Did Tiger have his Wheaties? 
The Byron Nelson golf tournament on Friday was quite the hairy-legged happening. If you follow golf or read the headlines, you may know that Tiger Woods failed to make the cut for the weekend play at the tournament. It was the first time over a course of a record 142 tournaments that the Tiger failed to qualify. It was also the first golf tournament I’ve ever attended. You think there’s a connection there? Do you think Tiger might blame me and come after me? Maybe that’s why I had a hard time sleeping this morning. Perhaps, subconsciously, I feared being flailed in my bed by Tiger wielding one of his drivers.
Tiger, it’s just a coincidence. Please don’t beat me with your golf clubs!
My friends and I wandered in and out of a party at the edge of the 16th tee. So I got a got a good view of a lot of these guys at maybe 15 feet away from them. Viewing them so closely I realize that one facet of professional golf I don’t get is the pants. These guys, Tiger included, all wear knit shirts with some logo as well as caps. And they wear slacks that a snappy dresser such as myself would only wear to a funeral. First of all, I wouldn’t be comfortable in such a combination of attire. I mean, if you’re going to wear slacks, why not just put on a tie, a blazer and wear a fedora?
What I found the most awesome about the tournament experience is the quiet. The guy gets ready to tee off and these big beefy bouncer-looking guys hold up what look like paddles saying: “Quiet.” And it becomes breathtakingly quiet save for the airliners flying to and from Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport nearby. But even so for a brief moment you can hear tree limbs rustling and birds chirping and then Whhhaaaaaaaack! The golfer hits the ball from Las Colinas to Tierra del Fuego.
I wonder if the Quiet guys have ever beaten anyone senseless for not shutting up when they are supposed to? I don’t know, but I danged sure wasn’t going to find out for myself.
Marco Dawson also failed to make the cut. I don’t know if the shot that he hit into my friend’s back yard had anything to do with his score. We were on our way to the party at the 16th tee as Dawson was about to hammer the ball. He didn’t seem very happy to see us so near and I thought he gave us a strange look, as if we didn’t belong there. Maybe his look was one of frustration from his errant drive. And maybe I didn’t belong there, but it was my friend’s back yard.
A word or two about Tiger. I’d estimate maybe 100 or so spectators were in the vicinity extending from the 15th hole to the 16th tee. That changed dramatically when Tiger started playing his way up the hill. Man, it was like Moses leading the Israelites. I was scared the Red Sea was going to suddenly burst from the ground and Tiger was going to raise a 9-iron and lead the fleeing hordes across the parted waters onto the next hole.
Another amazing occurrence I noticed. Unlike baseball or basketball where fans tell members of their opposing teams that they suck, when Tiger teed off never was “heard a discouraging word.”
Even though I don’t know Jack (or Tiger or Marco) about golf, I could see these guys are among the best golfers in the world. And when it comes to having an occupation — with all the crappy jobs that are within the realm of possibility — you can’t help but admire people making lots or even modest amounts of money doing what they love to do. Even if I do think they dress kind of funky.