Hunting for Tiger in Hotlanta

My friend purchased tickets for us to attend Tuesday’s practice round of the 93rd PGA Championship being held at the Atlanta Athletic Club in John’s Creek, Georgia. I have never experienced a golf course set up for a major championship before and I had no preconceptions what to expect.

 The practice round suited us just fine. There is more interaction with the players with more of an informal and relaxed atmosphere and a greater opportunity to explore the course layout. Entrance fee for the practice round was $25 which was a better proposition than $75 charged for rounds 1&2 rising to $85 for the weekend. Anyway I would much prefer to watch the drama unfold from the comfort of my man’s cave, and live action does not provide the spectator with replays. Yes, I do suffer from couch potato syndrome.

Walking through the front entrance we were immediately confronted by Corporate America represented by interactive booths set up by American Express, Mercedes Benz and the PGA golf shop comprising 22000 square feet of merchandise and apparel. I managed a quick fire video analysis of my golf swing and a putting tip from a PGA golf professional on the simulated green.

We had successfully negotiated Corporate Alley without spending a penny and made our way to the course. Someone informed us that Phil Mickelson was approaching the 9th green which was in stone’s throw of where we were standing. Mickelson’s foursome included rising star Dustin Johnson and we agreed to follow the group on their back nine.

We positioned ourselves between the ninth green and tenth tee and watched as Mickelson’s entourage meandered up the fairway. Butch Harmon, his diminutive hitting coach, was struggling to keep up and the rotund Dave Pelz, his putting guru, was struggling to bring up his, sorry, the rear. Mr. Mickelson was also accompanied by a petite dark haired lady who we later discovered was his “mental coach”. I can’t make this stuff up folks. Maybe I need to hire a psychologist to elevate my game since it can’t get any lower.

I’ve always admired Mickelson in the way he interacts with the galleries. So I was a little surprised and disappointed that he refused to sign autographs for the kids clamoring for his signature during his walk from green to tee; patronizingly advising them he would sign autographs at the end of his round where they could join the conger line around the 19th hole.

Moving on, I was overwhelmed by the distance and trajectory of the drives hit from the tees by the professional golfers. It was nothing short of phenomenal to witness power hitting first hand. Their approach shots were almost as impressive, but what surprised me was their somewhat average putting which bordered on mediocrity. The old adage driving for show, putting for dough is not to be disrespected.

The fairways are immaculate and there is very little rough in the conventional sense. However this course has more sand than the combined beaches on the South Coast of England and more water than Lake Tahoe. Thirteen of the eighteen holes have water hazards.  The last four holes are a brutal test of golf and not for the faint hearted. The 15th is a 260 yard par 3 guarded by a water hazard and sand traps which would prove pivotal in the outcome of this major; the 16th   is a difficult uphill par 4 leading to an elevated green, the 17th is a 207 yard par 3 with water guarding the green, and the 18th  is a par 4 “dog leg” comprising 505 yards, with water again fronting the green.

Oh, we must not forget the 95 degree heat and humidity which will not help the two lilywhite Englishmen Westwood and Donald, currently ranked number 1&2 in the world but without a major between them. We parted company with Team Mickelson at the 16th green and turned our attention to some other notable players; Ricky Fowler looking resplendent in Irish green, the dapper Graham McDowell foolishly wearing a black shirt in Hotlanta, and the Spanish trio, including the cigar smoking Miguel Jiminez and the brooding  Jose Maria Olazabal, Europe’s Ryder Cup captain.

By 3.00pm my friend and I were wilting in the steamy heat, and we took our leave of the PGA circus; admittedly a little downcast that we didn’t spot our prey. Apparently Eldrick arrived later in the evening and hit a few shots on the driving range before retreating to his own man cave. This isn’t April at the Masters when the temperature is spring like and on that basis I’m taking an American to win the tournament.

Postscript: Keegan Bradley won the PGA Championship in a playoff with Jason Dufner. The 15th hole did make a huge impression on the leaders and determined the winner. Bradley made a triple bogey on the hole to trail Dufner by 5 shots with four holes to play, but miraculously tied with him following birdies at 16 and 17 in contrast to Dufner’s bogeys. Please don’t call him Duffer as one insensitive tabloid headline chose to. Bradley becomes the first player to win a major at his first attempt. What happened to Tiger? He missed the cut with rounds of 73 and 77. Mickelson never threatened the leaders and finished even par for the tournament.

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