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What's curious in this otherwise entertaining oral history is
the assembled cast. Rather than the Broadway production,
we get the touring company. A short list of those who might've been consulted: Byron Nelson (whose memory is remarkable), Peter Thomson, Bob Toski, Ben Wright, Jack Burke, Billy Casper, Ben Crenshaw, Johnny Miller, Nick Price, Tom Kite, Chip Beck, Greg Norman, Jack Whitaker, Lee Elder, Bob Rosburg, Lee Trevino, etc. And what interesting bits we might have learned from the Palmer and Nicklaus families.
Instead, we hear from spear carriers like Steve Melnyk, Ken Green, D. A. Weibring and Frank Beard. There is producer Frank Chirkinian, the "Ayatollah," who shares many stories, for instance of the time Clifford Roberts rebuked former president Eisenhower. "If you touch that tree [Ike's tree on 17], you're a dead man, and not even the secret service will be able to help you." [I suppose this passes as an example of the creepy Roberts's sense of humor. Who knows?] There is Tom Weiskopf (see Author! Author!) and the ever candid Gary Player, who declares, "The seventeenth hole has been ruined."
You never know what people are going to say, which is one reason lawyers are reluctant putting their clients on the stand. So it is here that an unlikely source turns in the book's most poignant passage. Mike Donald, the tragic U.S. Open also ran, once led the Masters. His candor describing an Icarusian flight is heart wrenching. The blend of "splendor and pretence," at the Masters, as columnist Tom Boswell calls it, provides a deep psychological well; to writer Dave Kindred, the rite of spring is a "guilty pleasure." Perhaps that's why we love it. Perhaps it's because of the inevitable delicious tension. As Doug Sanders recalls, going through Amen Corner: "Your blood is just pumping."
Rating: Cat-Stroker * * *
Why here's a photo of the 13th hole at the Lost City course
in South Africa. The area in front of the par-three green is generally teeming with crocodiles. That didn't stop pro Graeme Francis who climbed into the pit to play his shot, an act of courage nee insanity that got him disqualified. (Apparently, the crocs were elsewhere.)
The hole is unfamiliar to most American fans. Therein lies the pleasure of cracking books written without the U.S. bias or dominance that pervades the professional game, and, as so many foreign cultural leaders believe, jeopardizes national identities.
A crowd shot of the 1936 News of the World tournament, or seeing yards translated into meters is a welcome reminder that the game doesn't always turn on a Yankee axis. There's also a civility that we long ago jettisoned. "If your choice of clothing is unacceptable to the club or course on which you are intending to play, you can be assured that you will not be permitted to play. To avoid such embarrassment, ensure that you check beforehand what the particular club regulations stipulate." And, this: "No matter how expensive, jeans are still unacceptable." RA-ther, old chap.
A complete (or even compleat) book on golf, of course, is near impossible, even for an author named Cruickshank. The fatal error is in taking on too much. On one page the chip shot is explained. Soon after we're off, told "to visualize Ben Hogan's classic image of a pane of glass that extends at an angle from the ball up to your shoulders, and has a hole for your head." As if this means anything to the novice. Strangely, Ladies' Day turns up in the glossary. Go figure.
There is fun in Gary Player demonstrating contortions: the single kneetuck, the seated cross-leg back stretch, the spinal column stress release, among others. This book brought back happy times as a child, breezing through bound American Heritages. Despite their shortcomings, surely these lavish books can best delight impressionable minds to the pleasures of the outside (golf) world.
Rating: Cat-Stroker * * *
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Be The Ball
An Audio Recording for Better Golf
By Sean Ryan
SE Publishing, Westfield, NJ
0-9663619-1-1 $16.95
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Your host, "an avid golfer. . .often found at the practice range." Gurus have hung their sarongs on far less. Skimpy credentials aside, there's good reason for his recommending those driving or operating heavy machinery postpone listening to this 40-minute visualization/meditation/pre-shot routine and relaxation tape. The soothing female voice and her relaxing manner have a soporific effect. Caddy Shack's famed phrase, quite seriously, is used as a relaxation cue, a nod to the veracity of Bill Murray's days as a caddie and pot smoker. The mantra could just as easily be "Take Dead Aim," or even "Hold the Mayo," but it really is "Be the Ball."
The goofy phrase and cartoon cover do the content a disservice. A veritable cottage industry has blossomed on the fringes of centuries-old Buddhist practice. Square-jawed men of the PGA who wouldn't eat tofu at gunpoint now think nothing of sporting copper bands and consciously breathing. The ability to focus, to turn it on, concentrating to the point of near out of body experience - all the greats have experienced it, as we have on rare occasions. Whether this force can be captured (and sustained) in a bottle, a book, a session, a videotape or an audiotape is, of course, the magic question.
"Take a practice stroke. Feel your muscles working in precision. Very relaxed. Very natural. Say the phrase 'Be the Ball' while imagining the ball rolling down your chosen line and dropping into the hole. Look at the ball for a moment and then the sweet spot on the putter. You will stroke the ball with the sweet spot of the putter." At the risk of trivializing the wisdom of the ancients, like it says on New York City cab receipts: "Can't hurt, could help." "
Rating: Cat-Stroker * * *
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The Open Championship 2000
Authorized by the Championship Committee
of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews
Hazelton Publishing, Ltd. (Available in U.S. through
Pelican Publishing, Co., Gretna, LA), 2000
1-903135-31-1 $29.95
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Seasoned hands furnish the official account, in order of appearance: The Daily Mail's Michael McDonnell, former Golf Journal anchor Robert Sommers, Robert Green of Golf International, Andy Farrell of The Independent, and Golf World's Ron Sirak. Stunning photographs from Fred Vuich and Michael Cohen attest to the size of their lenses. Along with accounts of each day's play, we get thoughtful essays on the Road Hole, Jean van de Velde, and Jack Nicklaus. (There's always 2005 when the Open again returns to St. Andrews; Jack will be 65. He hasn't ruled it out.) Statistics, thankfully, are shunted off to the sides where they belong.
The last word goes to the man from The Times. The gifted John Hopkins warms us up by visiting Peter Thomson (as Henry Longhurst did on a similar occasion, and who better for a chat about the Old Course?). Hopkins concludes that Tiger's promise "beggars belief." This was obviously his week and Robert Sommers states it plainly. Tiger "seemed capable of playing any shot at all if it meant winning the championship." The same words - almost exactly - were written about Hogan's triumph at Carnoustie, where again the outcome was never really in doubt.
A major always presents compelling subplots and those of the Millenium Open are worth revisiting. Of the many highlights: only Ernie Els played the Road Hole under par for the week. David Duval spent some L 200,00 in the bunker on Sunday. Only one member posed for the returning champion's team picture in sneakers (John Daly). Poor Ernie had to again endure Tiger's shadow. "Come on, guys," he pleaded when the Tiger questions got too much. "I just shot 66." And then there's the ever-likeable "Shoeless" Jean. He came upon his ball in a poorly repaired divot and sought relief from an official. "I asked him what I was allowed to do and he said I was allowed to shut up and play it." Perhaps the official harbored some resentment (to the tune of a lost fiver, perhaps?) from Carnoustie. We'll never know. In any event, this is one classy keepsake and a fitting tribute to a memorable week.
Rating: Whip-Cracker * * * *
Elmore Leonard once referred to the Philly delicacy as a cheese steak sandwich. It was a rare slip, arguably made on behalf of his readers. It's a cheese steak. Period. No sandwich. These kinds of things ruffle the avid mystery reader. He wants his authenticity straight up. It's hard then for a golf reader eager to immerse himself in a plot written just for him to stumble on a boo boo. Someone working in course design, let alone for a prestigious firm, would never refer to the Masters when what he really means is Augusta National. The golf course, not the tournament.
Reading this book reminded me of something Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel agreed on. They liked to learn something watching movies, like seeing a TV weather forecast behind the scenes in Ground Hog Day. We've got the makings here: open land on the Monterrey Peninsula, a set of missing plans from a high-dollar and controversial course design, some strong characters, the usual suspects: greed, infidelity, a butler. But we don't get enough of the inside skinny of the business (aside from a dollop of raging ego) to land us. So many authors, Tom Clancy, Umberto Eco, Robin Cook, Ruth Rendell, to name a few, hang their hats on providing layers of delicious detail to wherever they're taking us. The meat is imperative to painting a picture (or making a compelling cheese steak).
Not that there isn't some fun. Using Nitelite balls as weapons is an intriguing thought. And what of environmental hounds, the KGB (Keep Golfers at Bay)? Maybe I'm getting on. A first well-struck drive at Pebble Beach by a beginner I can accept (as long as I'm not playing directly behind them), but golf pillow talk is
a little tough to swallow.
Rating: Scooper * *
Light Reading - Edition I
Light Reading - Edition II
Light Reading - Edition III
Light Reading - Edition IV
Light Reading - Edition V
Light Reading - Edition VI
Light Reading - Edition VII
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