The Name Of The Game Is Golf. The Name Of The Players Is Bobby Jones

Bobby Jones teed up, squinting up the fairway into the early morning light to gauge the distance to the pin. He then addressed the ball and sent a screamer arching to within an easy chip shot of the green. Barely smiling, he stepped off to the side to watch his partners drive.

Next came Bobby Jones, who shuffled nervously before hooking his tee shot into the rough on the left side of the fairway. He tittered a bit in embarrassment.

The third man on the tee was Bobby Jones, who took a deep breath, drawing in his potbelly so that he could see the ball, took a mighty swing—and watched his ball dribble off into a clump of weeds not 10 yards away. He did not smile.

And finally Bobby Jones stepped up and sliced one off into the heavens. The shot was last seen as it flew behind some trees that masked a water hazard.

That done, the four Bobby Joneses climbed into their golf carts and chugged away. After all, four more Bobby Joneses were waiting to tee off, while the four Bobby Joneses up ahead were already out of sight.

No, this wasn't a case of multiple vision, or even some hallucination brought on by that late-summer disease called Links Fever. Rather it was the Third Annual Bobby Jones Open golf tournament, at the Tyrone Hills Golf Club in Fenton, Mich., a suburb of Detroit. There 32 men named Bob Jones gathered some months ago to see who could come closest in golfing skill to their famous forebear of the 1920s—Robert Tyre Jones Jr., arguably the greatest American golfer and winner of 13 national championships in a scant eight years, a feat as yet unmatched by mere Palmers, Nicklauses and Watsons.

At Tyrone Hills one could see all sorts of Bob Joneses. Tall ones and short ones, fat ones and thin ones, some dark and balding, some fair and hirsute, ranging in age from 20 to 65, in occupation from banker and adman to songwriter and housebuilder. And in golfing talent from pretty darn good to—well, since I'm a Bob Jones myself, let's say "in need of some coaching."

The Bobby Jones Open is the brainchild of Robert A. Jones, 45, of Bloomfield Hills, Mich., president of a small computer programming and consulting company called Computer Dynamics, Inc. Tall and bustling, with the bushy dark eyebrows characteristic of his Welsh heritage, Computer Bob, as he came to be called among the Jones boys, is admittedly no match in golfing skill for his illustrious clansman. "I'm an 18 handicap—but I love the game," he says with a grin. "Back in the spring or early summer of 1979 it occurred to me that maybe there were other golf-playing Bob Joneses who would like to get together and see what we all looked like. I began searching the Detroit-area phone book for Bob Joneses and calling them up, but with little luck initially. Then I went to the Golf Association of Michigan, which represents 70 private clubs, but couldn't find a single Bob Jones among their membership. Finally I began Xeroxing town phone directories in the region, put the Bob Jones numbers into a data processing system—I love to play with computers—and now I've got more than 300 names on my master list."

That first tournament, in 1979, played in cold, blustery weather at the Pine Lake Country Club in the swank Detroit suburb of Orchard Lake, drew only five Bob Joneses, all from the immediate area. The following year, at Tyrone Hills, 18 showed up, again all locals attracted by the publicity the tourney was beginning to attract. This year, thanks largely to a story that appeared in the Wall Street Journal the week before the tournament, Bob Joneses came from as far away as Massachusetts in the East and Minnesota in the West. "Next year, by golly, maybe we'll get a Bob Jones from England or Wales," says Computer Bob. "We've already had an inquiry from Surrey, England, right near the very wellspring of Jonesdom itself."

The major problem an organizer faces when confronted with a full platoon of Bob Joneses is, of course, communication. You can't just say, "Hey, Bob, you're away." Or, "Bob, you're going to be matched with Bob Jones here, and then there's Bob Jones and Bob Jones to round out your foursome." Middle initials don't work either, because there were at least a couple of nearly every popular middle initial in the alphabet at the tournament. "We decided finally to identify everyone by his occupation or place of residence," said Computer Bob. As a result, the roster of players included Pontiac Bob and Valu-Rite Bob, 3-D Bob and Power Jet Bob, Standard Oil Bob and Federal Pipe Bob. There was one Greenbaum Bob from the law firm of Greenbaum, Greenbaum & Gold. A Minnesota Orchestra Bob, who serves as general manager for that renowned musical assembly. A Paragon Bob, whose moniker derived from the advertising agency he owns in Edina, Minn. And, best of all, No-Sag Bob, winner on low gross score of the first two Bobby Jones Opens.