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Out There with Slow-Play Fay and Play-Slow Flo
Dan Jenkins
August 09, 1971
A former male-chauvinist golfer makes his peace with the women pros in Las Vegas
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August 09, 1971

Out There With Slow-play Fay And Play-slow Flo

A former male-chauvinist golfer makes his peace with the women pros in Las Vegas

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Wrong. Got to stay with the guys, I would insist. Tom Weiskopf is getting ready to issue his first quote of the year, and I don't want to miss it.

"It isn't like you remember it," my colleague would argue. "Most of them are cute and friendly, and they can play like hell."

Well, one of these days, I would say. Can't now, though. Got a biggie coming up in Pensacola. Eichelberger's moving up on the point list. McGee's ready to bust out. Crampton smiled the other day. All very exciting with the men.

To be candid about it, one of the things that kept me away from the LPGA tour was the knowledge that the girls don't exactly travel the caviar circuit in terms of towns. I mean, do you want to spend a week in Shreveport or Waco? Take your shot. Alamo, Calif. or Winchester, Va.? Horsham, Pa. or Prospect, Ky.?

Also, the names of their tournaments were troubling. They all sounded like stock-car races. Last year, for example, there were things like the Shreveport Kiwanis Invitational, the Johnny Londoff Chevrolet, the Len Immke Buick, the Springfield Jaycee, the Lincoln-Mercury and the Quality Chek'd Classic. How did they miss Darlington and Daytona? What was Sandra Haynie driving these days? A modified Spalding with dual grips?

Then it happened. My young associate said early last spring he thought there might be a women's event coming up that I'd like. The $50,000 Sealy- LPGA Classic. Sealy like in mattress.

That's funny, I said.

"No, seriously," he said. The men's tour was quiet, after all. Terry Dill wouldn't be changing his grip for another week or so. Dick Lotz still had the same putter. Bert Yancey had postponed his annual interview till July.

"And it's in Las Vegas," he said.

That was the magic word. Vegas. Now, I know that to some people Las Vegas is not all that fascinating. To some, it's Baghdad-by-the-Copperheads, the mob's idea of chic, a neon-lit asylum, the blonde-wig, no-bra, no-brain capital of the Western world. To others, such as me, however, Vegas comes up as the only civilized city in the U.S., because it's the only one where there aren't a lot of lightweight lawmakers trying to tell you that you can't eat, drink, gamble or fall in love between two a.m. and noon. So I take Vegas whenever I can get it, even if I have to fool around with women's golf.

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