05/12/2024
Yer a Long Time Deid
“Seize the day and live life to the fullest, you never know what might happen” ~ Old Scottish Proverb.
The Friday sun peaked through my 3rd floor flat window at 7 Murray Park calling me to explore St. Andrews Town Centre and the Old Course on our next to last morning before me and my best friends headed back to the States.
My St. Andrews “walkabout” of exploration and photography mixed in with a week of golf was high on my Scotland (non-golf) activities list.
I wandered about the University, past the centuries old remains of the St. Andrews Cathedral and Castle. I felt the ghostly presence of Old Tom Morris gently nudging at my shoulder much like the North Sea early morning stiff breezes nipping at my exposed ears.
“Come play the Old Course, my American friend,” Tom whispered into the ocean spray on West Sands Beach made famous in the 1981 movie, Chariots of Fire.
Following in the tradition of my golfing heroes who flew across the pond in the 70s, I too was looking forward to playing golf in the misting rain, wind and gorse where the grand game was born.
Our Last Round: The Old Course.
The hallowed grounds where the game of golf was invented over 600 years ago. I would be playing this very course later today with my very best friends.
As I walked towards #18, I was careful not to walk on the actual fairway nor cross the famous Swilcan Bridge as I wanted to feel that unique experience playing my #2 Top Flite golf ball here hours later in the warm Friday afternoon sun for the first time.
Not unlike how professional hockey players will not touch the Conference Finals Championship trophy before beginning the Stanley Cup Finals series. I also did not want to disrespect the Ancient Golf Gods by neglecting proper St. Andrews etiquette, in so much as having my dessert before finishing my meal proper.
I was taking no chances…..No bad golfing juju allowed.
I watched as a nameless greenskeeper groomed the #18 green adjacent to the Valley of Sin. Undulating mounds of perfected grass, sand and soil providing near certain death to thousands of errand golf balls since forever.
Grey Plovers, Common Gulls, and Guillemots crying out in the St. Andrews morning temporarily breaking the Sunday church like silence at dawn.
A mere twenty yards to my right, the starter called the 6:18 am foursome to the #1 tee box. I wondered what was going through their minds. I wondered what would soon be going through my mind later today.
A few early morning tourists lined the green and white wooden checkered fence taking photographs of the iconic Old Course to show the folks back home.
I imagined Bobby Jones, Walter Hagen, Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Tiger and Rory being given similar instructions on Friday’s pin placement, wind conditions and distance markers.
I suddenly felt my heart rate elevate.
With the purest sound known to man, player #1 struck his tiny white ball sending it nearly 250 yards towards the pin, just left of center fairway rolling to the softest stop.
I swore I could hear him exhale.
For the next 12 hours this timeless ritual at #1 would continue until dusk arrived.
At precisely 12:30 pm. I walked on to #1 (Burn Hole).
On the #1 tee box, from the United States, Scott Kern. Caddie: Scottie.
For 16 holes, I was in awe of the history, beauty, challenge and charm of this iconic tract of land, once used for rabbit farming.
Just over four hours, player and caddie shared stories of Houston, past travels, American baseball, 80’s rock and roll music, cycling and the occasional golf tale both here and back home.
I told him about a golf book entitled - A Course Called Scotland I had recommended my friends read pre-trip. He recommended I read a book entitled - The Match.
Approaching a high double-digit scorecard, we arrived at #17. The Road Hole.
This hole is named for the road/walking path that sits directly alongside the fairway (right side) next to the Old Course & Hotel. A wee further down the road sits the iconic Jigger Inn. We dined at the Jigger Inn after our 18 at the Jubilee Course on Thursday with Jim’s new best Scottish friend, our server named Ester.
Note: Don’t order a half-pint on Ester’s watch. Picture actress: Melissa McCarthy.
After watching Jim and Doc clear the blind hotel shot, Scottie announced: “Well Scott that won’t be your line. I want you playing this par 4 as a par 5. I want you left out towards the last bunker.”
I solidly struck the ball at the desired target.
Scottie: “Aye. We now know our right from our left. Okay, you see that guy in the light blue hoodie walking across #17? That’s your line.”
Scott: Flush! The ball approaching the nameless walker with a possible unknown death wish. The ball rolled up on him.
Scottie: “Brilliant! You’re making a late round charge.”
Suddenly the non-golfer person in the fairway turns and motions back to my me and caddie.
Scottie: “What a c**t. That wasn’t even close. Grab your 7 iron, man. This is your hole.”
Scott: Feeling the adrenaline, I skull my 3rd shot heading towards the hundred-year-old stone fence (wall) lying behind the green and the road. My ball bouncing off the wall like a stand-up double at Citizens Bank Park. Top-Flite #2 is now lying three in the middle of road (i.e. warning track).
Scottie: “Okay you’ve got Rory’s shot here back in 2022. Putter off the road. Don’t give up the hole. Nice and easy.”
Scott: Jim is now shooting video. Dribbler on the road. 2nd road shot rings the pin true. Two more putts for four putts and I card a 7. Epic 7. And trust me, I’ve had many!
With a smile on my face as big as these double greens of the Old Course, our foursome walks up to arguably THE most famous hole in all of Golf - #18 Hole (Tom Morris).
This finishing hole is named after the Grand Old Man of Golf.
Feel free to google Old Tom, or perhaps do as I did and watch the 2016 movie entitled – Tommy’s Honour with some obligatory ginger beer, shortbread cookies or perhaps a dram of whiskey, playing to whatever set of tees you choose.
Here in Scotland, many courses (as well as individual golf holes, bunkers and berms) have been given unique names with lineages often tracing back to actual documented players or historical circumstances as well as slightly fictitious stories passed down amongst locals for centuries.
Scottie: “Keep that three wood in ye bag. I want you to hit driver here. Ye didn’t come all this way to not take one last lash at it.”
Cars, hotels and businesses lined The Links (street) on the right hand side of the fairway. So obviously this hole played well to my “25” handicap.
Stockey (Jim’s caddie): “As long as we caddies yell Fore Right, you won’t be responsible for any financial damages if your ball heads over there.”
My grip tightened. My heart raced.
With the form of a Triple A baseball player trying the make “The Show” - I fought off a high and tight inside fastball and bounded one 205 yards slightly left of center fairway clearing the walking path that cut through fairways #1 and #18. In my classic tee shot form (i.e. slightly striking the ground before impact with the ball). Jim howled, “Saving the Drop Kick Murphy for #18.”
No people or buildings were injured. Shot one completed. Whew!
Scottie: “Alrighty then. Where was that drive hiding these last 17 holes. You’re 141 yards away from the pin. This distance is your 6 iron. See all those people at the top of the hill surrounding the green. I don’t want you to kill any of them. I want you to roll a 7 iron up there. Stay right of the Valley of Sin you’ll be fine. You’ve been hitting right most of the day.”
I flashed back to the #18 finishing hole at Pennsauken Country Club maybe 20 years ago. Almost 400 yards, dogleg right, trying to stay down the left side, away from the water, towards a slightly elevated and bunkered green. I flushed my drive that summer day leaving me a similar distance to the pin for my second shot.
I’m not sure if it was my amazement at making a great shot, the tiredness of playing a long round or having a few too many c**ktails at the turn, but I grabbed my 6 iron instead of my 9 iron.
I held my breath and swung.
The ball took flight like a rocket launched from Cape Canaveral. It sailed well over the green, bouncing off the brown roof protecting the two dozen patrons enjoying 19th hole c**ktails landing in the greenside bunker.
That one shot nearly wiped out our entire 401-k retirement balances.
My Nike golf shorts suddenly felt moist that day. I recalled the immediate need to find a nearby washing machine before putting it out.
I gazed up at the mighty Hamilton Grand Hotel built in 1895 encroaching the backside of the green as well as approximately 20 folks who (for either boredom or safety) were suddenly interested in my 2nd shot.
I swung.
The ball sailed about the height of a catcher’s throw trying to nab the baserunner stealing second base. It bounded just right of the Valley of Sin, catching the third mound now suddenly rolling hard left towards the pin. It kept rolling and rolling, coming to rest three feet from the pin.
Scottie: “Well how ‘bout that. Pretty easy game, eh?”
Me (thinking): Can someone from my group please concede this putt so I can leave this round with a bit of relief now?”
Silence.
I thought these guys liked me?
So, I missed an eagle on #18 by 3 feet. With a slightly downhill putt, I am now staring down at a possible birdie, par or worse. If I was a betting man….
As is customary with golf, the golfers furthest from the hole putt first, leaving the closest golfer left to finish the hole.
Scottie: “Don’t give it away, mate.”
You know those scenes in Hollywood movies where everything suddenly goes silent and the camera moves in slow motion panning each actor’s expression.
My sphincter tightened. Cautiously I drew my putter back.
My ball, which had very little sense of direction for 17 holes crawled towards the hole. Clink.
Jim yelled “Toe!”
Doc gave me the biggest bear hug.
Scottie just smiled, “Well done, my man.”
I’m not sure if he meant “well done” as in sinking the putt or that his loop with me was finally done and he could party with his friend flying in from Seattle tonight. Him telling his friend stories of this 62 year auditor from New Jersey who should stick to cycling versus golf.
I suddenly wanted to buy each of those good folks standing next to #18 a pint at Dunvegan’s (Golfers Corner Lounge Bar) before me and my friends enjoyed our last meal in the Claret Jug Restaurant there before heading home tomorrow.
Hey Jim? Wanna play another 9 at Balgove?
Often, it’s the subtle moments buried in the details of a full travel itinerary that find and hold us tightly like an errand tee shot finding the smallest swatch of fairway next to the hazardous gorse.
Those unexpected moments in golf and in life remind us to be open to the possibility of good fortune and hope. You are always just one golf shot away from finding fleeting happiness. And there is nothing wrong with that.
Big thank you to Jim for organizing this amazing Bucket List trip.
To Tom Coyne – For inspiring our group as well as reminding us “Thou Shall Grind” in golf and in life.
To Grandpop Kern – For teaching me the game of “A Good Walk Spoiled” as a wee seven year old on that dusty muni tract known as John F. Byrne Golf Club located in the Torresdale section of Philadelphia.
To Jim, Brian, Daraius and Doc – I can’t think of a better foursome to play 18 holes or travel through life with.
And finally to Marie - For being the best caddie this hack golfer could ask for.
Thanks for the Scotland memories; Colin, Neil, Ester, Majorie, Alan, Aaron, Scottie, Bob, Tina, and Dave as well as the numerous friendly Scottish locals and fellow international travelers we conversed, laughed, drank and golfed with.
Next stop with our fine lasses!
Just enough time to read A Course Called Ireland as well as practice my short game.
The Old Course
St. Andrews, Fife County, Scotland, United Kingdom
Scott, Jim, Doc and the kid from Mexico (Jorge)
Friday
5/10/24
