May 6, 2015 Article

The Old Coot is a duffer.

By Merlin Lessler

I watched the tail end of a PGA golf tournament the other day. It’s a nice thing to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon. My interest is somewhat mild. Oh sure, it’s a thrill to watch these guys put it two inches from the cup from 180 yards down the fairway after hooking the ball around a clump of trees, bouncing it between two sand traps and getting it to nuzzle the pin. “These guys are great!” (So claim the TV promos). But, the attraction, for me, comes when they slice a drive into the woods, chip out of a bunker on one side of the green into a bunker on the other side, or miss a two-foot putt. That’s when they play the game of golf as I know it.

Both golf and TV coverage have changed over the years. The naming rights have been sold to corporate sponsors (The Honda Classic, The SONY Open, etc.). But, the other thing that intrigues me, is that they no longer list how much each player won. They used to show it along side their final score.

Does the amount of money paid to the players make the PGA uncomfortable? It’s still published in the newspaper, but you have to wait until the next day to see it. Sometimes the 1^st place money is mentioned in passing during the live broadcast; I’m sure the commentator gets scolded for his big mouth. Jordan Spieth pocketed $1,800,000 for winning the Masters Tournament. Phil Mickelson and Justin Rose tied for second place; they got $880,000. The worst golfer got $23,000. Not bad for coming in last. So, what’s my point? I’m not sure. Am I jealous? Probably. But mostly, I just marvel at the sensitivity of the PGA. I guess all professional sports organizations are getting uncomfortable with the money paid to athletes. The President of the United States is paid pauper wages by comparison.

Money aside, it’s still fun to watch golf on TV, especially on a biter cold February afternoon. You don’t even have to be a golfer to appreciate the skill of these guys and gals. I whack around the little white ball every once in a while with a group of old coots that do it for fun. We’ve given up all hope of mastering the game; though we all shoot par. George and I usually reach it by the 12^th hole; Don and Tom, a few holes later. It all depends on how often George yells while someone’s in the middle of their back swing. The score we focus on, and try to improve, has nothing to do with par. We keep track of how many balls we lose, how many clubs we damage (or leave behind), how bad we hurt ourselves and are the injuries severe enough to send us to the ER or a re-hab center. Yes, we play a different game than most golfers, especially the pros. But, we have a lot more fun.