As Frank Sinatra noted when signing “My Way”, “Regrets, I’ve had a few.”
Then again, who hasn’t?
My biggest related to golf came in 1992. As the golf writer for the (Boulder) Daily Camera newspaper, I was sent to cover the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach, primarily because Boulder High and University of Colorado graduate Hale Irwin was just two years removed from his third U.S. Open victory, and because he had an interesting history at Pebble Beach.
Irwin won the 1984 Bing Crosby National Pro-Am after watching his tee shot on the 72nd hole head for the Pacific Ocean before it bounced off the rocks and out into the fairway. He went on to make birdie, force a playoff, then win the tournament.
Anyway, on the final day of the ’92 U.S. Open that Tom Kite won (my media credential is at left), I learned that I was among the winners of a media “lottery”. That meant that I was among a lucky group of journalists that would be allowed to play Pebble Beach for free on Monday, the day following the conclusion of the Open.
That’s when I did one of the stupidest things of my adult life. I turned down the spot because I had some pressing work-related reason to get back to Colorado on that Monday morning. At this point, I can’t even remember the assignment for which I had to get back.
All I know is I’ve regretted that move ever since. I’m sure my boss at the time, Dan Creedon, would have told me to stay in Pebble Beach another day if I had explained. But I dutifully returned on time to Colorado.
Over the years, I’ve brought up this “regret” on occasion, mentally kicking myself each time. Anyway, this apparently made an impression on my oldest daughter, Laura, a former high school golfer.
With that in mind, fast forward to a couple of months ago. My wife and I were at a high school football game when we received a text from Laura seeing if I had anything pressing on my calendar Jan. 14-16 of this year. After replying that there was nothing those days that I couldn’t rearrange, I was told that I should keep those dates free.
Then on Christmas morning, Laura clearly had something up her sleeve in having her present to me being the last opened at our family gathering.
First I read the card: “Didn’t want you to live with this regret. Merry Christmas. Love, Laura” Then, with Laura videotaping, I unwrapped a sheet of paper — a tee time confirmation at Pebble Beach Golf Links for Jan. 15.
Now, having been a golf writer for quite a while, I know what green fees run at Pebble Beach, which is one of the reasons for my regret, knowing that I probably wouldn’t ever be able to justify spending that much on a round of golf.
Laura (pictured at left) graduated from the University of Colorado in the spring of 2013 and had just landed her first full-time job. But I knew the amount she was earning, and suffice it to say that paying for golf at Pebble Beach for her and me was a large portion of her monthly pay. And with her saving up for graduate school, the first words out of my mouth were something like, “Laura, you shouldn’t have done that. That’s way too expensive.”
But, realizing the thought she’d put into it and the exceeding generosity she was demonstrating, the least I could do was be grateful — and very thankful.
Fortunately, Pebble Beach didn’t require us to stay on property in order to play golf, so with an inexpensive hotel and dirt-cheap flights, the only real big expense was the green fees.
So our pilgrimage to one of golf’s meccas became reality last week.
And let me join in the chorus by saying Pebble Beach does live up to its hype, and it’s an experience that will be etched into my memory to my dying days. It was great covering the U.S. Open there 22 years ago, but playing the course takes it to an entirely different level.
I can say that despite finishing with the highest score I’ve shot since I was a beginner at the game. While a good final tally would certainly have been nice, it’s somewhat beside the point. When you’re playing nine holes right on the Pacific Ocean — and the other nine holes very close — on a course with so much history and renown, worrying much about your score seems like quibbling.
I realize plenty of Colorado-based golfers have had the pleasure of playing Pebble Beach, but for many — probably including me — this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. As a guy who plays most of his golf at courses that charge $30-$35 per round, this was very tall cotton indeed.
For someone like me, among the most enjoyable parts of playing Pebble Beach was recounting for Laura some of what’s occurred on different holes of the course — Nick Faldo climbing a tree on the 14th hole in search of his ball during the 1992 U.S. Open; the incredibly difficult 14th green that last week had the toughest pin placement I’ve ever encountered; Jack Nicklaus’ 1-iron at No. 17 in the 1972 U.S. Open and Tom Watson’s chip-in there in the 1982 Open; Irwin’s improbable lucky shot on 18; and Tiger Woods’ incredible 273-yard second shot that sliced around the fairway trees and over the ocean, hitting the green on the par-5 18th during the 2010 U.S. Open.
While there are beaches adjacent to Pebble Beach Golf Links, it was the sand on the course with which I became most familiar. Even though I was hitting my driver very good — by my standards — and my irons OK, I visited 11 bunkers. And with quite a few of them having nasty-deep faces on them, I felt like I was having a Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day” experience — reliving the same thing over and over.
Part of the reason I encountered so much sand was sheer thick-headedness. I knew my shots at sea level carried roughly 10 percent less than in Colorado, but it took a while before I could pull the trigger on an 8-iron from 130 yards slightly into the wind, when 150-155 is the norm at mile-high altitude.
The golf aside, the day was all you’d expect. With 77-degree weather, sunny skies, little wind, a jaw-dropping setting and sharing the experience with my daughter and some very nice playing partners (a German couple), a person couldn’t ask for much more. Even the inexplicable empty water jugs throughout the course didn’t mar the joy of walking Pebble Beach.
And it didn’t hurt that I hit my best drive of the day on the intimidating 18th hole, with my ball finishing just to the right of the two trees in the fairway.
The day was capped off by a little souvenir shopping, looking at the old photos of Bing Crosby in the locker room, and with visits to The Lodge and eating establishments overlooking the 18th hole as the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.
All in all, life doesn’t get much better.
And now, that old regret is long gone.
