. 

Just to be safe I looked in the mirror to see if I was as pale as my poor kid.

"Holy crap!" I said out loud as I glanced in the mirror.

"What's wrong now?" My wife asked.

"Look at me, I look like a frickin' match stick." I said.

Having teed off at 8:10 the previous morning, I sort of forgot to lather up the old noggin with sunscreen. Since it was so cool, it never dawned on me I might be getting a healthy, or, as it turns out, unhealthy dose of UV. The top of my balding pate was fine - white, smooth, and pure as a baby's bottom. But my neck and face were as red as Chief Wahoo, the much maligned mascot of my beloved Cleveland Indians.

"Wow, you do look like a match stick." My wife said.

"Great, not only am I worried about getting sick," I said, "but now I look like an idiot to boot!"

My wife stared at me, puzzled, as if to say "what's the difference, you are an idiot."

Now she's long gone at art fair, it's a little after 10, still more than three hours until I tee off. My son is watching Sponge Bob, looking much better than he did three hours ago. He said he thinks he got sick from his constant diet of free doughnuts the day before in the art fair's hospitality booth. I hope he's right.

Now it's off to clean my clubs, watch a little bit of the British Open and start my pre-round checklist for Day 2.

1) Clean clubs - check

2) Eat lunch - check

3) Go to the bathroom - check

4) Relax and take positive swing thoughts to the course - ?????

Well, two out of three ain't bad.

1 p.m. - Julie's sister arrives and I get ready to head for the course. My son has remained dry since his morning spewage. He's been watching a Sponge Bob marathon for nearly three hours with little sign of any further illness. This gives me a little peace of mind knowing I won't be getting sick myself, at least not from any virus.

1:20 p.m. - I arrive at the course after watching Tom Watson most of the morning still leading a field of youngsters at the British Open - it gives me inspiration. The wind is howling, the rain is blowing sideways, it's cold, and yet some old guy is up on the leaderboard. Oh, and the British Open was pretty cool too! 

What, you thought I was talking about Turnberry and Tom Watson? No, I meant Leslie Park and me, a 44-year-old hack trying to fight my way through a bunch of 20-somethings in weather much like Scotland. (I think this global warming thing is beginning to lose its luster).

By day's end I would card a 73, good enough to put me in a tie for third, four shots off the lead. But this wasn't your run of the mill 73, this one had a few adventures along the way. Nothing like the disappearing ball mark trick from day one, but interesting nonetheless.

For example, how many rounds of 73 include a snowman? Mine did. After making a birdie on the first hole and parring the next two, I was bound and determined to make amends of the mess I'd made on the par-5 fourth hole the day before (a bogey that included a tee shot into a tree, a punch shot into heather, a topped hybrid that traveled all of 20-feet back into the heather, a fat 6-iron and then a 7-iron to a foot for a tap-in bogey).

This time I clocked a drive up the right side of the fairway leaving me 230 yards to the green. From there I clocked a 3-wood about 15-yards short of the green in the left rough. With the pin tucked left behind a greenside bunker, I did the only thing anyone would do, I chunked a sand wedge into the bunker. So as not to repeat that horrid mistake, I promptly bladed my next shot out of the bunker and into a stand of pine trees well behind the green. One failed punch shot later and I was at the base of one of the pines where I would chunk yet another chip just short of the green. At this point steam was rolling off my collar, but I collected myself, chipped down a steep slope to about 4 feet and sank the putt for an 8.

As 8's go, this one was a beauty seeing how I'd done all my damage, a mere spitting distance from the green. Funny thing was, I was happy I hadn't made a 9. If there's one thing worse than a snowman, it's a one-legged snowman. Plus I'd made a pretty tricky, downhill left to righter to save that 8, so I actually felt pretty good about getting up and down for my triple.

After that, things kind of fell into place. A decent shot here, a good save there, a couple more birdies and only one more bogey. Voila! 73.

Tomorrow will be the tell-tale day. After two long days of walking, will I have enough stamina to stay in contention? Can I get my head out of my butt and just play golf? Will I be heaving my dinner in the toilet sometime in the middle of the night thanks to my son?

All these questions and more will be answered come tomorrow night.

Stay tuned...

 

Daily Log from the Ann Arbor City Championship

Hitting to the par-4, 14th hole on a scorching hot Sunday in 2005.

I've been playing in the Ann Arbor City Golf Championship nearly as long as I've been in Ann Arbor. Some years have been good - some not so good. This year I'm going to chronicle what it's like to play in this popular event from inside the ropes (you know, assuming they had ropes) from a player's perspective.

Day 1: Friday morning arrives. Before I left home I went through my pre-round checklist.

1) Eat breakfast - check

2) Go to the bathroom - check

3) Take vitamin, aspirin, and roughly half a bottle of ibuprofen - check

4) Be confident and take good swing thoughts to the course - ????

Well, three out of four ain't bad.

Oddly, I think new course director Doug Kelly has a soft spot for us over-40 golfers because my tee time is a somewhat palatable 8:10 a.m. In year's past I never teed off any later than 7:30 on the first day. This always caused much anxiety the night before; not because I was nervous about playing...I was nervous about not playing - as in oversleeping and being DQ'd for missing my tee time. (Hey this tourney costs $150, might as well get your money's worth even if you play like $#@t).

The weather was strangely palatable as well for mid-July. Gone was the normal blistering heat that accompanies the three-day tournament. In its place were temperatures in the low to mid- 60's with strong winds out of the northwest. In fact, I wore long pants for only the second time in the 13-years I've been playing in the tournament.

Gone too, seemed to be the first round jitters that usually had me swinging like a 20-handicapper. This year I arrived at the course a mere 15 minutes before my tee time to replicate my normal routine. No range time (why waste the swings?) very little putting on the putting green (what good would that do?) and just a little bit of stretching (my swing's too long anyhow).

Instead I just shook hands with my playing partners Jerry Wood and Yuan Song, stepped up to the 10th hole tee box (we started on the back nine today) and calmly striped a drive down the middle of the fairway. One shot down, a crap-load to go, but at least the first one was good.

So as not to put my second shot in the drink, I safely yanked my 144-yard approach roughly a mile left of the green. From there I chopped the ball on the green (well prepared to take my usual starting round bogey) when low and behold, I dropped an 18-footer for par.

"What the hell is going on here?" I think to myself.  "First I'm not nervous, and now I actually make a putt longer than a foot on a Leslie Park green."

On No. 11, I did what I normally do, eliminate the temptation to go for the long par-5 in two shots by putting my drive in the woods. From there I punched out, then hit a wedge to about 12 feet for birdie. That's when things got really interesting. After tapping down my ball mark with my putter, I walked to the far edge of the green to wait for Jerry and Yuan to hit their approach putts. When it was my turn to putt, I walked back to where I thought my ball was and found nothing.

"Where the hell is my mark?" I ask.

Jerry couldn't find it. Yuan couldn't find it. I couldn't find it.

I had marked the ball with a foreign coin I found on the floor at my bank a few days ago. I knew I couldn't spend it, so I thought it would make a cool ball marker. But now it was gone!

Soon I was doing 360's looking for the damn ruble, or mark, or peso, or whatever it was. I wasn't panicked, just puzzled. Finally I found the coin at the far edge of the green where I had been standing. Apparently it had stuck to the bottom of my putter when I tapped it down. I've been playing golf for 31-years, but this was the first time I'd ever had a coin stick to the bottom of my putter.

"Now what?"

Jerry, Yuan, and I, decided we'd better call over a rules official. I actually knew where my ball had been because it had come to rest right next to the recently fixed ball mark from the approach shot. But my coin was now 40-feet away.

Amazingly, the rules of golf have a rule that actually addressed my exact situation. I was allowed to replace my mark with no penalty, then proceed. Despite all the hoopla, I drained the putt for birdie.

For the rest of the round I felt like Paul McCartney - a little here, there and everywhere, but somehow I managed to scrape out a 75 - good enough to be tied for fourth going into round #2.

At least this year I'm playing with contemporaries. Yuan is 44, same as me. Jerry, I suspect is quite a bit younger, but last year I was older than both my playing partners combined all three days of the tourney - and they took carts!

As most of you know, I walk when I play. It can be tough in a tournament when you're walking and your partners are riding. Both Jerry and Yuan were riding today, but I never felt like I had to run to keep up, which was nice. On the second hole Yuan jokingly told me he was riding because he was too old to walk the golf course. I jokingly told Yuan I was too old not to walk.

If the cool weather continues, I suspect I should stay somewhat fresh. Last year I ran out of gas on about the 12th hole during Sunday's final round. Three days of 4-5 hour rounds in the extreme heat had sapped me dry. I faded from fourth place at the start of the day, to ninth place by days end. 

This year? Who knows.

I made a promise to myself several years and many close calls ago, that if I ever win a trophy in this tournament - any trophy, then it would be the last time I ever play.

Stay tuned - round two starts on the first tee, 1:40 p.m. Saturday.

 

Balls, Balls, and more Balls!

(photo by Lon Horwedel)

How different golf balls affect your game

With the seemingly millions of different golf balls available in today's market, how does a golfer know which ball is best for his or her game? It's nearly impossible for any golfer to try every ball available, so lets look at the three specific types of balls on the market and if you should give them a try. 

The first type of ball, and easily the most expensive, is what is classified as a professional, or a "tour" ball. Several different companies make a professional ball, but the most popular are the Titleist Pro V-1 and Pro V-1x, the Callaway Tour iX, the TaylorMade TP Red and Black, the Bridgestone Tour B330, and the Nike One Black and Platinum models. 
Expect to pay up to, or more than $50 a dozen for these models and don't be too shocked if your scores don't change one bit despite the expense of the ball. 
The key to playing a tour ball well is having a swing speed in excess of 100 mph, and more preferably 105 mph with the driver. If you don't, and chances are pretty good you do not, then these balls do you little, if any good. True, most tour balls are covered in a long-lasting, soft-feeling urethane, or elastomer cover that are great around the greens, but you may be surprised to find little, if any gain in distance with these balls off the tee and even less with your irons.

The better bet for most amateurs is to drop down a level to the ever-popular high-end amateur balls like the Titleist NXT and NXT Tour, or the extremely popular Bridgestone B330RX (a tour quality ball built for players with slower swing speeds). Callaway also makes the HX Hot ball which falls into this category. 

Precept may well have started this trend about five years ago when golfers discovered their MC Lady ball (designed for women) was flying miles further, and was considerably cheaper, than professional models. To appease the male golfer, Precept simply changed the name of the ball to the Scottish-sounding "Laddie" and marketed it for males. It was one of the best balls I ever played until they tried to improve it with their Laddie X, which may have gone further, but was hard as a rock around the greens. 
The high-end amateur balls are much better for players with swing speeds in the 85-95 mph range and they'll cost you much less. Typically they'll sell anywhere from $20-$45 a dozen.

The last type of ball, that most experienced, or better players, avoid all together, are the garden-variety distance balls found at sporting goods stores. The Dunlops, Pinnacles and Top-Flite's of the world (although it should be noted the Top-Flite Gamer is a high-end amateur ball). Usually selling in a bargain quantity greater than a dozen (15-ball packs seem to be the rage) these balls can sell for as little as $9.99 per pack. 

For beginners, these balls are great because feel is of little concern and if you pound three, four, five or maybe a half dozen of them into a water hazard, you haven't ventured much capital. Of courseanyone with even a remotely decent golf game will tell you these balls are just painted-white rocks.

Perhaps the first thing you should do before you go out and buy a dozen balls is figure out how much money you're willing to spend. Once you know that, the best thing you can do is make up your dozen from four different 3-ball sleeves comprised of similar-styled balls. 

You'll soon find that some balls will just feel better than others, some will go further than others, and most likely, none of them will do what they say they'll do on the side of the sleeve. And remember, no matter what brand you choose, at some point during the season you will stray and try another brand. It's half the fun of golf.

Golf Gallery: Happy Fourth of July

Star-spangled fans show off their patriotic spirit during the 2004 Ryder Cup at Oakland Hills C.C. in Bloomfield Twp. (photo by Lon Horwedel)