Possum Kingdom and July 4th Weekend

Despite the inauspicious beginning of family vacation, it eventually smoothed out and we ended up having a very good time. Most notable of all was playing golf with my wife for the first time.

Below: What a cool chick. Eight months pregnant and can still tee it up.

Taking A Trip

This week marks the 72nd offering of golf season's first Major, the Masters tournament.

Last night, former tournament winners gathered to dine among themselves at the Champion's Dinner. Today, players and their children will participate in the Par 3 Tournament and once again, the winner will seek to break the so-called curse of winning that tournament but failing to win the 72 hole tournament. Tomorrow, Arnold Palmer will serve as honorary starter and take the opening shot of the tournament.

Among golfers, Augusta National instills a reverence similar to that of churches and national monuments. The course and its grounds are a memoriam to golf's past. Bridges, cabins, and even water fountains tell the histories and legends of the players that have made this place a museum.

The course itself is as close to Eden as I can imagine, which is fitting for place that once hosted a botanical garden. The course winds its way past creeks and streams that once watered thirsty Confederate soldiers but now only collect errant golf balls. As the tournament is held the first full week of April, flowers, trees, and shrubs that provide names for all 18 holes are in full bloom.

Because this is the only major played on the same course annually, quite a bit of attention is given to the traditions surrounding the golf course and its host club. After all, this is a place where even a then-current sitting U.S. President couldn't get a tree cut down to avoid continually hitting it. Instead, they left the tree intact but named it after him. It's also the place where current members and former champions may only wear their club jackets on club property.

The dominance of professional golfers notwithstanding, the tournament is a tribute to amateurism. The founder of the tournament, Bobby Jones, is perhaps the finest amateur athlete to ever compete in a game of skill. Thus, the invitation list will always hold spots open for the various champions of amateur competitions even though few have been close to winning since 1960.

This week, Trip Kuehne will bring an end to his amateur career at this tournament. Trip is an interesting individual. I'd love to write a book about him someday.

Trip is the oldest child of the Kuehne siblings. His brother, Hank, and sister, Kelli, both play professional golf. They both insist Trip is the best of the three.

A 3-time All-American at Oklahoma State, he faced Eldrick Woods in the 1994 U.S. Amateur. If there's no documentary of this event, one needs to be produced. It was a life-changing event for the two competitors and the community of professional golf, the industry of marketing the game, and even the financial wealth of PGA players may be altered had the result been different.

Trip was up 5 holes with 12 left to play; Woods ended up winning 2-up. Woods turned pro and has done fairly well for himself on the PGA tour. Trip preserved his amateur status, started a career in the industry of finances, and continues to play for the love of a game, never taking a dime for his efforts.

Now, the only Privacy that Woods ever sees is his yacht and Trip doesn't even have his own entry on Wikipedia. Both, however, live the life each has wanted according to his own terms.

I missed most of March Madness and Opening Day of the baseball season. For me, this will mark the official beginning of Spring.

And a new resolve to live life on my terms.

Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden

I needed a weekend of irresponsibility. While this weekend may not have been the best timing, it nonetheless occurred.

Friday night, I became a little agitated looking at the most recent copy of Backpacker Magazine and looking at all the places I will not visit any time soon. I must admit it left me in a rather sour mood and was not a good way to start off the weekend.

After a wonderful night's rest where I woke up confused about where I was or what day it was, my mood greatly improved. Melissa and I watched SportsCenter while we read the paper, ate breakfast, and talked about the day's plans. Melissa was planning to spend the morning with some friends before we drove to Waco; the only thing I had to do was attend the morning's yoga class.

We stopped talking as the anchors focused attention on the Mississippi State-Alabama game held during the SEC tournament. With a little more than two minutes left in overtime a tornado passed through downtown Atlanta and caused steel girders inside the arena to shake and a portion of the roof to rip open.

For a several minutes, players, coaches, and spectators shifted focus from the fleeting importance of the game to their own survival that evening. I commented to Melissa that it was one of the few times in life where sports seem trivial and silly. Almost all other times, however, sports are representative of every value and ideal I cherish; and Saturday proved no exception.

Late in the afternoon, our drive to Waco got canceled too late to go to Ethan's soccer game. Not wanting to waste the entire day, I decided to attend a college lacrosse game.

I had read in the morning's paper that Dallas was to host the Patriot Cup, two college matches between Navy and Holy Cross followed by Army and Rutgers. By coincidence or design, the games were held the same week that marks the fifth year anniversary of the war. It was the first time Dallas had ever hosted a lacrosse event of this nature and all proceeds are to go to the Wounded Warrior Project.

The Long Gray Line was in full force as the crowd of a couple thousand was pro-Army. Many of the older men in the stands are West Point alumni and came to support their school.

[On a side note, I have never attended a preppier event. I don't have much use for yuppies but I love preppies. And if you gotta ask what the difference is, you'll never understand. A hint? Yuppies are made; preppies are born.

I have never seen more pink clothing or collars turned toward the sky. I saw one young mother wearing madras shorts, a yellow cable-knit sweater, and green clogs. I was at home.]

The game was fun to watch and the aura awe-inspiring. When the team ran out of the locker-room carrying the American flag, it was impossible to not remember that these kids are not just student-athletes but officers-in-training. Even how they aligned themselves on the sidelines (from plebe to first class) showed order and discipline. At half-time, a wounded veteran came to mid-field and accepted a check on the organization's behalf.

The game was not without levity, however. When a Black Knight defensive player received a foul for slashing, a fan stood up and yelled to the ref, "Give the kid a break; he just got back from Iraq!" It was received with the spirit in which it was delivered and fans from both teams laughed.

Army won the game 12-11 on a last minute goal and I was able to leave the game happy and no longer feeling the immediate urgency of moving from one responsibility to another.

Sunday was a continuation of my no-responsibility weekend. As is often the case, I felt a bit guilty that I would have to leave Melissa at home to participate in my selfish activities; I don't think she felt too bad, as she was able to have her own weekend of irresponsibility.

That afternoon, I played golf with Larry, Chris, and Erik. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch, hit balls on the range, and enjoy a nice round with the temperature (obviously not the scores) in the mid-70's.

Last October, the last time we played the Fazio course, I had one of my worst rounds in several years. I don't even remember keeping score after nine holes. Yesterday, however, was a wonderful day and I ended up having my best score at Stonebriar.

I was able to go to bed Sunday night fully grateful for my life. While everything is not exactly as I may wish, everything in my life is wonderful to the point of near-perfection.

Not important to tell anywhere else but still pertinent to the weekend, I leave the following:

• I enjoy spending time with all my in-laws, but particularly my two youngest sisters-in-law. Both are hilarious in their own unique way and are always good sources of amusement. Saturday at dinner, Hilary surprised us both by her familiarity with Rilo Kiley. She was richly rewarded with a concert ticket Melissa never asked for or wanted in the first place. Likewise, Nicole and I joke around too much and that occasionally gets her in trouble. After Sunday supper, I told Nikki not to open up the oven door or the heat would be released and it'll take longer for the brownies to bake; to spite me, she opened up the oven door and gave me a dirty look. I had a handful of grapes and bounced one off her head; she wasn't expecting it and stomped on the grape as she walked away. Her dad wasn't too pleased with squashed fruit on his kitchen floor and I still feel guilty about getting her in trouble. On the other hand, I had nothing to do with the dead rabbit incident.

• After the kitchen had been cleaned up and Colleen was finishing wiping down the counters, Melissa found a chewed toothpick with a wad of gum balled up on one end. Often finding the same coffee-table litter at our house, Melissa started to yell at me for the disgusting habits I bring into other's houses. I had no idea what she was talking about and we both started to laugh when Larry yelled at Melissa to leave his gum alone. Once again, Melissa cursed herself for marrying someone just like her father and once again, Larry and I could only chalk it up to genius finding genius.

Quick Thoughts

Three quick sports moments (of course) from our household.

- I only have enough space in my head for the important stuff.

On our way home from the football game last Saturday night, Melissa and I were talking about how great the punter from the other team was. His punts carried at least 40 yards and got several more from the roll; at least twice, he pinned Robinson within the 5. Melissa's comment - "He reminded me of that kid who played at A&M in the late Nineties." My reply - "Yeah, Shane Lechler, he was awesome; he was the only reason y'all beat Texas 20-16 in '99. Forget McCown to Bumgardner, it was Lechler. He was also the only reason y'all be K-State in double overtime for the Big 12 Championship."

Then, about five minutes later: "Hey, you haven't seen my money clip, have you? It's been missing since yesterday."

- Sports also have a way of making you (me) feel old. I got home from the mall at 8 last night, just in time to watch Texas and Arkansas. The big story was this was the first time the two teams faced each other since 1991.

Doing some rough math, I was the approximate age of most of the starters on UT's team and their starters were the approximate age of my youngest nephew the last time this rivalry occurred.

They have no memory of Strollin' Nolan; the SWC days and Barnhill South; Todd Day bowin' up to LJ.

- Speaking of quasi-irrelevant and should-be-forgotten-about moments from a decade and a half ago:

I was talking to a friend today about our favorite courses we've played. He mentioned playing the Ocean Course at Kiawah Island. Of course, I asked if Calcavechhia was still crying. Acknowledging the on-going cruelty of the situation, he mentioned a buddy of his played his tee shot to the 17th green within a couple of inches from the pin. He danced around the tee box singing, "Take that, Calc!". Of course, he was playing the whites and didn't have the entire world watching his every shot.

Still, it never gets old.

One Of My Favorite Weekends

A game in the Emerald Isle.
Every two years - or once in a while.
Just 14 and one-half points;
A winner the scoreboard annoints.
And the pressroom questions will be quite vile.

A cup and a birdie machine;
A crowd whose taunts are not clean.
"I once was lying dormie;"
"Now my Ryder Cup record is stormy,"
"For I've putted right off of the green."

A Spaniard and a Cablinasian
Ignited golf like a deadly contagion.
"Get him on the green
and his clock I will clean."
A rivalry or mere pertubation?