The Caddie by J. Michael Veron

Author:J. Michael Veron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

xxi

I SPOTTED MICKELSON first. It’s a funny thing when you see someone up close and in person for the first time after becoming familiar with them over time through magazines or television. They seem to be larger than life. Mickelson certainly appeared that way—he looked like a magazine cover to me.

Browne, on the other hand, was like me, a mere mortal. I was tempted to think, Nothing special there, but he had earned his way to the final group, too.

The starter handed us another copy of the local rules, which among other things reminded us again that the various television towers were considered to be temporary immovable obstructions and that we were entitled to special line-of-flight relief. He then informed us of the order of play and concluded with the perfunctory command “Play away, gentlemen.” We all wished one another well and were off the first tee without hurting ourselves in about two minutes.

In retrospect, it was my good fortune that the first two holes at the TPC of Scottsdale were fairly easy. Both were straightaway par fours. I liked that, because it gave a player a chance to warm up to the round.

I made a couple of routine pars, as did Browne, but Mickelson birdied the second hole from twenty-two feet. He was now two up on me. Given his reputation for playing well as a frontrunner, I wasn’t happy to see him make birdie so quickly. If he got hot, we’d play hell keeping up.

The third hole was a long par five listed at 576 yards on the card. Of the three of us, only Mickelson had the length to get anywhere close in two. However, his driver was perhaps the wildest club in his bag. In fact, Mickelson ranked near the bottom of the Tour in driving accuracy. That fact astounded me, because the guy had a beautiful, fluid swing.

Sure enough, he missed the fairway at three. I had mine in the middle, but I was a good fifteen yards or so behind him. As we arrived at my ball, I turned to Stewart. “So what do you think? Knock a three-wood down near the green?”

He spun around at me with a fierce look, only to see from my grin that I was kidding him. “For a moment,” he said in obvious relief, “I thought you’d forgotten how to play this course.”

He was referring to the two bunkers that guarded the approach to the green on both sides. The one on the right was very large and began about fifty yards in front of the green. Anyone foolish enough to try to hit this green in two needed to be very accurate as well as very long. With the pin set in the rear of the green, finding either bunker meant a long sand shot. I knew from our earlier trips around the course that the smart play was to lay up to ninety yards and spin a sand wedge at the flag.

I kept a five-iron in the middle of the fairway.

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