The Range Bucket List by James Dodson

Author:James Dodson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

One more for the road: the first—and last—Ross Country Invitational.

One day at lunch, as another year drew to a close, David Woronoff and I were chatting about Donald Ross’s fancy for wacky, made-up golf events such as moonlight golf and playing courses in reverse just for fun.

“We should do something like that here to keep the tradition alive,” David proposed.

“I’ve always been curious to see whether you could play from the first tee of No. 2 to the eighteenth green of Mid Pines,” I tossed out, pointing out that there were no less than seven golf courses linking the two most famous layouts in the area, a distance of about five miles, or, roughly, the length of a championship golf course.

“You mean go across country?” he asked. I said yes—though it would mean crossing at least one major highway and two other roads, and negotiating a large patch of woods and several residential neighborhoods.

Within days, he’d organized and named the First Donald Ross Country Invitational Team Championship, an alternate-shot affair that took place on the crisp and clear New Year’s Eve of 2007.

Off went four teams composed of two players each on a frosty morning, fueled by simple curiosity and no shortage of good Scotch whiskey, each pathfinding their own way across golf courses and sleepy lawns. Had Ladbrokes been handicapping the field, Tom Stewart and a local sawbones named Walter Morris would undoubtedly have been among the favorites, followed by Mid Pines owner (and simultaneous Pine Valley and Seminole club champion) Kelly Miller and Dr. John Dempsey, the golf-mad president of Sandhills Community College. Pinehurst CEO Pat Corso and his head professional, Matt Massey, also figured to challenge for the title, while bringing up the rear of the field were David Woronoff, my cousin Bobby Tracy, and yours truly, the only three-member team in the field. We were allowed three players because, as I say, Woronoff was really a non-golfer, a fine tennis player but possibly the “best worst golfer” I’d ever seen, whereas Cousin Bobby (who was visiting with wife Claire for the New Year weekend) was a heck of a stick. Some how this balanced out the field. Naturally there were wails of protest, but the event’s governing body—David and I—ignored them.

In any case, every team chose a slightly different route, though we inevitably came together at a spot on Pinehurst Course No. 7, where we faced four lanes of traffic on a federal highway. An ad hoc committee decided that each team would play into the back of a Pilot van heavily stocked with munchies and adult beverages, then be required to pitch out of the vehicle on the opposite side of the highway. Much merriment and body-specific name-calling ensued. The real challenge to shot-making turned out to be the patch of woods where Team Stewart-Morris found itself stymied by a young sapling, prompting Doc Morris to whip a handsaw out of his golf bag and remove the offending tree to howls of environmental protest from their fellow competitors.

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