Have you ever wondered why the “door close” button on the elevator almost never works It is because most hotels and large buildings disable
it for whatever reason. Let’s blame it on the insurance companies or rude guests. Even knowing that, I still push the darn thing all the time — it makes me feel better. This is exactly how I felt when I teed it up in a U.S. Open local qualifying event last week in South Carolina. It was my annual day of real competition each year. I chose the qualifier at Secession Golf Club down on the coast of South Carolina for a couple of reasons. It is a terrific design carved out of the marsh with no houses in sight and water hazards on every hole. Not to mention, the promise of sunshine and an inviting day at the coast was just too much to pass up even though there was a local qualifier 10 minutes from my house in North Carolina. What is it they say about the best-laid plans On Tuesday morning, we awoke to battleship grey skies and 35 mph winds. The local paper said that the 58-degree high on Monday was a record low by 15 degrees for that day in May and that Tuesday wasn’t going to be any better. The weather man was right for once. I am not sure why my hands were shaking so badly on the first tee, so let’s blame it on the cold. The fact that my ball failed to clear the hazard by a couple of feet can be blamed on the inability of my body to do what I was asking it to do. The door close button had been disabled a long time ago. But the bogey at the first was quickly followed by a birdie at the second, and all seemed to be right with the world — at least for a moment. We won’t talk about the provisional that I topped because it didn’t count. Needless to say, the day was long, hard and ultimately fruitless in terms of the golf. The company was good, though — a beautiful friend came down to caddie for me, and the kid from Clemson whom I played with was respectful. The property manager from Myrtle Beach was amusing and a pretty good player, although none of us was within six shots of advancing. Days like Tuesday require a level of precision that demands practice, patience and fortitude. At times, I did manage to show signs of each however, it was rarely at the same time. The irony of the weather, the situation and the ultimate outcome was actually compounded later that night on Sullivan’s Island just north of Charleston. We drove up to meet a friend for dinner. The decided destination, Poe’s Tavern, was a familiar one to my companion but new to me. I didn’t realize that the Poe in question was in fact Edgar Allen himself. The lively crowd and the well-lit atmosphere were in direct contrast to the foreboding quotes on the wall and the ominous ravens that stared from every corner. “Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary,” echoed from my past, memorized in its entirety back in fifth grade — never to be forgotten.
I think that it is important for someone in my position to leave the comfort zone of the media center and remember just how humbling this game really is on occasion. It is easy to forget the enormity of the moment even when ultimately those moments don’t matter now, and the ones that did are gone forever — “quoth the raven, nevermore.”