Eighteen Holes Carrying The Score Sign

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Tiger Woods is one of the most recognized people in the world and certainly the world's best professional golfer. Last year, as part of my quest to do George Plimpton-like things, I was going to be a standard bearer [fancy golf talk for carrying the score sign] for Tiger during a round at the annual Buick Open tournament in Grand Blanc, Mich.



Good idea, but bad timing. Tiger skipped the 2007 tournament to stay home with his wife and new baby. No gig for me. This year everything had been arranged with the Buick people -- Woods has a huge endorsement deal with Buick -- for me to be a standard bearer for him during one round of the 2008 tournament.



But, as golf fans know well, after winning the U.S. Open on June 16, Tiger needed a knee operation. Once again he was to miss the Buick Open, which this year was the 50th anniversary of the tournament.



For a moment there, it appeared that again I'd be denied. Undaunted, I pitched Buick to let me carry the standard for long-hitting John Daly, pro golf's perennial bad boy and arguably the second-biggest gallery favorite among current golf professionals.



My pitch was accepted and in late June, I drove to the Warwick Hills Golf & Country Club in Grand Blanc to get my marching orders. I was one of several hundred volunteers.



Donning the Uniform

But I was older, a lot older. Most of the volunteers were 14- to 17-year-old kids. The manager of caddying operations said to me: "You want to do what? It's over four miles of walking in the rough up and down while carrying a 30-pound sign that must be changed as the scores change. And it's gonna be 85 degrees or more with matching humidity. Can you do it?" Enthusiastically, but somewhat warily, I accepted the challenge. "Be here by 6:30 a.m. tomorrow. John's got an early tee time," he said.



First, I needed appropriate attire. The kids wore special T-shirts; I was to wear a special Buick Open golf shirt and matching cap. I arrived a half-hour early and met Al Abrams, the Buick Open's public-relations director, who provided the garb.



Then a short walk to the staging area where I was given a blue canvas apron-like thing that tied in the back -- the skinny kids wrapped it around their waist -- which had 10 different pockets to hold the plastic number cards I'd be changing during the round. Red numbers signified under par; black, over par. The letter "E" for even par was in green.



Then I was handed the large green plastic frame with at least a three-foot-long pole. The names of the golfers I'd be carrying for were already slotted with their scores from Round One the previous day. "Hold the sign above your head, parallel to the galleries, while walking from one hole to the next. It's O.K. to put it down when on the tee box or the green, but that's all. Hold it high, hold it proudly."



Changing the score numbers required pushing the plastic cards into slots that ran on both sides of the standard. More instructions: "It's important to change the numbers of each golfer quickly and before going to the next tee. The fans in the gallery want correct scores. You'll be walking with an official scorer who will have the correct number if you don't."



Words of Advice

And the final, cautionary words: "Don't cough, sneeze, chew gum, make noise of any kind when the pros are teeing off and certainly not when they putt. Stand out of their sight line when and wherever they hit the ball. Don't speak to them unless they speak first. Oh, bathroom breaks only at the seventh and 13th holes -- and make it fast. Have a good time out there and good luck. If you get tired and need to quit, have a marshal call me and I will get a replacement for you."



A few minutes before 7 a.m. I walked to the first tee with a PR person and a marshal and hoisted the standard with the names John Daly, Jose Cceres, and Shane Bertsch over my head as instructed. Daly was at even par, Cceres was 2 under, and Bertsch 1 under.



After I introduced myself to the ShotLink lady, the semiofficial scorekeeper -- who looked at me incredulously -- and told her why I was there, she sort of laughed and also had some counsel: "Drink lots of water, stay in the rough, walk behind me, stop when I stop, and don't talk to the pros." She too was a pro. This was her 28th Buick Open as a volunteer.



As I looked down the first fairway, for a 567-yard, par-5 hole, one thought was very clear: This was going to be a long morning. The early gallery was forming on the tee box, and there were a few spectators lining the fairway. The gallery was not yet big. It was already muggy and I was sweating.



The First Tee

The pros' caddies arrived and began filling their pros' golf bags with energy bars, water, and other snacks while chatting amiably among themselves. All three came up to us to introduce themselves -- first names only -- in a very friendly way. Daly's caddie asked me, "What the hell are you doing carrying a standard?" I told him I was writing an article, which elicited a smile and shrug.



Moments later the golfers arrived and proceeded to swing their really big drivers in graceful arcs of speed and power. Daly and Bertsch shook our hands and thanked us for our volunteer work without introducing themselves.



At precisely 7 a.m. the official starter announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second round of the Buick Open." The gallery's conversations stopped as the starter continued, "On the tee is the 1991 PGA champion, John Daly from Pardanelle, Ark." A smattering of applause followed. It was early, the crowd smallish. Sportswriters call it the "Tiger effect": When he doesn't play, TV ratings go down and the crowds are smaller.



Wearing a bright yellow shirt and no cap, Big John, as he's often called, dropped his cigarette, nodded to acknowledge the gallery's applause, walked to the markers, carefully set his tee, and then placed the shiny white ball on it. He stepped back with the club in his big beefy hands, looked down the fairway, set his stance, and then proceeded to twist and contort his bulky 5-foot-11, 220-plus pound frame into an unnatural shape as he pulled the club up and then quickly down to hit the ball with a loud CLICK! WHACK! It zoomed down the fairway. Returning to a "normal" posture, Daly gazed down the fairway and shrugged. The ball was going long, but would be in heavy rough.



The gallery called out: "Go get 'em, J.D.! Nice drive. Good luck." The other golfers were introduced and hit their first shots of the day with not much more than polite clapping. And so the day began. The first of 18 holes.



The Game Is Their Job

Being "inside the ropes" gives one an interesting perspective on a golf tournament. It's not like one is playing golf; rather, one is a mute participant in an event where one can observe the concentration, focus, and intensity of a professional golfer. Most of us play the game. The pros are working. This is their livelihood. They are professionals.



Just one errant shot or one missed putt can reduce what they earn by thousands of dollars, or worse. If they don't score well and miss the cut, that means they don't play in the final two days of the tournament, barely allowing them to earn travel expenses.



Unlike most everyday golfers who may walk casually, if they don't ride in carts, golf professionals don't just walk. They stride at a fast, purposeful pace. Focus, focus, focus -- don't lose focus. No one wants to get a warning for slow play or hold up the group behind them. Keeping up with them was not easy.



Up the hills, down, trudging through the rough, hoisting the sign, resting the sign -- for 18 holes the process was duplicated, without intently watching the golfers. I was not a spectator. There was a job to do.



Surprisingly there was almost no conversation, let alone communication among the three golfers. The pros did quietly question their caddies, but from what I could hear, it was about how to hit the next shot. Each was in their own zone.



Finishing the Round

Hitting out of deep rough on the second hole, Daly aggravated an old injury on his right hand and for the balance of the course would release the hand from his club as soon as he struck the ball. It looked odd, resulted in some poor ball striking, and caused some negative comments from the gallery. But Cceres, an Argentinean, was not having a good day either and his Latin temper showed as he slammed his putter down. Bertsch was consistent, straight, and sinking putts.



At one point, there was a backup and long wait at the 12th hole. Daly's caddie walked over and as he handed me a golf ball, he said, "J.D. autographed this for you." That was the only communication I had with Daly all morning. He wasn't too happy.



The course for the Buick Open is long, but not very challenging for the pros. The media center was advised the cut would be at least 5 under par. Daly was even par to start, hit a couple of nice birdie putts, and at one time was 2 under, but the wheels fell off after he hurt his hand and he was 2 over for the second round and would not make the cut. Neither did Cceres. Bertsch would play the weekend.



Leaving the 18th green, Daly was the only pro who said anything to either the ShotLink lady or me. He held out his left hand and said, "Thanks." My career as a pro golf tournament standard bearer was over. I had walked the entire 18 holes and even had a semi-gallery of my own: a photographer to record the event, a couple of friends who came to see if I'd really do it, and my son and wife who came to see if I'd last all 18 holes. Would I do it again? No thanks. But I'll never watch a golf game the same way again.