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Television sets a testy tone
Updated: Sunday February 25, 2001 10:05 AM
"Man, Pop, how many times have we been on the other side of the
TV?"
Last week I experienced this same sense of déjà vu, as I, too, traveled through the looking glass, to the TV wonderland known as The Golf Channel. I was invited to appear on Viewer's Forum to talk about my new book Bud, Sweat & Tees. For this kind of appearance TGC makes all of the travel arrangements. Busy covering the Buick Invitational, I hadn't bothered to check my itinerary until the day before I was to fly. I was a bit flummoxed, then, to discover that I wasn't due to land at Orlando International Airport until after 7 p.m., less than two hours before Viewers Forum was to begin taping. Live. On the other side of the town. Gulp. Luckily, the plane was on time. Somewhere in the bowels of the airport I ducked into the men's room to change clothes (those honey-roasted peanuts leave awful stains). This happened to be Valentine's Day evening, and my pink boxers with large red hearts produced some quizzical looks from my fellow travelers. Anyway, I jumped in a taxi, and, against all odds, my cabbie, Ahmed, somehow managed to locate the Golf Channel studio, which is tucked away in a dark corner of a post-apocalyptic industrial wasteland. I hadn't even crossed the parking lot when I had my first star sighting: Jennifer Mills sauntered through the front doors and, with a flip of her auburn mane, folded herself into a station wagon and sped off into the night. Wow. It gave me the same tingly feeling I had experienced as a boy when I spied Joe Montana at the cologne counter in the Saks Fifth Avenue in Carmel, Calif.
When I stepped into the lobby of the Golf Channel world headquarters I was greeted by a couple of security guys, tough-looking hombres who didn't laugh at any of my jokes. I couldn't help but wonder: What are these guys guarding, exactly? Peter Kessler's hairspray? I was then led to the makeup room, where a perky blond began applying copious amounts of a gooey brown substance to my face and -- egad! -- neck. No sooner had the makeup been squeegeed on than a sleepy-looking tech guy began stuffing wires and assorted electronic equipment into my pockets and available orifices. (Thank god he chose an earhole). It was still about a half hour 'til showtime, and I was told I could hang out in the "Green Room," which frankly was a bit underwhelming, a deserted, sterile little conference room. I decided instead to snoop around the Golf Channel headquarters, a matrix of tiny cubicles, each overflowing with the kind of memorabilia and miscellanea you normally associate with college dorm rooms. Scattered here and there were computers with live scoring feeds, and TVs replaying highlights of what looked like the 1987 Qatar Masters. Everywhere there were stacks of golf magazines and books. Most cubicles had putters leaning against walls, and all the carpets looked to have been grooved by an endless stream of late-night putt-a-thons. I can only hope that heaven is half as cool as the Golf Channel's HQ. Eventually my wandering brought me back to the makeup room, where my fellow guests were being lacquered -- Mark Russell, the PGA Tour rules official, and Steve Duplantis, Tour caddie. As some of you may already know, my book chronicles the misadventures of Steveand Rich Beem through their unlikely journeys in golf until they intersect during a magical week at the 1999 Kemper Open, their first tournament together. The first half of Bud is basically a joint biography, and then, following their epic upset victory at Kemper, it becomes a diary of a very turbulent half season (a long epilogue brings the events to the end of the 2000 season). The book is packed with cool insidery tidbits and nerve-jangling, between-the-ropes action, but the most compelling reading might be about Steve's complicated life. He started caddying at the tender age of 21, and tasted the la dolce vita when his man Jim Furyk blossomed into one of the best players in the world. Along the way Steve married an exotic dancer (after a whirlwind 19-day courtship) and together they had a baby girl; when the marriage dissolved Steve gained full custody. Trying to balance the demands of single fatherhood and the caddie's gypsy lifestyle was at times too much for Steve. Furyk fired him two months before the '99 Kemper, citing repeated tardiness and the unrest in his personal life. The victory with Beem was sweet redemption, but the ensuing hangover (both literal and metaphorical) was tough to shake. Steve and Rich's partnership didn't even last through the end of 1999, and both spent most of the 2000 season struggling to regain their respective equilibriums. All of this drama plays out in the pages of the book. It is an extremely personal, often poignant tale, made possible only by the Steve's (and Rich's) incredible candor. Along the way Steve sounds off on, among other things, all the backstabbing for bags within the caddie ranks, and he has some rather blunt things to say about a couple of Tour players. Needless to say, this kind of honesty violates the caddie code of silence, and since the book's release on Jan. 9 Steve has received some flak. Stuck in Palm Springs for the Hope, Beem wasn't able to make it in for the taping of VF. But when we hung out at a range while I was in San Diego, he warned me to "be prepared" for the impending taping. I knew what he meant. Viewers Forum was a chance for Steve to do some image reclamation, and put his spin on the book's contents. All of this hung in the air like a bad cologne as Steve and I made small talk back at the makeup room. Speaking of bad cologne, it was at this point that Rich Lerner, the ultra-suave "Viewer's Forum" host, materialized to lead us to the sound stage. It was showtime. Snaking through the endless corridors and the back of the set's facades, I felt like one of those cats in Goodfellas, during that scene in which they're strolling through kitchen at the Copa. We emerged into the glare of one expansive set, and spread out before me were the backdrops to the three shows that are the underpinnings of the Golf Channel programming: the faux living room of "Viewer's Forum," the faux driving range of "Academy Live," and the smart-looking desktops where the anchors hang out during "Golf Tonight." At the far end of the set Kessler and Butch Harmon were finishing off a segment of "Academy Live." During the commercial breaks they shouted some small talk in our direction. Settling into my uncomfortable wicker chair, I took the opportunity to scope out the cheesy backdrop, with its dusty books and curious decorations. Someone handed me ice water in a logoed mug, which probably hadn't been washed since Gene Sarazen was a guest. I was taking a chug and then, suddenly, we were live on national TV. Now I understand now why so many "VF" guests seem to have beady eyes: stationed in front of me were three cameras, including a moving one that operated via remote. Competing for our attention were numerous TV monitors sprinkled around the background, as well as producers barking things in our earpieces. It was hard to know where to look at any given moment, even with a harried director running around, madly pointing to the correct camera. The first couple of segments on the show were dedicated to the rules imbroglio that went down during the playoff at the Buick Invitational, during which Russell analyzed (and analyzed and analyzed and ...) the highlights as if they were some long-lost frames of the Zapruder film. After maybe 15 minutes Russell exited stage right, and during a commercial break Steve and I slid down a chair, closer to Lerner. Here's when things got interesting. As expected, Steve came out swinging, and we quickly settled into a spirited debate about the book. He felt I had been too liberal in quoting his profanity. My response was that it's not my job to edit other people's language. Steve was also upset that I hadn't printed the full text of his pep talk before the final round of the Kemper, during which he had warned Beem of playing partner Tommy Armour's on-course aloofness. At the end of a funny, profane, inspiring riff on how to deal with the gamesmanship, Steve had said something to the effect that, despite everything, Armour was still a nice guy. I didn't use this parenthetical statement because I thought it diminished the power of the pep talk. On and on it went. I let a lot of things Steve said on the show go by without comment, as I had resolved in advance not to get sucked into a tedious argument over every little point. If Steve wanted to vent, I was going to let him, up to a point. Still, the dialogue between us was spicy, spiky and occasionally heated. I could see the producers' eyes dilating in the background. The usual pap on Viewer's Forum consists of Betsy King getting weepy at the memory of Dinah Shore, or something equally touchy-feely. This was something else altogether, and Lerner was obviously stoked. During commercial breaks, he would lean over and say, "Keep it up boys, you're doing great." That was the funny thing -- there was a synthetic quality to the whole experience. I don't want to say Steve was playing to the cameras, but during the commercial breaks we would chat easily about hockey or the Beemer or what have you, and then as soon as we were back on the air he would slip back into the tone of the wronged. The vibe was all the weirder for the three calls we took on-air -- one was a plant (one of Steve's buddies, who didn't even try to disguise the fact), another was a 13-year-old kid up way past his bedtime, and the final call, which closed the show, was some grumpy old codger who hadn't read the book but had, by the sound of things, polished off at least a fifth of moonshine. When the taping was over it seemed like every GC staffer came by to slap us on the back and bellow, "That was the best show we've ever done!" After removing our makeup with warm towels, Steve and I drove together to a nearby restaurant, where I bought him a steak dinner. We shared some refreshments, and more conversation, and made plans to tee it up this week during the L.A. Open (he also wanted to know if I could set up a tour of the Playboy Mansion). Later we were joined by a half dozen Golf Channel staffers looking to party. I took off at 1 a.m., as my flight was due to take off in six hours. Steve was going to crash in my hotel room but, as the night wore on, he found alternate sleeping arrangements. I landed at LAX less than 24 hours after the adventure had begun. I was so pooped I slept the whole flight home, and awoke only with the jolt of the wheels hitting the runway. At that moment I felt a little like Bobby Ewing. Did all of that really happen? Or was it just a very weird dream? Sports Illustrated senior writer Alan Shipnuck periodically waxes about life
On Tour for CNNSI.com. Click here to send him a
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