An announcer came on and introduced each golfer before they hit, and I was amazed at how loud the crowd got when Phil was introduced, and then how quiet the stadium became when he was about to hit. But, I learned that this crowd does not play favorites: Phil missed the green to the right, and the crowd booed him just the same.

From there, I drank 4-5 cups of coffee in an effort to wake myself up and write. I made an effort to start writing this section this morning, but threw it out because I had been writing it when I was half asleep and I hated the way it sounded.
Right now, however, I’m putting the finishing touches on this segment from my car, because I believe I did in fact piss off the night security supervisor with my whole “laptop charger” excuse last night.

Mark Stevens, another PGA Tour representative right alongside Mark Williams, was finally relaxing and watching some basketball two tables ahead of mine. I was busily typing away, trying like hell to leave, when a night security guard walked in. I hadn’t seen this one before.

“You guys have to pack up your stuff and get out, because we’re locking everything down.”

Mark flipped a switch. “Look, you get on the radio and call your supervisor. We still have someone writing here. This is a media center. You can’t just kick us out.”

“Well, I’m only doing what I’ve been told to do.”

“Just call your supervisor and tell him to give us another 15 minutes.”

With that, the young lad walked out with his radio to make the call. I didn’t say anything, but I started to type faster. After a few minutes, the guard came back in.

“What are your names, and who are you with?” Not this again.

“Mark Stevens, PGA Tour.”

“Tom Collins, Universal Golf.” Great. If that was the supervisor from last night on the other end of the radio, he’ll probably hear my name and come down again to say hello: “Oh my God, that a-hole again?”

I tried to focus on typing and watched the clock. When I turned, I finally noticed Amy, who had been seated behind me the whole time. She looked at me almost hesitantly, and her face said it all – I bet she got reamed by the security supervisor last night after I left, for aiding and abetting a fugitive or something.
I didn’t want to cause her trouble. Also, as nice as he was for speaking up, I didn’t want Mark Stevens putting his two cents in when I’m actually writing for myself. I mean what I’m writing right now is not going in tomorrow’s paper or anything. I soon packed up my laptop and my unfinished work, just to get out of there. When he saw me load up my backpack, Mark stood up to leave.

“Take it easy, Tom.”

“Hey, Mark. Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”

So now, here I sit, typing these last few words in the darkness of Lot 6. Collective Soul is performing at the Bird’s Nest across the street, but I need to try to catch up on sleep and prepare for one hell of a day tomorrow.

Waste Management Phoenix Open – Friday, February 26, 2010 D-Day

10:02 am

In “Flowers for Algernon” by Daniel Keyes, one gets to read through the progress reports of Charlie, a mentally disabled patient undergoing surgeries to try and increase his intelligence. The book is extremely creative, as Charlie’s writing ability goes from elementary school level with poor sentence structure and misspellings to an eloquent graduate thesis level when the experiments hit their peak. Near the end of the book, Charlie unfortunately reverts and we see the obvious decline in his writing ability, but overall the book is definitely worth reading if you haven’t already done so.

I mention this because I’m hoping you, the reader, will find it in your heart to view the following piece of prose as a great creative writing experiment. I will be imbibing alcohol and my subsequent writing this evening may be a little weird. This won’t be like the aforementioned novel, because I think my writing will simply decline rather than improve at some point. But that’s all part of it.

If the last couple of nights are any indication, I will be forcibly removed from the media center by 8:30 pm this evening. This means, if you’re working backwards, I should probably come off the course around 5 pm to allow “ample” time to write. Working even further backwards, that means I need to start drinking alcohol around noon today to allow enough time to reach my own personal peak of inebriation.

I’m hoping all of this planning won’t hinder my creativity and spontaneity out there on number 16.

But this is the Waste Management Phoenix Open, people. I’ve never been out here, and I’ve been trying to do my best week in and week out to bring you, the reader, into the action. By not spending at least one day experiencing the 16th hole in all its glory, I am not fulfilling a promise I made to you when I started this whole thing.

So again, to summarize: by not drinking and spending most of my day on the 16th hole, I’m not doing my job. The logic is simple, yes?

So, let’s see what happens. Similar to Charlie, the following is my own personal “progress report” from the 16th hole at the Waste Management Phoenix Open.

5:19 pm

I think I’ve almost lost my voice. When I was sitting at lunch today, I met Michael Collins, a PGA Tour reporter for XM Radio. After finding out that he was a caddie, and that he has played the same course where Steve Marino and I used to caddie, he gave me one very valuable piece of advice: “If you’re going to the 16th hole, go and stand in the first section on the left. Those are my ASU boys that just love to Google information about players and I have to say... If I ever get fired, it’s going to be on that hole, with that group of guys, and you know what? I don’t care.”

This post was edited on 3/20/20 at 5:03 pm

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Posted by LSUAlum2001

Stavro Mueller Beta

Member since Aug 2003

47144 posts

Posted on 3/20/20 at 4:47 pm to LSUAlum2001

But before I took his advice, I had planned it so that I would go back to my car to chug some beers. The cheapest beer you can buy here is $6.00, and I figure if I can chug a few before I hit the golf course, I’ll save valuable money I can use for other things. Every night so far, the media center provides a plethora of beers on ice for the media people, and because I’m the last one here, I have been sneaking one or two extra each night especially for today. So I already had four beers ready and waiting in my car when I got there.

As I walked to my car, I looked to my right and saw that a police officer was playing fetch with his K-9 fairly close to my cooler on wheels. Look, I have to drink these beers, so I was just hoping that the dog wasn’t trained to pick up on alcohol.

When I got to my car, I brought all four beers up front and took one at a time and wrapped a napkin from McDonalds around each one to disguise them should anyone walk by. I turned on some tunes and opened all of the windows so I wouldn’t be bored / baking in my car, and there was nobody around, so I thought it would all go off without a hitch.

Then some guy in a highly heterosexual white Dodge Charger pulled up right in front of me, stepped out slowly, and lit a cigarette. He had a Bluetooth on his ear, but he wasn’t talking to anyone yet. He was merely being a jackass and delaying my drinking time, standing there smoking his stupid cigarette. Another car pulled up with a few older ladies inside, and I started pretending to search around my car for something, acting like I had just parked and was getting things around to get out there. That idiot with the Charger and the Bluetooth was now on the phone, staring right at me, and after trying to waste some time constructively by spraying myself with a little cologne, I was running out of patience.

After 5 minutes, the older ladies had vacated the area but this idiot was still talking business on his Bluetooth. At this point, he’s wasting my valuable time, so I grabbed the beers and started chugging when his back was turned. When he finally decided to end his stupid conversation, I had just finished my last beer and was ready to head to the 16 . Thanks for taking your time buddy.

At this point, I couldn’t wait to get to 16. It was 12:30, and the place was mobbed, so once I walked near the clubhouse, the pace of my walk was no longer up to me. I was a part of the mob.

Near the 16 , there was a beer stand to my right, and I took full advantage. The only delay between me and my beer came when the girls at the bar asked that I consult some old guy who would check my ID and then give me a wristband, signifying that yes, I am good to go. This old guy, however, was currently flirting with two “Scottsdale girls” in their 20s, and wouldn’t stop flirting. It got so bad that I turned to one of the girls at the bar and pretended to stick out my chest and squeeze whatever cleavage I have together to try and get the guys attention. The girl laughed and motioned that she was already preparing my future beer, just so that I wouldn’t have to wait any longer. When the old guy finally had his fill of the ladies, he turned to me.

“Florida, eh? You’re my first Florida.” “Well, you never forget your first.” “Let me put this on your wrist for you.”

Please don’t. Oh, but he did. Damn it. Can I go now? When I was finally released, I was glad one of the bar girls had my drink waiting. The noise coming from the crowd at 16 made me feel bad for not being in the stands already, and I didn’t need another delay.

Walking up the ramp, you could feel the thunder. Today, the grandstands on 16 were packed, which even included the skyboxes. When I finally got my view of the mayhem, I looked to my left and saw my intended sitting / standing area, but it looked completely full. But I walked up anyway, and found a row of guys who were nice enough to say: “Oh, hey, there’s a seat right in here for you.”

Several rows below, ASU guys guided the crowd with various cheers—which at that time was: “USA! USA! USA! USA!” because Chad Campbell was on the tee with Fredrik Jacobsen and DA Points. After everyone teed off, the boys below tried to start a wave, which spread about 1/4 of the way through the stadium before it fizzled out. This “fizzle” was met with raucous “boos” from all of the ASU guys, and they tried to start another wave, which was again unsuccessful.
As players arrived and teed off, I noticed a pattern develop as the Heineken’s went down. Some of the following will be predictable, some not so much:

1. As players approached the tee, people went crazy.
2. As soon as each player was about to hit, the ASU guys all “shh-ed” the crowd to get everyone as quiet as possible.
3. At impact or just before in some cases, people went crazy.
4. A) If the ball landed anywhere off of the green, people “booed” like it was their job.
B) If the ball landed “too far away” from the flag, we all made the “safety” symbol over our heads and started screaming “safety! Safety! Safety!” Which I’m sure was just as bad as booing. C) If the ball landed close, everyone went nuts for a good 30 seconds while players walked toward the green.
5. While players were walking by us, everyone started shouting “tip your cap! Tip your cap!” until each player turned and did so. If they did, we all cheered. If they didn’t, what do you think? Boo!
6. When the scoreboard boy walked by, everyone started shouting “spin the sign! Spin the sign!” until the kid crapped his pants and did so.
7. Once players reached the green, everyone around me—including myself—forgot about who we just saw or who might be making birdie. That responsibility was now up to the crowd in the stands behind the green.

This post was edited on 3/20/20 at 5:05 pm

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