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Pros and cons of the golf scribe's life

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Posted: Monday July 10, 2000 06:20 PM

OAK BROOK, Ill. -- Reader Kevin Beatty of Denver writes,"What's the hardest part of your job? I mean, seriously, it sounds like your life is very Kennedyesque, and I would love to know what part of your job you despise."

Well, let's see -- it's 9:30 p.m. here in these stultifying suburbs, and I just finished a gourmet meal from Wendy's. My wife and puppy are 2,000 miles away. The windows in my hotel room don't open, and the A/C works only on the high setting, leaving two options: 1) die a slow, claustrophobic death in this 80-degree crematorium or 2) contract hypothermia and have my toupee blown off by the arctic blasts directly above my bed. The pillows are so hard I practically get a concussion every time I lie down, and the stiffness in my neck has in no way been helped by the sunburn I suffered this afternoon. I have at least a couple hours of work left to do tonight, and then, if I'm lucky, I may catch on HBO the tail end of a movie I've already seen three times (this constitutes the evening's entertainment). After a fitful night's sleep I'll get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

MAIL CALL I'm a serious fan of your work, and I want to take this time to prostrate myself before you. You seem to be the epitome of a golf junkie, and I can already tell that we would get along great. So, here's the offer. You come to Austin, pick a partner, and me and my buddy (another athlete-turned-golf junkie) will tee it up. I'll set you up in a hotel, pay for transport, the greens fee, all of it. Just for the honor, you see. I know it's not like how they treat you out in the real world, but man, for me, it's living the high life. What do you say? —Josh Donelson, Austin, Texas Ugh, let me get back to you on that, Josh. I appreciate the enthusiasm. Truly. But besides the obvious concern that my decomposing body might be found in a pot bunker somewhere in the Texas Outback, I really think the experience might be disappointing for you. I'm much more fun in print than in person. Also, if you kick down for all the travel expenses, how are you going to cover the huge gambling debts that are sure to follow? Let's leave it like this: next time I'm rolling through Texas I'll drop you a line, and maybe we can get together and tee it up. If nothing else, it will make for an entertaining column. How can anyone lump Senior tour wins with PGA Tour wins and claim that Hale Irwin is in the same league as Jack Nicklaus! Or compare Irwin's U.S. Senior Open record of -17 to Tiger's -12 at the U.S. Open because both are USGA sanctioned events? I was never the biggest Nicklaus fan, but I feel it is a bit of an insult to him, to count senior tour events (more like exhibitions) when evaluating the greatness of players. Get real. —Obi Martinez, Houston True that. If you had read the item in my Hot List about Hale, I believe I made the same point. I would like to add, however, that as often as I slam the Senior tour, I think Irwin's accomplishments on that exhibition circuit should not be totally dismissed. To dominate like that at any level of golf is impressive. With three real U.S. Open victories and 20 career PGA Tour wins, Irwin was, in my mind, a borderline candidate for the Hall of Fame. After his five-year rampage on the Senior tour he's a lock. People are too quick to judge Notah Begay, whether it's for his earrings or switch putting. The earrings have to do with his culture, not trying to bring flavor to a somewhat vanilla sport -- that's just a bonus! As for his switch putting, let his record speak for itself. If you take the time to find out about him, you can't help but root for him. He's the nicest guy. —Jodi, Portland, Ore. I, too, have been a little baffled by the great earring debate. This is the 21st century. We need to be tolerant of other's differences. Otherwise, how else can we account for those hideous shirts Dennis Paulson is always wearing?

OK, now that we've gotten the Vesuvian venting out of the way, I would like to state for the record that I love my job dearly, feel incredibly fortunate to be doing it, and rarely, if ever, indulge in this kind of whiny self-pity. But hey, Beatty, you asked. Fact is, despite the many dispatches I've filed here, portraying myself as a hepcat golf writer whose adventures make 007's tame by comparison, there are the frustrations and difficulties in this job, just like any other.

The travel is the biggest grind, and I really feel it this time of year, when the weather is brutal, the schedule unrelenting, and six months of life on the road has taken its toll. It goes without saying the hardest part of traveling for a living is constantly being disconnected from your life, and the people in it. I've marked too many family milestones with phone calls, instead hugs.

Living in a hotel room presents any number of challenges, chief among them the battle not to turn into just another fat-ass sportswriter blighting the landscape. Actually, it's not about maintaining a boyish figure, but rather being healthy and not feeling like a walking Krispy Kreme. This week the gym at my hotel happens to be lousy, so other than doing a few push-ups and crunches in my room, working out is not an option. And it's hard to eat well -- or light -- on the road. At home I have cereal and fruit for breakfast. While covering a tournament I always feel pressed for time, and room service is a crutch. This translates into Eggs Benedict, six sausage links, a side of oatmeal with heaps of brown sugar, and a pot of hot chocolate, with whipped cream on the side -- and that cholesto-thon is only the start of a 10,000-calorie day. When I'm at home Frances and I and Duke, our six-month-old German shepherd, take a long walk every night, either on the beach or through the happening Main St. that's only a block away. It's too muggy, too dark, too empty, too lonely to do that here. Sometimes it feels as if my whole life is sleeping, eating, talking on the phone and sitting slumped in front of a computer. This may blow my image forever, but I must admit, I love to cook. For that matter, I actually enjoy grocery shopping, doing the dishes, doing laundry, vacuuming, dusting, watering the plants and any number of other domestic chores. It means I'm home, in my house, with my little family.

It's not just what I miss when I'm not at home, but also what I have to deal with when I'm on the road. The dynamics of the golf beat are unlike any other major sport (sorry, but tennis doesn't count here). On the baseball beat, SI's Tom Verducci may never hit the same city twice during the season, at least not until the playoffs. He blows into town and most times the players and teams are happy to get the national exposure. In golf, I'm dealing with the same players, week after week and week after week. They get tired of looking at my mug and vice versa. Unlike other big-time athletes, golfers can actually read, and do. My stock seems to go up and down like the NASDAQ. During any given week it's hard to keep track of who's pissed off at me, or why, at least until they get in my face behind the 18th green. The whole subculture is as incestuous as high school. With so many magazines and newspapers and Web sites catering to this sport, there is an army of ill-dressed golf writers out there, and it is a cliquey, sharky, gossipy bunch. Sportswriting seems to attract a lot of egos (not that you could tell from this column) and traveling the world with these guys -- and, sadly, it is almost entirely guys -- is a truly bizarre experience.

Then there's the unrelenting pressure of writing on deadline. It can be an utterly thrilling high-wire act, but it also makes you old in a hurry (two of my SI colleagues who cover golf have been treated for ulcers). I've seen way too many Monday sunrises sweating out a deadline piece. Writing all night is a powerful narcotic. Every time I have to stay up all night I walk around in a daze for two or three days afterwards.

So why go through all of this? Well, the upside to the life has been well-chronicled -- being inside the ropes (literally and metaphorically), entre to the best courses, "testing out" the newest and best equipment, etc., etc. It is, on the whole, a charmed existence and a dream come true for any golf fan. More than all of that, I still get a jolt every time I crack open the magazine and see one of my stories. When I send in my copy it's just a low-tech Word file. It's unbelievably cool to see the whole package put together, splashed with incredible photography, a clean layout, snappy headlines and captions. Pulling my SI out of the mailbox every Thursday is still a thrill, and as long as that remains the case, I'll happily endure any of the hardships that come with this unusual job.

Sports Illustrated golf writer Alan Shipnuck will take you On Tour each Thursday at golfplus.cnnsi.com. Click here to send Alan a question or a nice, friendly comment.

 

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