In this year when nothing is normal, it is fitting that the winner of the U.S. Open golf tournament looks like Tarzan, wears a saucer-shaped hat and celebrates victories with chocolate milk.
Bryson DeChambeau’s very name suggests that he is different. That name should belong to a playboy prince from another land.
DeChambeau, the only player to break par for the tournament, is not quite foreign. He’s from California and played at SMU.
Some other players and a lot of fans think he’s a kook. That probably really worries DeChambeau when he is spending the $2.25 million prize money for the U.S. Open.
It’s hardly surprising that so many folks look askance at the new U.S. Open champion. He is 6-1 and has bulked up with protein shakes to 240 pounds. He hits drives well past 300 yards with the help of “muscle activation techniques.”
DeChmbeau calls golf “a science,” uses geographic compasses and analyzes topographical charts of courses and the design of golf clubs.
Maybe just to make sure that nothing he does is conventional, DeChambeau always wears the flat, old fashioned Ben Hogan type cap in tournaments and signs autographs left-handed and backwards even though he’s right-handed.
For me, DeChambeau has added spice to a sport that has become too staid. All those cookie cutter players with the flat bellies and tight shirts have frozen faces that could break if they smile.
Golf might be the hardest game ever invented, and I’m not good at it. But the sport has given me much pleasure over the years as a spectator and player.
I loved golf from the first time I ever saw it as a teenager. Some of us kids made a dollar a day caddying at the Springhill Country Club in the 1950s.
When the rich bankers and lawyers went to the clubhouse for lunch or another beer, we took clubs and balls from their bags and chipped and putted.
My first real round of golf was at a country club in Cantonment, Fla., where my uncle was a member. My cousin and I, both right-handed, had to use his old left-handed clubs.
Working at the Times-Picayune in the 1960s got me in the press areas at the New Orleans Open. It was a chance to see golf greats like Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer up close.
And to laugh with some of the game’s colorful characters like Tony Lema, Chi Chi Rodriguez and Doug Sanders. Called the Peacock of the Fairways, Sanders might dress in orange pants and lime green shirts.
Regina and I had a memorable golf moment a few years ago. We were having dinner at Big Cedar Lodge in Missouri when Nicklaus stopped at our table to chat. The picture with the greatest golfer of all time is priceless.
I have shared many laughs with golfing friends. Randy Hodge, Jeremy Patterson and I were playing at a resort in Mexico when Hodge landed a shot near a lake where an alligator was sunning.
We suggested he leave that ball and hit another shot. But Randy said the gator didn’t scare him and insisted on playing it. The alligator lifted a leg, and Jeremy and I saw a miracle.
Hodge was a water skier at Northwestern and bragged about his barefoot skiing. He was not barefoot that day, but nothing touched the water on the corner of the lake where he ran for his life except the soles of his golf shoes.
Bill Carter, James Smith, Steve Wiggins and I used to play a lot. On our way to a club at Toledo Bend, Carter, the Alexandria Town Talks sports editor, saw a sign advertising Texas Two-Step dancing.
Carter, who was from Paducah, Ky., said the dance should not be called the Texas Two-Step because it was invented in Paducah. Then there was a billboard for “Texas barbecue, where barbeque began.” Carter said barbecue was created in Paducah.
Later, he said he loved playing Scramble golf tournaments because they originated in Paducah.
Smith, the women’s basketball coach at Northwestern, said, “Carter, I guess sex was invented in Paducah.” Carter said, “No, but it was perfected there.”
Pro golf needs to be more fun, and DeChambeau is taking it in that direction.
REPRINTED FROM THE NATCHITOCHES TIMES