Sex and the City ... and golf

The phone rang on a cold and dreary winter's day in Wexford, Pa. Unlike Fred Couples, I answered it. I didn't quite catch the caller's name, but it was Kyle somebody from T&L Golf magazine. He didn't sound familiar, but I assumed it was some copy editor who was rewriting something I had submitted to T&L. I really wasn't following what he was saying about the article in question, and it was glaringly apparent, I guess, because he got the message. "Um, I wrote an article about playing in the celebrity pro-am at the Dunhill Links Challenge," he said. I was still more dense than lead. That sentence bounced off my brain like a Frisbee on a cement driveway. "I'm Kyle MacLachlan of Sex and the City," he added.

Finally, it dawned on Mister Magoo. "Oh, that Kyle MacLachlan," I said cleverly. "You were in Dune." Nice touch. Let's see, Kyle MacLachlan was in Blue Velvet, Twin Peaks and numerous other movies, plus I'd just seen him on Comedy Central a few days earlier in a Saturday Night Live rerun ... and I come up with Dune, a box-office dog but a game attempt to put one of science fiction's most famed (and complicated) stories on screen. At least he laughed about it. "That was a long time ago," he said. I looked it up later. It was 1984.

Once I escaped the stupid zone -- with difficulty -- we had a nice chat. It turned out that MacLachlan had broken into the celebrity pro-am circuit at the Dunhill Links Challenge, a new European tour event played last year at St. Andrews' Old Course, and had written a first-person account of his experience. He wanted me to take a look at it and see if it might be suitable for Sports Illustrated's Golf Plus section. Unfortunately, we weren't able to squeeze it into the new year's first two sections of Golf Plus, so SI's loss is your gain.

I think MacLachlan has caught the golf bug and looks forward to trying out the celebrity pro-am gravy train wherever and whenever he can. He said he is on hiatus from Sex and the City until March, in case you were wondering. He also knows who really killed Laura Palmer. Here's his golf story:

Breaking into celebrity golf with a bang

By Kyle MacLachlan

I'm looking forward to playing in this week's Bob Hope Chrysler Classic, partly because the weather should be much better than what I endured in Scotland last October at the Dunhill LInks Championship, my celebrity pro-am debut. That said, I've never had as much fun as I did playing into the teeth of a howling Scottish gale and lashing rain. In the tournament's second round, I hit my drive out of bounds right of the Old Course's 18th hole and into the streets of St. Andrews, then made the turn at the adjacent first hole and shanked a 3-iron toward the Firth of Forth. Paul McGinley, my pro partner, winked at me on the second tee and said, "Congratulations. You just missed the two biggest fairways in golf." I laughed. He was right.

A 14-handicapper from Los Angeles who doesn't even belong to a club, I got into this precarious spot only because I met a Dunhill Links sponsor at Michael Douglas' charity tournament in L.A. early last year. He asked if I was interested in playing golf for a week at Carnoustie, the Old Course and Kingsbarns in a new tournament they were hosting. Interested? When the application came in the mail as promised, I signed and sent it back the same day. My main concern about celebrity golf was my swing. I was the sixth or seventh man on my high school team, which was a long time ago, and I play only a dozen rounds a year. After Paul shot 66-64 in the Dunhill Links' opening rounds, visions of a televised, Jack Lemmon- esque disaster danced through my head. Following my second-round Old Course debacle, I threw myself at the mercy of golf wizard Robert Baker and his teaching partner, Grant Hepburn. They did a complete overhaul, dismantling my swing and putting me back together in the image of Ernie Els, one of many pros with whom Robert has worked. They pulled off a small miracle. I began to crunch the ball ... and it went straight!

It was raining sideways the next day at Carnoustie. Conditions were brutal, but Paul managed 17 pars and a birdie. I had a moment of brilliance as well, making a legit birdie after escaping the infamous Spectacles bunker on the 14th hole. The television cameras were with us on the 12th tee so I called my dad, who was watching The Golf Channel at 4 in the morning back in Yakima, Wash., then handed the phone to Paul so my father could see Paul McGinley talking to him on TV with his son standing in the background. That moment alone was worth the trip. As for my new swing, it was still a work in progress, of course, but I felt remarkably more confident. I was back on the range that afternoon for more work and I began to dream about golf shots. The world and all its troubles faded away for me.

McGinley was tied with Paul Lawrie for the lead so we were in the final foursome for the last round. I stood on the first tee at 11:27 a.m. with the tournament co-leaders and tried to remember to breathe. (My hands are sweating at the computer just thinking about it again.) McGinley's tee shot got an unlucky bounce and went into the burn. He made a bogey and Lawrie made a birdie. Somehow, I managed a par on the hole, and I would have gladly gone back to the clubhouse and basked in that accomplishment if I could have. Actually, I played fairly well. I was just 2-over par through 15 holes before the wheels flew off completely. I knocked it O.B. on the 16th, tripled the Road Hole and sent another drive clattering up the street at the 18th, O.B. right. It was a bittersweet finish to a round I would never have thought myself capable of at the beginning of the week.

McGinley's putter went cold while Lawrie holed putt after putt, including the dramatic tournament winner, a 50-foot birdie from the Valley of Sin on the 18th. The crowd roared as the putt dropped and Lawrie skipped sideways in triumph. It seemed surreal, witnessing a great finish by a great player and feeling like I was included in this elite brotherhood.

And then, just like that, it was over. An emptiness descended. I didn't want to let go, I wasn't ready to return to my world yet. I said goodbye to Paul McGinley, my partner and new friend. I wanted to say something encouraging but I knew it would sound ridiculous, so I merely thanked him for his company and for his words of support that had meant so much. Afterward, I walked down the 18th fairway again. There's something haunting about an empty golf course at the end of a day, the echoes of the little truths it has revealed to each competitor. I thought about my new friends, my new appreciation for the game and the men who play it well, and a new swing that would perhaps travel home with me to the Hope, where, on the solitude of the practice range, I will imagine hitting every drive down the middle of the Old Course's ridiculously wide 18th fairway.

Mailbag

Thanks, Kyle. And now for something that's almost better than sitting astride a gigantic desert worm in a galaxy far, far away -- this week's Mailbag:

I went to St. Andrews for grad school and visited the British Golf Museum whenever friends came to town. First, it is aesthetically unpleasant. It is built into the side of a hill directly behind the Royal & Ancient clubhouse. It resembles a wartime bunker more than a museum. As for the museum itself, if you're truly a student of the game and enjoy the history and development of the equipment, you'll find the museum mesmerizing. If you're into the history of the game from WWII on, then you will likely find it to be somewhat boring. Hope this helps.
—Tom, Rochester, N.Y.

In other words, Tom, you're saying that the museum is typically British. Got it, and thanks.

Your assistance is required to settle an argument with a couple of loudmouth hacks in my office. Here's the question: What is the formula, if any, to decide strokes in a two-man best-ball match? For example, one team's combined handicap adds up to 24 and the other's to 10. How many strokes is the latter required to provide to ensure a fair match? The hacks say 14; I say far, far less -- like somewhere in the neighborhood of 5. What say you?
—Jay McFarland, Greensboro, N.C.

You figure the strokes by the individual handicaps, not the team total, Jay. Everybody simply plays off the best player's handicap, just as if you were all playing, say, a skins game. Let's say Team A, whose total is 10, has a 3- and a 7-handicapper, Team B a 10 and a 14. Make the 3-handicapper a 0, then subtract three shots from the other three players and that's how many strokes they receive. The 7 gets four shots, the 10 gets seven and the 14 gets 11. Check the scorecard to see on which holes their strokes fall. To make any handicap match more equitable, go with 90 percent of the handicaps instead of 100 percent.

Are there golf caddying schools? I want to look into that.
—Jonathan Cain, Newtown, N.Y.

I have offered my caddie services to my golf-playing partners when they play in amateur tournaments. I think it would be a blast. I pay attention to the caddies' actions during televised tour events and watch them from outside the ropes. Any advice on learning more so I do this thing right? I also feel that in-depth knowledge of tour-caddie lingo is of high importance.
—Rob Schaeffer, Sacramento, Calif.

Well, fellas, almost every big city has several private clubs that use caddies. Aspiring caddies usually first go through an apprenticeship and training period under the guidance of the caddiemaster or head pro. Check around your area. The only actual caddie training school I've heard of is run by the Professional Caddies Association. I can't vouch for it because I'm not familiar with it, but you can get details by checking out www.pcaworldwide.com.

Sports Illustrated senior writer Gary Van Sickle writes for the magazine's Golf Plus section and is a regular contributor to CNNSI.com. Click here to send him a question or comment.

 

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