"Did he say he'd get us a table for his opening tonight at the International?"
...a few times a year, living in Fun City, whereas certain show-biz guys don't have anything to do but play a guitar and hang around Riviera and Lakeside....
"Isn't he the cutest thing? And so nice and friendly."
...and, anyhow, you sure missed seeing a good birdie back there.
Nobody I've ever known in my entire life has ever won a Pro-Am. I have played in maybe 7,895 of them over the past 25 years, with any number of fine partners—guys who could really play and guys who had a bundle of strokes to use—and I have very often been "the leader in the clubhouse," as the TV commentators say, but before nightfall every one of these Pro-Ams has been won by a bunch of guys from Sacramento or Tampa. The pro would be an unknown, and his amateur partners would consist of a real-estate developer, an electrical contractor and a priest. They would be 24 under par.
Obviously, then, it was quite silly for Donna Caponi, Glen Campbell or me to think that our measly little round of 14-under would win anything on that first day. And of course it didn't. Marilynn Smith had a team that featured Jerry Lucas, the basketball star who had just been traded to the Knicks. Jerry was so delighted with the trade that he went out with his 12 handicap and shot a two-under 70—gross—just like most of the 12-handicappers I ever knew back in Texas. They won laughing.
At the daily cocktail party and prizegiving, where all the Sealy folks got to work on their autograph collections and wondered where Joe Namath was, Jerry Lucas apologized and Donna Caponi confided that she was taking a party of 12 to both Glen Campbell shows that night.
For Friday's round the dummy got himself a golf shirt, his wife stayed at poolside, he drew for a pro a nice young married lady from Midland, Texas named Judy Rankin who had captured three LPGA tournaments last year, and, for his other partner, a guy from Tampa with a long drive and a lot of strokes. Guy named Bill. Land developer. I thought we were a lock.
For a long time we were. Bill from Tampa was a cheerleader who called our pro "Judy, baby," and liked to take out a nine-iron for a five-iron shot and announce, "If it's only 170 yards, a nine's plenty for me, baby."
We played the back nine first and didn't cause any particular commotion until the 18th (our ninth) when I did one of those things we all did every week when we were 15 years old. I holed out a chip shot for an eagle.