Arnold Palmer Invitational / PGA TOUR / March 23-26, 2009
I worked all afternoon Monday at Orange County National in Orlando with a budding mini-tour player, and most of the day yesterday at Bay Hill with Brian Gay. As usual, neither needed much help, just a minor confirmation here and there in an already great Motion.
Today at noon, I was once again on the practice tee at Bay Hill, waiting for Brian and his pre-game warmup prior to his 12:50 Pro-Am start. The public grandstands are some 25 yards behind the players and extend left-to-right approximately 70 percent of the length of the tee. Given that configuration, the guys practicing to the far right do so in relative anonymity.
As I scanned the tee for Brian, I picked up a familiar silhouette now beginning practice swings at the far end: A fire-hydrant build and a bucket hat with a handful of credentialed folk assembled immediately behind. Could it be? I made my way down the line and soon found myself directly behind the tournament host and acclaimed Pro-Am participant, one Arnold Daniel Palmer.
Two Japanese photographers had stationed themselves directly oppostite him, twenty feet to his right. They were literally off the far edge of the tee and were prepared to record every address, swing and finish. His caddy also stood opposite him, steadying the bag upright, just outside the photographers' aim. I didn't want to interfere with the status quo, so I took up residence just behind his caddy, just as I had done at my first Masters some forty-five years before. Arnold was in his prime then, already a two-time Masters champion and the most popular golfer since the immortal Bobby Jones.
Only now, this was an aged Arnie. At 79, there is still the hint of the swashbuckler in his manner and always, the twinkle in his eye. The powerful hands still assume their perfect grip on the club, and the leathered arms are in textbook alignment. The will and intent to smash the ball is there. But alas, time has taken its toll. With a short iron, he hit his first two shots fat, and each ball traveled barely twenty yards. After the first, he grunted an embarrassed chuckle. After the second, his brow furrowed and he said to no one in particular, "I have no business being here."
After a silence, his caddy reminded him: "Five thousand more tickets were sold for charity because you're here." Arnie smiled, nodded and tried again. Clean contact, but still woefully short. He had chosen the far end of the range -- out of the public view -- on purpose.
Meanwhile, more of the practice tee entourage had assembled to glimpse The King. As I watched him labor, I couldn't help but think that this might very well be his last appearance as a player at a PGA TOUR event. Sure, there would be more ceremonial drives to launch The Masters, but as a golfer putting pencil to scorecard, this could be the end.
A few mid-iron shots. A three wood. Then, he asked his caddy: "What time is it?" Inexplicably, the caddy had no watch, and I was next up. "What time is it?", the Great Man asked again, only this time more insistent and leveling his steely gaze on me.
I glanced at my watch, cursed the fact that I didn't have my reading glasses, squinted, and replied, "12:12."
For a brief instant, I wondered if I was right. Was this Eastern Standard Time? Was it adjusted for Daylight Savings? Where was I? Where was he? Had I just given Arnold Damn Palmer the correct time, or had I not?
The answer seemed to satisfy him, and he turned from me to his caddy and said, "We better get going. Give me the driver." The caddy pulled the club, and Arnie said, "First time this one's ever been hit." With that he gave the ball a cracking smack, and it sailed some 220 yards down the fairway.
"There," he said. "That's better!"
He handed the driver to his caddy and stripped off his glove. Two guys behind me went on the march. The leader brushed me aside and said in a strong whisper, "Let's go!" Within seconds he was beside Arnold and posing. His accomplice snapped their photo with his cell phone.
The King just smiled, first at their clumsy assault, and then for the camera. That done, he granted their request for an autograph.
No fuss.
No muss.
No irritation.
Just another day at the office.
He is, after all, The King.
The next fifteen feet toward the practice tee exit were met with four more autograph requests. He responded to each with a perfectly executed Arnold Palmer signature, certainly the most legible and arguably the most prolific of all celebrity autographs. I looked close: There was no shakiness in the signature; it was a strong, clean hand. And then, like the Pied Piper of Hamelin with all the children in tow, he made his way toward the putting green.
Meanwhile, Brian had arrived and was half-way through his warm-up. As usual, he was striking the ball beautifully. "What is your dominant swing thought?" I asked. "Take my right shoulder straight back," he said. "Great," I said, "Like yesterday. It's a sound move." And soon, it was time for him to go.
I'll be with Brian in the first round tomorrow, but I decided to let him fend for himself with three of the local gentry's finest in today's Pro-Am. Instead, I spent an hour with the guys in the Mizuno van, grabbed some lunch at Caddie Central and then headed out to Orange County National and a practice session of my own. There are only a few precious years separating my 62-year-old self from Arnie's 79-year-old self, and I'm damned if I'm going to go gently into that good night. I went to the far side of the range and sent a full teaching basket of balls screaming into the wind. I quit only because it got too dark to see.
And, by God, I hit it good. Not every time, mind you, but enough to let me know that there's still something left before the inevitable decline.
It's been written here before, Yoda, but you should write a book about your golf experiences.
And I thank you for bringing your "inside the ropes" experiences alive with your generous posts and in doing so letting me and many others living outside the US in on the actual Tour action. Thanks once again.
"Hitting can be quite accurate"----Lynn Blake, 2008
Yoda, unless you've aged significantly in the last few months, I'm not so worried about your game.
Cuscowilla, late Nov, 2008, practice range, you with 6 iron in hand demonstrating a hitting action and proceeding to send 3 balls glancing off the yardage pole some 170 yards or so in the distance. Not three in a row but 3 out of small pile of balls. The first one you noted with some glee, the second and third I only heard and spy'd while going about my own business, you graciously not commenting. Class act.
After the few balls were gone and a pause, during which Hogan might have lighted a cigarette, you made the comment above as if to yourself. But Ill never forget it.
If only every tour pro could act like Arnie---how cool would that be. Someone once said that Arnold Palmer really enjoys being Arnold Palmer! And it sure shows. I remember reading a story where a pro was complaining about things being sent to him for an autograph and asked Arnie what he did with all that stuff. Arnie's reply?? " I sign it." When dealing with the fans people like Arnold Palmer and Peter Jacobsen "get it".
Enough threadjacking. Back to Bay Hill---anyone going to the tournament?? I have been there 4 times but not in the past 6 years. Good luck Brian Gay.(and Yoda)
Beautifully written Lynn. Poetic with the right turn of phrase and yet humble as well.
No doubt you're too busy to write the book the rest of us would love to read but try and find the time somehow, somewhere, to get your own story down in words
__________________ The student senses his teacher’s steadfast belief and quiet resolve: “This is doable. It is doable by you. The pathway is there. All you need is determination and time.” And together, they make it happen.
Life Lesson Number 3: This is the artist in the crowd. Regardless of your favored mode of expression, if your life lesson is a 3, you're sure to possess a great deal of raw talent. Three's have a burning desire for self-expression, and a great love of aesthetic pleasures. Beauty and comfort blossom under the attention of a three, and all are charmed by the three's innate charisma and facility with language. There is a tendency to flit from this to that, though a three who possesses focus and discipline can become a master in any of the arts. This is an idea person, the one who thinks things up and then turns them over to two's or four's. Three's love freedom, especially freedom of expression, and have a natural facility for creating, writing, teaching and motivational speaking. Sales is another good choice, as three's are naturally charming and social.
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