by Gary Williams | Jun 23, 2023 | Blog
Maybe it was the times that Chris Hamill bought a dozen Molitor golf balls for $50 and charged them to his dad’s account. Or the time me, Peter Kiernan, Mike Lynch, and Ed Kieritz tried to dredge the drained pond on One center for the thousands of balls we saw plugged in the mud. Or was it the times we used to rifle two irons from 150 yards, yes two irons, at the employee dorm that was across the entrance road to the club? Actually, it’s all those memories and so many more that made the days of my adolescence growing up at Ridgewood Country Club pure joy. I had reasonably good intuition as a kid for a knucklehead and I knew without being told that I was beyond lucky to have an environment like RCC to spend every waking moment at, summer after summer.
As we bask in the longest days of the year and I see the kids immersed in junior clinics, the twilight golf leagues in full swing and the “buddy” trips at their gluttonous peak I am reminded of the summer crushes, but more than anything I feel downright melancholy when I think about my true summer love of my youth, the golf course.
No matter where you fell for the game, like a girl, you’ll never forget when you knew the game had a grip on you. At your muni, on a summer vacation with your parents at a golf resort or being at your parent’s club. I played every sport with a competency that instilled confidence in me that I could apply myself and flash some skill pretty quickly. Snow skiing, tennis, basketball, baseball, soccer, swimming were all pursuits, but golf was the lone passion. The combination of the time it afforded me with my dad was critical to the hook but it was as much the chasing of something that was elusive, singular and provocative that conjured similar feelings to the ones I had for Maggie Dailey, Sandy Casperson, Sandra Sullivan and Kim Elsas. My Mt. Rushmore of teenage crushes but they were simply sharing time in my mind with the game that took a hold of me and has never let me go.
I wish I had all the “chits” from my parent’s club bill that came rolling into the mail slot at 326 Grandview Circle every month. I’d love to know how many hot dogs, ice cream sandwiches and bags of Wise barbecue chips I posted from 1979 to 1985. It was a glorious run of consistency at the snack bar next to the pool and between 9 east, 1 center, and 9 west on the 27-hole construct of the AW Tillinghast design. After I cut away the lingering interests in the other summer endeavors I was of an age when I could carry one, and eventually two, sturdy golf bags to make some good cash as a 16-year old. In order to practice and play every day I was required to try to get a loop in the morning. The caddy yard at Ridgewood in those days was a two-tier system. The less experienced caddies, the kids, started up by the water tower away from the clubhouse and waited for the phone to ring like calling the bullpen. Once you were called down to the “yard” outside the bag room you were on deck to get a loop. The rite of passage that accompanied those days sitting with grizzled working men was worth the wait each day to carry a leather golf bag which likely included a ball retriever, three “gintys” and enough Pinnacles to last a summer. Average weight of a bag coming out of the bag room at Ridgewood Country Club in 1981 was probably one hundred pounds. Ok, I’m exaggerating it was closer to ninety-two pounds.
Carrying two leather Burton bags in the summer was akin to dragging bags of wet sand across the desert. Tom Boren was the best player at the club at that time and he was also the ONLY player with a small ping carry bag with stands. Getting his bag was like winning the lottery to take Cheryl Ladd to the junior prom. There was one bag I had nightmares over and I keep having those nightmares because no matter what I did, I kept being assigned the bag of Mr. Cardew. He was a delightful man and the father of the two best athletes in town, but he also had a RAM staff bag. Yes, the same one Tom Watson used when he chipped in on 17 on Sunday at Pebble Beach to win the U.S. Open. Mr. Cardew had a knack for chipping in as well… for triple. When I saw big red coming out of the bag room, I actually hid in the phone booth in the caddy yard. Glen, the caddy master, still ID’d me in the booth and gave me the assignment. Even carrying that coffin, which felt like it had a body in it, didn’t dampen my lust for the game. Once I pocketed some cash each morning the day was then mine to do what I wanted to do most. Pursue the game.
I had the patience to practice and since we were not permitted on the course until after 4 pm each day I did what all my friends and the best juniors did at the club. We hit balls, we chipped, we putted, and talked about the game. We also wanted to dress the game as well. My Dad was a clothes-horse and he traveled and played many of the top courses in the country, and as soon as I could swim comfortably in his hard collar Pickering shirts I was showcasing swag from Merion to Olympic Club. I couldn’t hang with Paul Antenucci’s game, the best player in North Jersey, or Dirk Fennie who eventually played at Colorado, but I was solid.
My glory shot was being the 16 seed in the club championship and facing the 1 seed in Ace Daniels. He was in his early 40’s with multiple car 
dealerships, his name embossed on his Macgregor irons, a Mark VII convertible and a blow-dried quaff that was impeccable. I had a Jones bag, had played Oliver in the junior high school musical and tipped out the scales at 116 pounds. I was also two up with three to play and the club was buzzing that a character from a Horatio Alger novel was on the verge of walking in “Ace”. I took the gas pipe and choked away the last three holes, but I have taken solace that I had the equivalent of Phil Brody from “Flamingo Kid” sweating me. The high point was winning the 1981 Father Son tournament over Pete Campbell, and his father, Pete Campbell. My Dad didn’t take kindly to the fact that Pete was my dad’s age and was a former club champion and his father was the senior club champion. Dad thought their entrance was a violation of the spirit of the competition for Dad’s and actual children. As he said to me upon finding out that the Campbells were in the field, “lets beat those sons of bitches”. No greater pregame speech has ever been uttered and we got it done. That trophy resides proudly in my office. I have never grinded harder to contribute on a golf course than I did those two summer days.
I don’t know if I had a better childhood than children of younger generations, but I know I wouldn’t trade mine for anyone’s. We called girls on our house phones and they answered not knowing who was on the other end which was a horrifying undertaking. I’m guilty of writing a phone call script but I learned quickly when Julie Cook didn’t respond with the line I anticipated that we were free-styling. I didn’t waste a moment in a pinball arcade and was totally disinterested in Atari and InTelevision – the most primitive forms of video games. I wanted to be on a golf course, talking to adults while carrying their Powerbilt irons and Palmer Peerless drivers. I wanted to listen to the beaten up but not down and out caddies for life who closed down “Esposito’s” the night before and smelled like a bottle of Dry Sack, explaining to us youngsters why Linda Carter was hotter than Farrah Fawcett. It was a compelling argument. I wanted my TP Mills putter to become my biggest weapon and therefore I rolled hundreds of putts a day on the majestic practice putting green at RCC. I wanted to spin the 90 compression Titleist balata balls like Jerry Pate and Ben Crenshaw and learn how to shape a driver around the corner on 3 Center. I wanted to start each day with the dew on my shoes and finish each day with the fading sun on my neck. I know that being lost can be unnerving and anxiety filled but I’ve never been more content than I was all those summer days lost in the pursuit of something I’ve loved ever since.
by Gary Williams | Jun 12, 2023 | Blog
“Nobody ever wins the National Open. Somebody else just loses it.” The words of four-time U.S. Open champion Bobby Jones describing what it takes to win the national championship. It’s an event with a particular identity that for decades was associated with very certain things. But, like virtually every college football fan base, had developed an identity crisis. Ninety percent of college fans think their school should be competing for national championships when reality suggests maybe 10% can or do actually win “Nattys”. The U.S. Open was THE event when I was a kid. The Masters was beautiful and emerging as a brand globally in the 70’s. The PGA was always hot and simply seemed important, but you saw more of it than the other events week to week, and the Open Championship was on so early and for so little time that I couldn’t grasp how amazing it was until I started to gain some context. I knew exactly what the U.S. Open was and it’s time for it to be that again, unequivocally, starting this week at Los Angeles Country Club.
“You not only have to be good, but you have to have two horseshoes up your rear end. You’ve got to be lucky to win the U.S. Open.” Words glibly spoken by Sam Snead who never won the U.S. Open and was gutted by it finishing second on four occasions. Luck, resolve, patience, determination, guts, will, are all words associated with winning the U.S. Open. We don’t invoke phrases that are more closely associated with endurance examinations than we do the biggest event conducted by the United States Golf Association. I was 14 years old when my dad took me to the opening round of the 1980 U.S. Open at Baltusrol. We followed Tom Weiskopf because my dad knew I wouldn’t see any shots if we followed Nicklaus. I saw a 63 shot that day, of course Nicklaus shot 63 that day as well because that’s what he did to Weiskopf. On Tom’s best days Jack was usually just a little bit better or equally as good which meant more anguish for Weiskopf. I loved everything I saw that day including P.J. Boatwright, the executive director of the USGA. Yes, a man in a white oxford button down shirt with a regimental stripe tie and a bucket hat was cool to me. I thought he was golf’s ombudsman and felt that way for his entire career. The men in the blue blazers with the constipated looks on their faces were golf’s high court. They were the judge and jury of what was a proper major championship set up and their championship was the standard by which all golfers of the elite level should be measured one time annually.
‘The U.S. Open has never been exciting to watch. It has always been a sad tournament. There is no excitement, no enjoyment. It is all 
defensive golf, from the first tee to the last putt.” The words of Seve Ballesteros who never won a U.S. Open and whose closest finish was a 3rd place in 1987, five shots behind Scott Simpson. Simpson was a classic U.S. Open player of his time. He made 16 of his first 17 cuts in the U.S. Open and had a five-year stretch including his win where he was in the top 6 four times including a playoff loss to Payne Stewart in 1991. Plodding and patience was rewarded and simply not emotionally malfunctioning was supremely important. Seve would have been challenged in any era to win the U.S. Open but at his zenith he almost got it done because he was a genius as soon as he got off the teeing ground. Today’s player is wired for aggression and the plodder or U.S. Open specialist doesn’t really exist anymore. Lee Janzen is not walking through the clubhouse doors at LACC next week to contend. But, to me, it’s not about the player anymore, it’s about the venues and the set-up. For the last two decades the USGA has tried to be more benevolent, more inclusive of public golf courses as it relates to the host venue while also meandering through clumsy set up situations and potential rules infractions. While all of those things were transpiring the Masters, and Augusta National, was ascending to a place in the public’s consciousness that put them way out in front as the major with unequaled gravitas. While I’m very partial to the U.S. Open Championship as being the most charming and uplifting major to attend and watch, the Masters was taking digital distribution, the media experience, the modesty of concession prices, and the lore of the annual spring renewal to unmatched heights. So, where is the U.S. Open now?
“A difficult golf course eliminates a lot of players. The U.S. Open flag eliminates a lot of players. Some players weren’t meant to win the U.S. Open. Quite often, a lot of them know it.” Jack Nicklaus’ words personify the reputation the U.S. Open had firmly established when he won his first in 1962 and it was in place when he won his last in 1980. It’s not easy to not buckle under public criticism and the scrutiny of your top players and the USGA like all golf organizations have had to adapt as social media has allowed for more noise unchecked by the masses and the stars. Players don’t take on Augusta National on issues of set-up or “fairness”, it’s just not done, but it’s not like it’s not said privately. The USGA has been made vulnerable by their own missteps and the changing times, but one thing must happen for them to regain what was once theirs. Don’t apologize for your event being the hardest. Don’t run from the reputation of the set-up walking the line, embrace it. Don’t try again to go to new places for varying motivations when your rotation of big, brawny and ballsy U.S. Open venues have history on their side. Los Angeles Country Club is already booked for a return visit in 2039 and after this week I believe fans are going to be begging for it to return sooner. The USGA has the mind and skill of Gil Hanse as the true U.S. Open doctor who will not commit malpractice to the detriment of the championship or the hosting memberships of venues going forward including Merion, Oakmont, Winged Foot, and Oakland Hills. Present America’s great golf courses under the most demanding and exacting conditions. Be pragmatic with some interesting design features that give the best golf courses elasticity and variety. Straddle that line and if your set-up crosses it, own the mistake and move on. And most importantly, reclaim the steely refrain of the late Sandy Tatum who stated, “we’re not trying to humiliate the best players in the world, we are simply trying to identify who they are”. Finally, it’s Hollywood, entertain us.
by James McCoy | Jun 9, 2023 | Blog
The bond between parent and child is unbreakable. As those bonds strengthen over time there are oftentimes particular things that make that bond grow even closer. It doesn’t matter if it is father-son, mother-daughter, mother-son, father-daughter – any combination. And when you are in that sweet spot of life, the time when you are both parent and child you have an even greater appreciation for those bonds, how they form, what makes them yours and the role they play in your life.
Sports create a bond that has always played a role in so many of these parent-child relationships. Whether that be a generational rooting for a particular team, the love of participation together, coaching or watching your child play and so many other limitless variations. Baseball has done a particularly good job of romanticizing the bond between father and son. If you want to see a male of a certain age cry like a baby just say the phrase, “Hey, Dad, you wanna have a catch?” and watch the waterworks start to flow.
Golf is another sport in which the bonds can run deep. I suspect part of the reason is because of the longevity the sport provides, being able to participate and play together even into one’s twilight years gives it incredible shelf life. After all, there are only so many sports you can play as you age, let alone play with others of any age. And golf isn’t just the playing or enjoyment of the game, it’s the time together, the conversations that can be had between shots and other factors that make it so unique. The amount of time it takes to play golf gets a bad rap for the obvious reasons but there are other times when it is the time itself, and time together, that is the most valuable part of the entire exercise.
I never really realized the thru-line golf had in the relationship between me and my father, Jim McCoy, in large part because it was never a central part of our story. It’s just now that I realize it has always been there, even if unspoken to a large degree. My Dad played scholastically in the 1950’s in his hometown of Middletown, N.Y. and in my early years he had his weekend tee times with a good group of friends at Finley Golf Course in Chapel Hill, N.C. where I was born and raised. I’ve just recently found some news clippings and photos that indicate he might have been a pretty good stick back in the day.
My father introduced me to the game and would take me out to Finley to get on the practice range, hit some putts and eventually start participating in clinics. We would play the course on occasion when time permitted. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t love it. I was getting better at tennis so that is where I spent most of my time and since my dad played tennis too that was what we did together most.
As time went on, my dad was more focused on the responsibilities of being a husband, a father and professor at the University of North Carolina and he just stopped playing golf. It wasn’t a conscious decision; it just happened that way as the time and expense no longer fit neatly into the calendar of his busy life.
I went off to college in Charlotte, N.C. and would play some golf here and there with friends and then Dad and I would try to find a few days in the summers to go down to the N.C./S.C. coast and get in a few rounds. We hit the Myrtle Beach hot spots like Gator Hole, Possum Trot and Eagle’s Nest among others. We’d have fun, spend some time together and then both return to our respective homes. But for the most part that was where golf resided in our relationship, a time to get together here and there, just the two of us and spend time.
I’ve spent my entire life working in the sports industry and as I reached my mid-40’s I was starting to play more “work” golf, at nice courses, and was tired of stinking up the joint. So, I talked with my wife about us joining a club and taking the sport more serious and wanting to get better. And that is what I did. At roughly the same time my father had been retired a few years and with urging from the entire family he finally sent in a deposit to re-join Finley and start playing golf again. This was great as there would now be many more outings between us and something to look forward to.
Our golf journeys went in different directions shortly after that. My Dad took a bad fall on the ice in his driveway just weeks after sending in his deposit, and one thing led to another for him health-wise and he never got to play golf again. I, on the other hand, was now playing more than ever. I didn’t get better right away but when Covid hit in March of 2020 and most sports went on hiatus, or full pause, I suddenly had a lot of time on my hands. And, like many during this time, I turned to golf and finally started to get better.
I held out hope, as did my dad, that things would turn around for him and we used the opportunity to golf together again as that carrot for him to recover. I was turning 50 in May of 2021 and in the year prior a good friend of mine, Eric, and I, started to plan an epic trip overseas to celebrate the occasion. My wife blessed what turned out to be a 14-day trip with a round of golf every day at a who’s who of iconic golf courses in Ireland, Northern Ireland and Scotland. I’d list them out, but it would get obnoxious and make the ’27 Yankees Murderer’s Row look like a bunch of “Punch and Judy” hitters.
Eric’s father would be our third and in an ideal world my father would have been our fourth, but that ship had unfortunately long since sailed. Instead, I kept him updated on our planning. I told my dad that the last course we were going to be playing on our trip was the Old Course at St. Andrews. He immediately said to “birdie 18 for me”. It felt like a throwaway line to me at the time, like hit a home run for me or score a touchdown, just a default thing to say. But as the trip got closer, any time it came up in conversation, he would say the same thing, “birdie 18 for me” and it started to feel like there was more meaning to it.
Ireland was incredible. Not only were we playing these unreal courses every day but traveling from site to site we got to see so much of the countryside. It was everything I hoped it would be. I checked in at home every couple days, and each conversation with my father included some version of “Wish you were here and wish I was there with you”. He was in spirit of course but that isn’t quite the same. I played some good golf and had some good rounds and had a few others I’d rather forget but after seven days in Ireland and Northern Ireland we made our way to Scotland.
On the second day there we were playing North Berwick, a treat to say the least. That is until from the deep rough on 16, I sent a 9-iron greenside only to feel like I had been shot in my left side. I went down to one knee and the pain was real and I favored that side as I got up and walked. I tried to tee off on 17 and about doubled over in pain. I had pulled my oblique, badly, and we had five more days on the trip with some of the most iconic courses still in front of us.
I tried to ice it that night in preparation for an early morning tee time at Muirfield the next day. The first shot on the range verified my worst nightmare, I couldn’t take a full swing. But with that round right in front of me, followed by Carnoustie, Kingsbarns, the New Course and the Old Course still to go I was determined to figure out how to play. The money was spent, and I had no desire to just sit in a hotel room. So, I modified a swing, just trying to slap the ball forward – a “Punch and Judy” if you will. It’s a tactic that fortunately has some merit in Scotland as if you can get the ball rolling it will keep going.
The results weren’t pretty, but I was out there. Muirfield was bad – correction, really bad. Carnoustie was not a whole lot better. By the time we got to Kingsbarns I had figured out a swing that I was able to repeat more often and had some good holes including several pars in a row at one stretch. At the New Course I had it dialed in… four pars and 14 bogey’s – not bad all things considered – no blow-up holes on the card.
The last day of the trip was of course at the Old Course. You almost don’t believe you are standing on the first tee and about to play it. The swing consistency of the day before was gone but I was making my way around and just enjoying the history of where my feet were. When we got to 17 tee, I looked at Eric and said I didn’t come all the way over here to slap this ball around the hotel, I’m going for it. So, I gripped it and ripped it and couldn’t have hit it better if 100% healthy. But I paid for it. Damn did it hurt, but in the moment, I felt it was worth it.
When we got to 18 tee, what had been in the back of my mind since we arrived and for the better part of almost a year came front and center. I needed to make birdie for my dad. I hadn’t birdied a single hole since we landed in Scotland, and I just re-aggravated my oblique – the timing was not ideal. But everything is right in front of you on the 18th so I just needed to summon up one more straight slap of the ball down the center and let it run and give myself a chance. That is not what happened – a dead pull left. The good news was I was in the fairway. The bad news is that it was the fairway on hole #1. But if you are ever going to miss left off the tee anywhere in the world then the 18th hole at St. Andrews is the place to do it.
We headed towards Swilcan Bridge and took our pictures. We took a group photo, and I got an individual photo and then Eric and his father got one together. It hit me then how badly I wished my dad was there in person, not just spirit, to share that moment. I started the trek to my ball with my 5-iron in hand which had become my second shot club for the last five days almost regardless of distance. It was an easy decision when I got there, just punch it towards the green and hope you get a good bounce and a good roll over the various terrain of hills. From my location I couldn’t tell for sure where it ended up, but I knew it was on the green.
The picture you see at the top of this blog post was my ball on 18 green and the putt in front of me. (You’ll have to pardon the yellow ball as I was at the end of a 14-day trip and into my final emergency sleeve.) When I first saw it, and what looked like an 8-10 ft. putt, I just stopped and took a picture. I took hundreds and hundreds of pictures all week of all the courses and sites along the way. But this was the only picture I took of my ball as the central figure of the photo.
When it came my turn to putt, I was a mess, with a million thoughts in my head. You could convince me it would break right, or break left, and I don’t even recall what the caddie told me. Eventually I just put the ball in motion towards the hole and I’ll be damned if it didn’t go in. Emotions immediately hit me both with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. I took the ball out of the hole and looked at Eric and he was smiling. He knew. I had told him. There was an older couple looking on from the road leaning on the fence’s cross pole. But I felt one more person was there too, even if just in spirit, and in that moment that was good enough.
I made the call to my dad back at the hotel and told him “we” birdied 18 at St. Andrews and I could tell it made him emotional too. My oblique didn’t even seem to hurt as much anymore, or I just didn’t care – my trip had been made. One day I may be fortunate enough to make my first hole-in-one or hit the shot or putt to win a club championship (albeit a net win from a lower flight) but no matter what, when or where, I will never hit a more meaningful shot the rest of my life. And I am good with that.
After the trip I returned home and dove back into work. Our company had pivoted earlier that year with a focus on golf, creating 5 Clubs, and we were just publicly launching and about to go full speed with it. I made sure dad was in the loop any time something good happened and as we made progress. Golf was now part of my everyday life and a full-fledged passion.
As for golf itself, we did get my dad out to our club one day. He watched my then 12-yr old daughter hit a few balls on the range and then the three of us putted around on the practice green having a mini contest, his steps too unsteady to do any more than that. As it turned out it would be the last time a club would be in his hands. But it’s a day I won’t forget.
Golf would find its way into our story arc again at the end. The last good day we spent together, and by that, I mean I was able to wheel him into the sunroom of his home and sit and talk with him, was May 6, the day after I turned 52 and the third round Saturday at the Wells Fargo Championship at Quail Hollow Club. My in-laws have been members at Quail Hollow for decades and it was where my wife and I got married in 2006 and where my dad served as my best man. We had a couple tee times for family and groomsmen the day before where I played with my dad, so it was fun to reminisce about those days and see what he remembered of the course as we spent the afternoon together.
I left that evening, played with buddies the next morning back home and then got the call that he had taken a downturn as our round had just 
finished up. I returned to my childhood home again the next day where I would spend the next two weeks at his bedside. That first week we talked about a lot of serious things and mixed in some golf talk. He told me to pick a place and go play it for us. We talked about it and settled on Shinnecock not too far from where he grew up in his home state and a place he loved to see on TV for the big events. It also just so happens to be one of the original five clubs that formed the USGA and the foundation for our platform name – 5 Clubs. I’m not sure if I will ever get there, but if I do, I will be playing for the two of us. It was then that I reminded him that we birdied 18 at St. Andrews and with his eyes closed and a satisfied look on his face he said, “yes we did.” The “we” part of that meant everything as he drifted off to sleep.
As the PGA Championship got under way at Oak Hill my dad wasn’t really able to communicate much anymore. For the next four days the tournament was on in the background either on my iPad or the TV from early in the morning until late at night. I watched with the sound almost inaudible as I sat next to him and monitored him and tried to make him comfortable. I finally headed back to be with my family as Koepka and Hovland made the Sunday turn having made some peace with the hardest good-bye of my life.
I got the call that my dad had passed the next day early in the evening of May 22. I was prepared but nothing truly prepares you for that actual moment. My wife and daughter did their best for me, and we hugged, cried and talked about my hero. The support around me has been overwhelming.
Golf will be part of the bow that gets tied with my dad. On Sunday, June 18, Father’s Day, they will play the final round of the U.S. Open at the North Course at Los Angeles Country Club. It will be my 14th Father’s Day as a dad to my daughter, Grayson, and obviously the first without my own father. The irony is not lost on me that LACC just happens to be my favorite course and golf “hang” I’ve ever had the privilege to play. Despite getting my teeth kicked in both times, when you have Danny Boehle and the “Big Cocktail” as your hosts and my friend Eric with me it’s hard to spend too much time worrying about the 3-putts that are piling up. I would have enjoyed talking to my dad about the course, telling him the bunkers I spent too much time in and maybe the occasional hole where I posted a good number. Instead, I will gather with my immediate and extended family around the same time that another name gets engraved on the U.S. Open Trophy, and undoubtedly the winner will be asked about what it means to win on Father’s Day with a likely arc between the winner and his own Father, or, if he happens to live in that sweet space, to win as a Father, kids at his side.
That next day will be the service to say goodbye and celebrate the life of my Father. I’ll deliver the final remarks in remembrance of a great man. Golf won’t be central to the story, it never was, but it will be there, because it always has been. And I’m grateful for that role golf played between me and my dad for the same reason that I am grateful that it is in its infancy between me and my daughter. She’s at the stage where she is trying to figure out if she loves it or hates it. We’ve all been there. I love nothing more than taking her to the range or to putt or to get out on the course with her. I doubt it will ever be central to our story either, but I have a feeling it will always be there because that is what bonds do, they connect you to something much more meaningful – the time and memories you create with loved ones.
by Gary Williams | May 12, 2023 | Blog
Budgets and expectations are generally separate and exclusive from each other but in golf they converge constantly. The budgeting of major championship victories for players is a frivolous exercise and those who participate invariably over budget once a player with real pedigree breaks through. Winning one usually raises our expectations for more and those who don’t get one early either are deemed as underachieving or destined for a short haul overall. Historically, great players usually didn’t wait long to break the seal on major championship victories, with a few exceptions, but today’s game presents a different approach to determining who and how many.
Jack Nicklaus’ first professional win was the U.S. Open in 1962 in a playoff over Arnold Palmer. Foreshadowing for one of the most absurd careers and major championship resumes the game will ever see. Tiger Woods won the Masters in 1997 by 12 shots in his first full season as a professional. Ushering in what I refer to as the 100-year flood of a career. Arnold Palmer won the U.S. Amateur in 1954 and in his ninth major championship start won the 1958 Masters. It took Ben Hogan a little longer, one because it took him a little longer to find his footing in professional golf (and World War II canceled three years of major championships golf) and most Americans weren’t even competing in the Open Championship at that time. Hogan would break through in the 1946 PGA Championship and his nine major victories in a condensed period will be hard pressed to be equaled by anyone in today’s game. More recently, Jordan Spieth captured his first major in his 8th professional start at the 2015 Masters and Justin Thomas won the 2017 PGA in his 10th major start. Conversely, Phil Mickelson had 22 wins and was 33 years of age before he finally broke through at the 2004 Masters and was historically one the most accomplished winners in PGA Tour history without a major when he finally crossed the line. Sergio Garcia was a victim, just ask him. Whether it was of the draw, dumb luck, his own petulance or trying to swim in the Tiger Woods riptide. He finally got his major in 2017, and like Greg Norman, Tom Weiskopf, and Fred Couples, his major victories seem much less than was expected. To say nothing for Colin Montgomerie, Lee Westwood, or Doug Sanders. When we start to project, I think we hand out way too many, neglecting to factor in how fickle it all is and how history is our greatest guide and yet we don’t trust it to forecast the future.
Which brings us to the next major in the men’s game at Oak Hill for the 105th PGA Championship. Oak Hill has sneaky good history. Cary Middlecoff, Lee Trevino, Jack Nicklaus, Curtis Strange all are in the Hall of Fame and won majors at Oak Hill. Shaun Micheel was an upset in one of the more upsetting major years in history in 2003 and Jason Dufner was the 21st ranked player in the world when he won the last major played there in 2013 at the PGA. Under the direction of Andrew Green, the East Course is being returned to many of the Donald Ross looks and design principles from years ago and I’m feeling a really good week for the club and the reception the course receives from the players. Since 2010 there have been seven players who have made the PGA their first major championship victory and there is a stable of players with similar accomplishments who are good enough to make Oak Hill their first.
Xander Schauffele has 23 major starts and has been in the fire late several times at different majors. He was the last line of defense to Francisco Molinari at the Open in 2018 and was in the heat at the Masters in 2019 and 2021. He has six top 5’s in majors and his wins have bold type with an Olympic gold medal, The Tour Championship, the Tournament of Champions and a World Golf Championship. He is as accomplished as any player without a major title.
Patrick Cantlay has lived around the top 10 in the world for several years and his overall production is just short of Jon Rahm and Scottie Scheffler. His major record is skimpy for the standards he lives by with only three top 10’s in 24 major starts. He has dubiously retreated in a few big moments late like the 2019 Masters, where he faded to a tie for 9th. With eight wins and tons of cash, Patrick needs more major moments late on Sundays to quiet a steady cynicism that is associated with his chances of winning one of the big four.
Tony Finau went years without winning and in the last 19 starts he has racked up four wins. If you assess those fields, they all lacked depth of top 20 players. That is not his fault but it’s the reality of the players who he’s beat in those weeks. He did go through world number one, Jon Rahm, in Mexico which is a notch and his major record in 27 starts is sturdy. Tony has top 5 in all four majors and finished in a tie for seventh in the Masters in April. Additionally, he has been one of the better Americans in the last three team competitions. Finau is going to win a major and Oak Hill could be the spot.
Cameron Young only has seven major starts in his young career, but he ran third at the 2022 PGA and was sensational in pushing Cam Smith to the line at the Open Championship. When he wins it’ll be the first of many and a major as his first makes complete sense. Add in the presence of Paul Tesori on his bag and he has a guy with many late Sunday tee times giving advice and pulling clubs. 
Max Homa wins a lot now and with that comes a referendum on his major starts. In his 14 major starts in his career, he has yet to notch a top 10 finish, but last year’s PGA produced his best result, T13, and he knows people are making note of his results in these events now. Winning habitually and being on American teams means we keep score during major weeks. It’s time for Max to contend. He’s that good.
Viktor Hovland has deficiencies the closer he gets to the hole, but he is showing improvement. Major winners on average are going to miss 16 to 18 greens over the course of the week and Hovland will need to be more efficient around the greens, but he has the ball striking to stand tall with anyone in the game. 13 major starts have produced a couple top 10’s including a tie for fourth at the 2022 Open championship. Hovland is most certainly capable of showing major championship chops he just needs to be better than he’s been on and around the greens.
Players will tell you that more players than ever can win tour events. Less can win major championships but there is still a legit pool of players capable of breaking through next week. The reason why no player other than Tiger and Phil have gotten to five major titles or more in the last 35 years is because more can, and the wealth has been divided. If we are to see a first-time major winner at Oak Hill, I’ll ride with Tony Finau.
by Gary Williams | Apr 20, 2023 | Blog
“Time is a thief, but he’s not subtle. He’s a thug.” A line penned by J.R. Moehringer for the novel, “Sutton”. This statement is applicable to all of us, but it is amplified as we watch our stars grow older before us. Compromised by new limitations and exacerbated by the next generation of those wanting to take what used to be ours. Its why athletic mortality is a fascinating study because it can come so swiftly, and it usually occurs well before the adoring public has even reached midlife in our own chosen fields. So, what do we do now in our assessment and forecast for Tiger Woods after the disclosure of his latest medical procedure to alleviate pain in his foot and ankle and hopefully provide a greater quality of life. It leads us once again to ponder what has been a practical consideration since his car careened off the road in Southern California a little over two years ago, what if this is the end?
Creator: Christian Iooss | Credit: Christian Iooss/Golf Digest
Genius is not supposed to be pretty, clean, or obedient. Genius is just genius. We marvel at the accomplishment of the true geniuses and the skill and the inspiration but the exercise of determining why it wasn’t tidier is time wasted. The “what ifs” are plentiful when you examine the great performers in art, music, theater, and sport. They are tormented and that torment leads to manic, reckless, and extreme behavior. They redline to satisfy their own skill, likely finding only temporary satisfaction. The persistent refrain that Tiger should have never changed from the “Butch Harmon” swing dismisses the rub in the conversation. Tiger himself. He was pursuing something only he could see or possibly attain so the pivots during the process were inevitable. Most engineers want to be artists, few artists want to be engineers. Tiger is an artist.
So, now in his advancing age and diminished physical state why is he doing this and even trying to do this again? Because it’s who he is. No, making cuts in a major is not his benchmark but it’s a mile marker. It’s a referendum and he’s never succumbed to what was always accomplished before as being enough. Every round, every event, every shot updated the grandest scoreboard of them all, who are you right now. Few athletes in our lifetimes have combined the greatest gifts, which produced the most refined skill coupled with the predatorial approach of extermination. Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods represent the most lethal make-up of the modern athlete. They played broke every day because it was the only way they knew how.
Since Tiger’s car accident it has been my position that winning was simply not achievable any longer. The harsh circumstances of the severity of the injury and the subsequent impact on how little competitive golf he would be able to play put me in a place I haven’t been since he introduced himself professionally 27 years ago. That winning was no longer. It’s not that he can’t still produce golf shots few others can, it’s that the rudimentary elements associated with elite championship golf would be too arduous and that the walking and 72 holes would
choke out the odds of crossing the line one more time. His major championship season of 2023 is most certainly over and as he and we go into the winter of this year, he will enter his 48th year. He has possessed the ability to suspend the likely or the plausible result and what if that is not an achievable power anymore? That’s for him to determine and he can take all the days and years he wants to draw that conclusion. In order for him to chase greatness again it may only produce the ordinary by his standards but that’s for his determination, not me or you. The epidemic of all of us knowing what’s best for others is ironic since half the time we don’t even know what’s best for ourselves. It’s also silly that we apply the notion that past accomplishments and moments may be compromised or extinguished if iconic athletes stay around too long. I’ve never suffered selective amnesia when I reflect on the surgical precision of Jerry Rice running routes as a San Francisco 49er while also acknowledging that he wore a Seattle Seahawks jersey. He’s still the greatest wide receiver of all time. Legacy is a misunderstood word but any athlete performing at some point as less than what they were formerly changes nothing about what once was.
Golf can resuscitate our greats, Jack in ‘98 at the Masters, Watson in ‘09 at the Open Championship, Snead in ‘74 at the PGA. Icons can wake up the echoes because they just can. I want to believe that Tiger will have more moments because we want him to have more than at any point in his career. He was never lacking for the public’s adulation, but he now receives a level of affection that even he never saw coming or how it would penetrate him. Fans are greedy and golfers are the greediest. Talk to anyone about their career round and it could have always been two better. Lamenting the makeable putts while overlooking the three chip ins and the ricochet off the cart barn from OB to fairway hit. Teams, players and fans want one more before the window closes regardless of how many are already in the trophy case. Tiger Woods was the hundred-year flood and if he’s finally been dammed, then DAMN!
by Gary Williams | Apr 17, 2023 | Blog
Athletes and fans keep score, and we all make lists. We have lists for errands, thank you notes, career goals, amends we have to make, and for golfers… its where we must go. I certainly want to attend games at some of the great sports venues of the world starting with the All England Lawn and Croquet Club for Wimbledon. I’ve been to games at Lambeau Field, Cameron Indoor Stadium, Fenway Park, The Indianapolis Motor Speedway, Madison Square Garden, and The Big House. Many of those experiences were work related or simply reflective of a game I wanted to attend without pining for years to get to those venues. Golf is different and golfers make lists of places they dream of playing and when they check courses off their lists, they keep score with the ones they play the most golf with. It’s silly and petty and a driving force for those things we all want on the horizon. As I’ve said before, we all need things to look forward to in this life.
Royal County Down (Creator: David Cannon | Credit: Getty Images)
Many of the best and first experiences I had in golf I shared with my dad. First rounds at Pine Valley, Pinehurst #2, Pebble Beach, Muirfield, Royal County Down and the Old Course were with my only hero. The memories have stood up and will always galvanize those places as extra special way beyond the holes and the hang. The last 15 years of my life and career have been an embarrassment of invites and opportunity. Places with historical relevance in championship golf have been a particular pursuit like Oakmont and the Country Club. Newer places like Ohoopee, Old Sandwich, and Friars Head because they have cultivated a superior experience by threading the needle in every category of experiential golf. Nostalgic locales like Fishers Island, Cypress Point and Newport Country Club because they are golf time capsules that rely on their soul and their healthy heartbeats that will stand the test of time. I was never really having to construct a list because the opportunity was there, and I never took any of the days for granted. Sand Hills hung out on my horizon for years as my own white whale and I satisfied that desire in September of 2019 and again last summer. It is a mecca, and it satisfied every element of what I hoped it would be. Circumstances in the spring and summer of 2023 will give me new experiences and I know I will take of all of them with a healthy level of gratitude. It still won’t stop me from being critical of design features I don’t care for, the signature soup that will be bland and the merchandise in the shop that will have me wanting to come out of retirement to set the professional staff straight on what is essential to “repping” a shop expertly. When I took on that responsibility at Seminole in the mid 90’s it was the most stimulating thing I did in my time as a member of the PGA of America.
My list is short, but there is one club and course I am determined to visit in 2023, Crystal Downs. Dr. Alistair Mackenzie’s body of work is not
Ohoopee Match Club (Courtesy of Gil Hanse)
as prolific as some of his contemporaries, but he has several of the most important golf courses in American golf history on his resume and the story of Crystal Downs and its adherence to its modest presentation as a club is endearing. The short season of the Midwest, especially that of Northern Michigan makes the playing opportunities finite compared to other parts of the country but the pleasant climate and the extended daylight make the notion of a late, late afternoon tee time at Crystal Downs the most desirous experience I want to share in 2023. I spent many fantastic days in Leland, Michigan as a kid with the family of a lifelong friend and it’s been decades since I’ve been in that part of the world. Couple that with the reputation of Crystal Downs as a laboratory for design geeks to wig out at the sublime use of the land by Dr. Mackenzie and Perry Maxwell, the green contours and the sleepy and humble vibe of the club itself, and you have the perfect combination of things that wind me up as a golfer.
Why do you want to go where it is you want to go? The list is about the top 100 and you are currently lagging behind your gluttonous buddies who have checked more boxes? It’s the forbidden city like Augusta National or Pine Valley because they are the boldest notches on your golf bedpost? It’s about the hottest hangs in the game like Ohoopee, Groove XXIII, or Gosser Ranch because you want to share it with your boys? Whatever the reasons, they’re all good and shared by countless others. It’s such a particular element of the game that helps sustain it and what other sport would have my mind fixated on getting to Frankfort, Michigan on a summer day? When and if the day presents itself, I’ll share all the details and then I’ll move on to the next thing that has taken up residence in my golf-centric mind. Playing and exploring what I am calling the Jay Gatsby golf trail. What could that possibly consist of….Stay tuned.
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