Are you a museum person? I am, sort of, depends on what type of museum, I guess. What I like most about any museum, though, are the interactive displays and exhibits that are able to bring their subject material to life in cool, meaningful ways. I mention that because it’s exactly what Musselburgh does, and why it’s special. Think of it as entirely interactive golf museum, the lone exhibit being the oldest golf course in existence. Pause and reflect on that last line. Not only do you get to walk all around–there are no ropes or annoying security guards reminding you “no photos, please”–but you also get to actually play golf! Take divots, cause pitch marks, watch your ball bounce all over all while battling the elements and anguishing over the rub of the green and your messy swing. If you’re going to Scotland, and especially if you’re in and around East Lothian, it’s more than worth your time to get to Musselburgh and connect with the history. But here’s the really important part–DO NOT BRING YOUR OWN CLUBS. Leave them in the hotel, the car, wherever; you don’t need them and won’t want them. Period. End of story. Call ahead to the golf shop, rent a set of hickories (old-school balls included) and don’t worry about shooting a number. Just go out and play, have fun, and soak in as much of the history and aura as you can.

Cockenzie Power Station, a massive structure, used to stand right on the edge of the Firth of Forth near Musselburgh. It dominated both the skyline in town, as well as sightlines from the course. In late 2015, however, it was demolished. The video of the demo is worth a watch:

We learned that the ash from the coal being burned through the years at the plant began settling and accumulating all around. What’s crazy to think about is Musselburgh used to be situated much closer to the Firth, but now there is young terra firma built up making the Firth seem far away as you go around the course. In the picture below you can see the plot in the distance where the old power station stood, as well as get a sense of the way the land has expanded off to the Firth-side of the course through the years:

The 4th. It’s a 400+ yd par 4, meaning all you can handle with hickories and an old ball. It’s a slight dogleg right that plays through the first turn of the racetrack and out to the corner of the property where the green sits tucked between Mrs. Foreman’s pub long and left and a roadway to the right. My biggest disappointment with the hole is that Mrs. Foreman’s pub is not an operational bar! To read more about the situation, including some efforts to save and restore it, click 

Speaking of efforts to save and restore, there is a big effort to return Musselburgh closer to its original design. Blue Thistle Limited is a Scottish company created to raise and spend funds to make the Old Course at Musselburgh a “must-visit” golf venue. Part of their 

 is to commission Mackenzie & Ebert, renowned course architects, whose initial renderings call for “many of the course’s lost features” to be reintroduced and modern changes remodelled back to their original state.

WHAT SHOULD I DO BEFORE PLAYING THIS COURSE?

Two necessities: reserve a set of hickory clubs and read up on the history.

The golf shop at Musselburgh clubhouse isn’t much in terms of food and clubhouse, you can pick up a drink and snack from the vending machines if you need something. The place to seek out, however, is the 

 located just a short jaunt from the course. According to Dave, general manager at Musselburgh, it’s “the friendliest place you’ll ever go.” He said it doesn’t have any of the airs or graces of a traditional golf club (eg. no shirt and tie requirement), but instead is a bit boisterous and a marvelous place to go have a sandwich and beer. According to Dave, they’ll “welcome you with open arms.” Maybe the biggest regret of the trip for me is there was nobody at the club on the Sunday evening after we played.

Tee Times: open to the public and can be made through the 

Greens Fees: greens fees top out at about 16 pounds, with a set of rental hickories costing an additional 39 pounds

Lodging: quick trip from wherever you’re staying in East Lothian

Tourist Sauce, Season 2: Musselburgh

John Dunn never expected that his summer job as a caddie at the local course in Connecticut might turn into something more. The lifers who plied the loops were an ensemble of misfits and degenerates who made the caddie yard look more like a gambling hall than a country club. But Dunn came of age in those yards and on those courses, and the magnetism of the game and the lifestyle proved irresistible. One adventure after another kept him coming back summer after summer, until he found himself migrating with the seasons, looping at some of the most exquisite and exclusive golf locations in the world. Dunn crisscrossed the country on his own big loop, working inside the privet hedges while camping on the mountains, following the back roads and stumbling across unexpected moments of profound natural beauty, and embracing the freedom of what he calls the last vagabond existence in America, all while trying to decide whether to quit the loop and get a real job. Maybe next season…

I first read this book about five years ago shortly after I moved to Northern Michigan to work for a golf season. I met and worked with a few guys like John, chasing the seasons across the country. I always thought such people were clued into a different, probably, higher wave-length about life and what it means to truly live and experience. As you’ll read, though, it’s a tough lifestyle with obvious sacrifices. As the cold weather sets in across most of the country, I thought this book would be apropos as a contingent of caddies migrate south.

Selection #6: November 2018

Tron and I made the trip up to South Pittsburg, Tennessee this past weekend for “The Ringer.” He gathered 60 golf junkies to help get the word out about his project in his home state of Tennessee called “The Buck Club.” He’s engaged King Collins Golf Design on the project, has all 18 holes laid out, as well as some bonus holes. He talks about how his world travels have influenced this golf course, and how Sweetens Cove synced him up with Rob Collins. Take a look at the video, and please do whatever you can to visit Sweetens Cove.

VIDEO: Zac Blair unveils his plans for the Buck Club at The Ringer at Sweetens Cove

The sensation of longing for a place one has not yet been.

The flight from Atlanta to Chattanooga is about 30 minutes from wheels-up to touch-down. The idle waiting on the tarmac at the world’s busiest airport was, of course, much longer.

Not that I was keeping track. I didn’t have to. The minutes waiting to push back from the jetway felt like hours, and no one could convince me that they were not. I was sitting in seat 36A on an MD-88, which, for the uninitiated, is a special little corner of personal hell. It is a “window” seat with no window, as one of the fuselage-mounted engines happens to be riveted directly into your left eardrum. To my right, across the aisle, sat a polite but talkative 16 year old girl who left her inside voice somewhere back in grade school. Her entire life story, spilled wistfully to her half-interested seat-mate, became the cadence of my last nerves zapping bright white spots in my narrowing vision, as a feeling of mild claustrophobia welled inside of me. I needed a distraction.

Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths while I cocked my head to the side and rested it against the plastic interior of the airplane. In my mind’s eye, I replayed from memory the flyover video I’d watched no fewer than twenty times in the previous seven days–hole by hole, shot by shot–of the reason for enduring the pleasureless vibes of basic economy air travel.

Finally getting airborne was a relief. The whir of the fully spooled-up engines ignited my senses, as did the g-forces that pinned me further back in my already…

seat. I’ve flown all my life, but never had a flight felt so constricting, yet so liberating all at once. The quick hop gave me a few fleeting minutes to day-dream. I recalled, perhaps imperfectly, one of my favorite lines from Travis Hill’s splendid story in The Golfer’s Journal No. 2. “A glorious plume of vape smoke filled the morning air. ‘When that clears,’ he said, ‘you’ll see one of the greatest opening par fives in the world.'”

A calmness came over me. Our flight began descending as quickly as it reached its ultra-low cruising altitude of 14,000 feet. We touched down a few minutes later, and even though I was in the last row, I did not feel impatient while watching the passengers filter down the aisle, swiftly turning left and disappearing off the plane in single file. I grabbed my belongings and shimmied my way between the seats and past the flight crew who bid me a good night.

I pulled my suitcase up the jetway’s slight incline until I was thrust into the empty, dark terminal. Looking up, an advertisement crested the only hallway, over the escalator heading down toward the baggage claim.

“You’ve arrived! GIG CITY Home of the Nation’s Fastest Internet,” the mural proclaimed.

“Who woulda thunk it?” I mused to myself. As nice as the greeting was, and as ordinarily excited as a tech-literate millennial like me might otherwise be about such a revelation, I couldn’t help but shrug about the irony of such a first impression. After all, the internet had (thankfully) brought me and my companions for this trip together; soon enough, we’d all use the web to tell the world how great our pilgrimage had been. But for the next 24 hours, I wanted to get as far away from the real world as possible.

I deeply longed, in the truest sense of the word, for a place I had not yet been. But I was closer than ever to the destination of my daydreams–Sweetens Cove Golf Club.

The premise for our trip–or the excuse, if we’re being honest–was a 10 vs. 10 match play team event in honor of D.J. Piehowski’s thirtieth birthday. The Thirsty Cup, as we dubbed it, was nascent in its creation, but already historical in its importance–at least in our own little corner of the golf Twitterverse.

We didn’t have a clear set of rules. Or a definite format. We barely had a trophy.

But we had a vision, and two fearless leaders to execute it. The inaugural matches would be played between Team Tron and Team D.J.

While Team D.J. may have been slightly more golf-inclined, Team Tron, of which I was a part, “put a strong emphasis on team room vibes,” as our captain so eloquently put it. We were fine putting on the 

I summoned a ride as I waited outside the terminal in Chattanooga. After a ten minute jaunt through the sleepy river-edged town, my Uber driver promptly delivered me at the front porch of our 

 accommodations. As a working stiff, I was the last to arrive, shortly after midnight. I barged through the front door to a rousing cheer, obviously fueled by the collective consumption of a few adult beverages. Although the pairings party was already well-underway, it became apparent rather quickly that I hadn’t missed much in the way of locked-down information. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, shook a few hands, and found my way to the last available seat on the couch.

I sat quietly, watching Captains D.J. and Tron delve out pairings over cross-talk that would rival any cable news show at 2:30 in the afternoon. Thankfully, one of the participants, Kevin Van Valkenburg, kept studious journalistic notes on the matches–pairings, sequence, and all. I listened intently for my name to be called.

My first partner, for the two-man scramble, would be Travis “the Thrill” Hill, of The Golfer’s Journal fame. My second partner, for the alternate shot, would be Adam “So Good” Sarson, our resident ambassador from the Great White North. I could already tell this was going to approach levels of fun I hadn’t even considered.

While the pairings party started to wind down, I knew the only chance of making a contribution to my team was to get at least a modicum of precious sleep. Soly, benevolent soul that he is, offered me the opportunity to set up my air mattress in the master bedroom closet. It struck me as odd, to be sure, but also practical. And when I finally inflated the air mattress within it, I realized that in a house full of 16 dudes, I had actually lucked into a quiet, dark corner to call my own. This was becoming a theme of the day, but the closet was decidedly more comfortable than seat 36A that I’d occupied a few hours earlier.

The final obstacle to achieving a good night’s rest was my own excitement. Spoiler alert: I didn’t overcome it.

Less than an hour later, I was tip-toeing around downstairs, searching for coffee-related items, and trying not to wake the whole house. Second spoiler alert: I didn’t overcome that obstacle, either.

Our caravan approached the driveway, and slowed down as our tires crackled over the gravel. The little red sign that reads “Sweetens Cove Golf Club” is slightly overgrown and deliberately unassuming–in other words, the exact opposite of the course itself. A veer to the right reveals a little green shed and an unpaved parking lot–both as unassuming as the sign out front.

Then, you drive to the edge of the hill, and you see it.

A first impression that sticks with you. Photo by Jim Hartsell.

The first thing that hits you is the scale–you couldn’t imagine nine holes could occupy so much playable turf.

The second thing that hits you is the shear, unrelenting beauty of the place. The amber hues of the tall, waving grasses against the subtle hazel of the turf. The rolling mounds that mimic the smoky blue-grey mountains surrounding three sides of the property. For our group, that morning, we were treated to misty fog that settled right on top of us; it served as a bubble enclosing us in our own little world–just 20 young men, a “trophy,” and a little slice of golf paradise.

 features at Sweetens Cove; the place feels like a living monument to bold thinking in golf architecture. The course speaks loudly for itself. That’s one reason why everything else about the place is so understated. Perhaps most refreshing is that the architect, Rob Collins, and the general manager, Patrick Boyd, intuitively understand how the course bellows, and they don’t need to add much else in the form of spoken words. They let you find your own way of trying to express it. And if a simple google search for “Sweetens Cove” is any indication, 

. I must now try my best to conjure some that haven’t been written before. Here’s what I came up with:

Sweeten’s Cove is a Three Michelin Star restaurant in a truck-stop town that can notoriously support not one, but 

 Subways (and only one of them serves food that might qualify as edible). But locale, if not for the natural topography, is basically beside the point. As the Michelin Guide portends, “Three stars is the ultimate accolade, afforded only to those restaurants that offer ‘exceptional cuisine’ that is ‘worth a special journey.’” There is no doubt that what Sweetens is serving up is worth the meandering trip to South Pittsburg, Tennessee. Sweetens’ kitchen offers a sumptuous, indulgent nine-course tasting menu, and Executive Chef Collins knows how to make an impression.

If you first eat with your eyes, the par five opening hole is the perfect precursor upon which to begin your feast. Bombs away from the highest point on the property, the first tee shot is equal parts inviting and intriguing. Collins offers generous width to atone for the lack of your driving range aperitif. But his plating of bunkers and grasses and a far-flung water hazard also guide you on how to use your utensil of choice. The first bite is satisfying, sure. But it only hints at the depth and breadth of the assault on your palette to come. Indeed, the first green offers a sampling of two classic design features, with both a punchbowl and reverse redan incorporated into the same massive site. The green is fronted by a Dye-inspired bunker that would surely meet the approval of the man himself.

The Mitre Bunker that guards the first green. Photo by Kevin Livingood/Rob Collins.

Now that all your synapses are firing after your initial experience with a King/Collins green, the second hole offers no let-up from the intensity of the first. The green here is the capstone of a peppery dish–the spicy note of a stew composed from rolling undulations of the putting surface keeps building until you find the bottom hole and a much deserved reprieve.

The third hole is your first entree–this dish would be that perfectly rosy-colored duck breast at your favorite French bistro. The unrelenting shot values represent a new depth of flavor with each bite sized stroke you take, until you reach the finale and find that the course’s only aerial hazard, protecting the perched green, is waiting to ask one last question about how daring you feel.

Only upon reaching the fourth tee do you understand how special this feast of the senses is about to become. KING, as it is called, is the “we don’t really have a recipe–a pinch of this; a dash of that” course that changes in flavor profile every day but never deviates away from its delicious core concept. A front left pin may be a treasure hidden from view, while a back right pin shows you everything you need to know about the hole without revealing any secrets on the execution required. Maybe 120 yards today; maybe 190 yards tomorrow. A great chef must give his staff room to experiment with the menu.

By this point, you might be wondering about a less-inspired-by-comparison, transitional dish. At first glance, the mere 290 yards comprising the fifth would seem to be just that. But this small, rare, cheese and nuts course–ostensibly serving as a lighter bridge between the first half of the track and the second–is anything but a throwaway. The tee shot asks you more than a few questions, and only upon a second or third or fourth helping may you finally discover the answers. The green is guarded by a deathly pit one might say is the pungent danish blue cheese on the plate; not inedible, but perhaps delightfully bitter in taste if curiosity or carelessness leads to an unexpected detour.

The captivating fifth packs a lot of punch into a meager sub-300 yards of terror. Photo by Rob Collins.

If you ordered the wine pairings, you’ll finally get a big ol’ taste of water on the sixth to wash it all down. A nontraditional take on a classic, the cape-like vibe of this crescent wonder is a big, beefy wagyu feature. It is just the type of dish that deserves a preliminary tête-à-tête stare down for a minute while you build up enough courage to take it on. This brutally long and deftly protected hole is not for those with a weak heart (or high blood pressure).

If there is a palette cleansing hole, it would be the seventh. A shorter par 4, this hole reveals its hidden splendor as a tart, crisp coulee setting up the grand finale. In my trip to Sweetens, I first had the opportunity to meet Rob and Patrick, formally, as they sat behind this hole and watched our opening match of the Thirsty Cup. Admittedly, I may have been slightly more bashful had I not absolutely stuffed my approach to four feet while they looked on. But having conquered the hardest part of this hole (finding the appropriate tier of the multi-plateaued green), I puffed my chest and confidently strolled over to offer my hand to Rob and Patrick, giving my finest personal compliments to the Chef and Sous Chef, respectively. Ever humble and gracious to host us at the Chef’s table, Collins whipped up something truly delectable for a two-course dessert.

Architecturally, there is nothing I would change about Sweetens Cove. Every hole presents infinite strategic options–each shot demands your full attention–each hazard is deftly placed in the exact location from which you want to make your next swing. What’s more, we found out first hand that the mammoth greens, with all their swales and rolls and plateaus, truly define the strategy of the hole, all the way back to the tee.

A prime example is the non-traditional biarritz eighth. With its beastly swale, it could only be the devil’s food cake of our culinary experience. The green is almost comically large and oriented about forty degrees front-right to back-left from the fairway. The pitch, meanwhile, is in the opposite direction. While the majority of the green is perched four to six feet above the fairway, the middle portion is a deep swale in the biarritz vein; so deep, in fact, that a pin cut at the bottom of it is barely visible from certain places 130 yards away for the non-discerning taste-tester who couldn’t find the correct angle. I’m speaking from experience.

The spectacular eighth green, and the swale-bottom pin we were treated to in the morning sessions. The grounds crew, led by the incredible Brent Roberson, re-cut us a fresh “eff you” pin on every green while we ate lunch. Photo by Rob Collins.

Just when you think you’ve reached the richest part of the journey, Chef Collins serves his signature crème brûlée and double espresso to get your heart pumping one last time. The short ninth is a mega-redan style par 3. In many circles, an ending par 3 might be deemed anticlimactic–the unfortunate result of a poor routing that left the architect jammed up coming back to the clubhouse. This is not such a hole.

Instead, the ninth is a very intentional confectionery delight that caps off the crescendo building since your opening tee shot was struck a mere 10 feet away from from the final green. This dessert presents in a small dish, but below the crunchy surface of a perfectly crisped top layer, you will find a sweet, creamy center of the green that, depending on the day’s pin location, offers anywhere from a “better than usual” to “exceptional” chance to write a closing 1 or 2 on the card. If that’s not enough to leave you feeling satisfied, I can’t help you.

The extravagant design features, the cult following, and the off-the-map location could all lend itself to the type of pretentiousness one might typically associate with a haute cuisine establishment of such vaunted credentials and reputation. But maybe the most pleasant surprise of all is that nothing about the place is remotely stuffy, trendy, or chic. From the simplicity of the “clubhouse” to the lack of a driving range or shortgame practice area, to the two-figure price tag for an all-day pass, and beyond to the almost 

genuine southern hospitality of the staff, the ethos of Sweetens Cove is pure golf and pure fun.

Perhaps nothing exemplifies this better than Patrick’s jovial commentary as we stood on the first tee ready to hit our opening tee shots of the Thirsty Cup. As we watched touring pro Justin Hueber take a line so high and so far left off the first tee that left us all shaking our heads in disbelief, one of the uninitiated among us asked whether it might be out of bounds. Patrick immediately put such an inquiry to rest.

“There’s no out of bounds, junior!” he shouted with exuberance through the thick cloud of ever-present smoke billowing from his lips. “This is Sweetens Cove…it’s all fuckin’ lateral. Been a rule since day one!” And if there was any doubt, that local rule, along with a few others, are spelled out clearly on the perfectly simple and elegant scorecard.

“Been a rule since day one.” Photo by Rob Collins.

The overall vibe of the place brought out the most extroverted side of everyone there. Among my favorite memories, I was fortunate enough to not only play a few loops on a spectacular track, but also forge some new friendships along the way. In my opening match partnered with Travis Hill, we served up some delicious ham-and-eggs for breakfast, quenched with a Miller Lite or three.

In my second and third matches, I combined with Adam Sarson to form a 3/4ths Canadian team. Unfortunately, we also took 3 or 4 putts on just about every green, especially in the three-club challenge where neither of us thought to bring a damn putter. We had a hard time finding our footing against the thirstiest man himself, Big Play Ray, who did his best “Patrick Reed Carrying Jordan Spieth” impression with two different partners to dampen our chances of winning (but not our attitudes).

My last teammate and I formed a redux of the San Antonio Spurs’ “Twin Towers” days, as I played Tim Duncan to Big Randy’s David Robinson. I don’t remember much about how that match went, other than we all played poorly, KVV was too disheveled to muster a single Gary Player impression, and I enjoyed every second of getting to know a yet another kindred golfing spirit as my playing partner. Going three for three in that department, I couldn’t have been luckier.

If there is one karmic give-and-take about Sweetens Cove, it is that the same mountains framing the property, which lend both their serenity and their swirling winds, eagerly steal the a final few minutes of twilight from those who just want to traverse one or two more holes. But when it arrived–bathing the ground with its tantalizing long shadows cast under the sparse evergreens, ratcheting the marigold and saffron glow of the wispy grasses up to eleven, and revealing every subtle ebb and flow of the rolling terrain ordinarily lost in the high noon sun–the golden hour was otherworldly.

The fourth hole, KING, showing off its evening attire. Photo by Chris Solomon.

Concerned with waning daylight, the Thirsty Cup captains sent each two-hole singles match out paired with another match for a foursome, with all the rest of our crew following in a caravan of carts, drones, and phones. By this point, few among us knew the score (Team Tron’s 

), the number of beers collectively consumed (probably best measured by the case), or the number of holes we’d be able to play before the day came to an end. We just knew we had to keep playing until we couldn’t even see the ball at address. And maybe beyond.

As the matches played on, a palpable melancholy crept up behind us as the realization set in that with each hole out, we were another stroke closer to the end. I don’t remember who won what match–though I’m sure the participants of each will recall every shot. After halving the seventh with pars, I blasted my drive on the eighth hole to mere half-wedge range, but couldn’t check my pitch to a halt on the left-side table top of the nasty biarritz green with my second. I was then presented with a near impossible up-and-down from six feet below the green surface, which might as well have been six feet under ground, going up against a perfectly played hole by Ryan Young. I predictably lost the hole, but I’m pretty sure the Cup had already been clinched by someone much thirstier than I.

Shortly after, darkness descended. The dusky gloom did not discourage anyone in the group from trying a few heroic 250 yard shots from the first fairway into a straight on, traditional high-low-high biarritz angle of the eighth green–one of the many off the menu, secret holes that you’ve surely heard about. We all took turns trying to find a flattish surface on which to peg it by cell phone flashlight glow, only to give each ball a serious rip into hazy night, probably never to be seen again. Unless you fancy yourself a pro golfer like Zac Blair. And you hit it to like…6 feet.

As the last few hoots and hollers rang out between the distinctive, metallic clank of each three wood, my cart was positioned close enough to Rob’s to eavesdrop on the conversation he was having with Patrick. I could tell by their tone that even for the two of them, having seen the thousands of golden hours, thousands of first timers’ jaw-dropped faces drawn of equal parts glee and awe and wonder, even this day–with this crew–had to be among the all timers. Then, they made it explicit.

“We need to change our business model,” Patrick said, only half-jokingly. “Just private events from here on out.”

“We do, but only if they’re like this one,” Rob replied. “Days like these are why we built Sweetens Cove.”

Unquenchable Thirst: A First-Timer&#8217;s Journey to Sweetens Cove

Over the past year, we haven’t done a great job of showcasing the public courses that make up the bulk of America’s golfing landscape.

Introducing, STRAPPED, which will force Randy and Neil to try to explore and highlight these places. And they’ll do it on a budget of $500.

Episode 1 takes us to the heart of Iowa. Catch each part below (we’ll release a new one each Tuesday over the next three weeks).

STRAPPED: Iowa (The Maize Runners)

The pick this month, in honor of another PGA Tour season, is:

Think country-club clinic meets Navy Seals training. I will pay any price, bear any burden, leave my home to follow the seasons, build my own swing studio in the basement, construct a practice green in my backyard. . . . Everything the big boys have access to, I want double. 

Like most amateur golfers, Tom Coyne had often wondered whether the pros won because they were more talented or because they were more obsessed. Overweight and burdened by a 14 handicap, he decided to find out for himself what it takes to play like a pro.



Charting his journey which included hiring top golf gurus such as Dr. Jim Suttie,

 takes readers from the Michelob tournament (a win for Tom) to the Australian Tour, where forty-mile-per-hour winds and a driving rain scare off his Japanese partners. With each chapter, he tracks his weight alongside his handicap, pursuing his dream with a reckless abandon that comes to involve hardcore diets, pricey technology, even psychologists. With echoes of 

 Tom brings his uniquely edgy, deeply human perspective to a game that can simultaneously bring out the best and the worst in everyone who tries to master it.

I first read this book many years ago and look forward to going through it again. It remains instrumental in reinforcing just how good the guys we watch play on television actually are. As the 2018-19 Tour season kicks off, I think this is a great time to read about the journey a good player (and writer!) takes to see just how much he can advance his game in a year’s time. I celebrate all of Tom Coyne’s writing and hope you’ll give this a read, especially if you haven’t yet read anything by Tom.

Selection #5: October 2018

Full disclosure before we get started: My allegiance is to the United States, and 

I am on the record as predicting a United States victory by a margin of 16-12

. I’m not going back on that prediction now that Tiger’s won for the first time in five years. The Americans are a slight betting favorite, and by all accounts, they should be. This is perhaps the strongest team the United States has taken to a Ryder Cup since the expansion of the competition to include all of Europe in 1979.

Nonetheless, this is European Tour blog, so I’m going to take the Stars-and-Stripes-laden aviators off for a while and have some fun letting my imagination run wild about a Team Europe victory.

It me (prior to and immediately after writing this column).

Am I nuts for writing a few thousand words about a completely insane hypothetical? YES! But, if nothing else, this should be a fun exercise in giving the Euros something to hope for and the Yanks something to chew on for the next couple of days. We’ll see how close we are to any of these if Europe ends up holding the Ryder Cup on European soil, as it has done every time hosting since 1993. Let’s go to Crazytown!

The Americans came to play. Webb Simpson gets to hit the opening tee shot and atones for his 2014 sky-ball with a perfectly striped hybrid right down the Av. des Champs-Elysées. He and DJ team up for the opening session against the formidable Rose/Stenson duo. In a back-and-forth match, the Americans get an early 2 up lead. Rose and Stenson battle down the stretch to squeak out a 1 up victory, putting the first full point on the board for the Europeans and quelling any American dreams of setting up a big lead in the opening foursomes session (a la Hazeltine).

The second and third matches are played to half-point draws each, as the teams of Hatton/Fleetwood and Molinari/Noren draw with Mickelson/Fowler and Reed/Spieth, respectively.

In the fourth match, Poulter and McIlroy lose a surprising bout 3&2 to the team of Koepka and Watson, wherein Poulter’s putter never really gets going after Rory leaves him a bunch of 25+ footers due to ongoing struggles with distance control. On the other hand, Brooks comes out of his morning lift feeling “extra swole” and “super jacked,” and Bubba avoids the baguettes and brie–having instead some tasty grilled cheese sandwiches for breakfast using flown-in Wonderbread and Kraft singles (shout out Team Chef Mike Ramsey – Jacksonville Golf and Country Club’s finest).

The Euros struggle in this session. Neither Rahm nor Garcia were pleased about sitting out the morning matches, but instead of channeling that frustration into a victory, they run into the high-fivin’, butt-slappin’, Mizzen & Main dancin’ duo of Mickelson and Finau. The Big Tabernacle has no nerves, and rattles off 7 birdies in the first 10 holes en route to a 5&4 victory over the “fiery” Spaniards. We are reminded that they are “fiery” on the broadcast at least twice per hour. Mickelson hits it all over the yard, but instead of looking intently for lost balls in the wispy grasses, he fires up his iPhone mid-round to (1) Periscope Finau’s fourth straight birdie on the 6th hole to take a 4 up lead, and (2) bet the Phil/Finau–Tiger/Bryson–JT/Spieth parlay.

When the parlay hits but you don’t gamble so you just gotta act excited for your partner.

It ends up being a solid bet, as Tiger and Bryson take Olesen and Casey to the woodshed, while #TeamGoodBuddies Spieth and Thomas eek out a close one against Stenson and Rose. Phil is always the smartest guy in the room, and he knew enough not to bet against team “Fleetwood Mac” who provide the loan bright spot in the afternoon by going their own way to win a point against the surprise team of Reed and Rickie, who don’t even want to pretend to like each other long enough to ever be competitive in the duel.

Second Session: EUR 1 – USA 3. Day 1 Overall: EUR 3 – USA 5.

Facing a 2 point deficit, the Europeans put some stallions out in the early morning fourball session. Team Fleetwood Mac continues their dominance, this time against the team of Phil and Rickie. Rory channels those visions from the 2014 PGA Championship of Mickelson and Fowler high-fiving in the group in front of him, which leads to him suddenly finding the center of the club face with a few wedges. Meanwhile, Garcia and Rahm get revenge facing off against Brock Cupcake and Justin Thomas. Team #JupLife skipped leg day, and as a result, the glutes just weren’t getting fully activated. With two blue flags on the board early, a new pairing of Tiger and Reed find a way to gut out a point against Poulter and Casey, but Stenson and Rose are too much for le Artisté and DJ, who prove that opposites do not always attract. The match ends on a sour note when Bryson yells at DJ to “read a fuckin’ book!” after the round so they might have something to talk about next time. DJ does not take that advice. The result is a big session for the Euros and the tide shifting back in their direction.

Third Session: EUR 3 – USA 1. Overall: EUR 6 – USA 6.

The Yanks have a problem. Captain Furyk knows he needs to get Bryson’s mind right–and Cat might be just the medicine. However, he doesn’t want to break up the newfound revelation of Tiger and Reed. What’s more, Tiger didn’t plan on playing two sessions on the same day anyway. This conundrum leads to a pretty heated argument among the vice captains, and it ends with Zach Johnson and Matt Kuchar putting their balding heads together to come up with a BRILLIANT(!) solution: sit them both.

With Tiger and Bryson on the pine, the captains feuding, and the Euros with all the momentum, the Americans are reeling. The team of DJ and Webb gets another go of it, but they aren’t able to find the magic they had on Friday morning, and lose a close one 2&1 to Molinari and Noren. Poulter and Casey are back for another round, and this time, it clicks against Thomas and Fowler. Poults gets it going early, draining a long birdie putt on the first and another one on the third. After Casey stripes a drive on the fourth, Poulter steps up and calls in the precision air strike for an eagle from 190 yards out.

Close your eyes for a moment and picture what an eagle by Poulter from 190 in a Ryder Cup would look like. In reality, it is far, far worse than what you’re imagining. His eyes bulging, his chest pounding, his teeth gritting…Poulter lets out a wail that happens to be mic’d up and not caught by the five-second delay. Johnny Miller can only muster a “whoops…sorry ’bout that folks” as Poulter screams, “FUCK YOU, UNCLE SAM, YOU WANKER!” running down the fairway at full sprint speed. The match is over before it begins, and by a margin of 6&5, #TeamJupLife(PartDeux) get dealt an embarrassing defeat. Somewhere, Jose Maria Olazabal is smiling.

Thankfully for USA, the Mickelson and Finau pairing proves to have some juice. This time, it’s Phil doing the heavy lifting, as Rahm and Hatton can’t stand the fun-loving, west coast vibe coming from the Big Lefty and the Big Tabernacle. Hatton and Rahm both say a LOT of words out loud on the golf course, but all of them are directed inward or towards their respective golf balls. And while each of them tries their best to keep the other mentally on planet Earth, there’s too much lost in translation between the two, as both seem to always have both hands covering their mouths/faces after every single putt, preventing the words of encouragement from being fully understood.

What is #RahmThreat saying here? Your guess is as good as mine. Photo cred: AP News.

The USA trots out ol’ reliable Spieth and Reed in the final pairing, going up against Fleetwood Mac. In what turns out to be the tightest, most entertaining match of the team sessions, the Americans jump out to a quick 2 up lead. Fleetwood gets the bug and turns into Fleekwood the Flusher, dropping a couple of quick dimes in the middle holes leading to a pair of conceded birdies. Rory then finds his wedge game, getting the Euros a 1 up lead on 16, but Spieth and Reed dig deep. Coming down to the last hole, Spieth is faced with a 5 footer to win the hole and halve the match. Reed, feeling inspired, takes Spieth aside and tells him about that time when he got put in the line drive section, but decided to take matters into his own hands and upgrade his seats while tagging the TOUR not once, but TWICE in the same shady tweet. Spieth looks confused. “Take this match into your own hands…UPGRADE FROM THE LINE DRIVE SECTION!” Reed growls, spittle raining from his grimacing face. It’s the most inspirational speech Reed’s ever given…just ask him.

Something about it resonates, though. Spieth lines up the putt, gives it a tentative, beta-male tap, and it trundles end-over-end toward the cup. At the last second it dives right to the low side of the hole, but catches just enough to do a full 360 and find the bottom. We, the golfing public, get a highlight that will live forever, and Spieth for the first time in his life, gets to experience what it’s like to be the Alpha. The USA grinds out a half-point.

Fourth Session: EUR 2.5 – USA 1.5. Overall: EUR 8.5 – USA 7.5.

Everyone was hoping for another heavyweight Rory v. Reed bout, but this one turns out to be almost as much fun. Big J hits the ground running, lighting up the front nine with a blistering 31. But Rory keeps pace, and only finds himself 1 down at the turn. Rors rattles off two quick birdies on 10 and 11 to take a 1 up lead. Then, JT finds a groove, sparks fly, and he rallies with a birdie-birdie-birdie stretch to build a 2 up lead of his own with four to play. On 15, however, Thomas hits it in the water off the tee and ends up conceding the hole. Rory seizes the opening, and throws and absolute dart at the short sixteenth that almost finds the bottom of the hole. Another concession, and suddenly, the match is tied with 2 holes to go. Pars halve the seventeenth, but Rory takes an ultra-aggro line on eighteen and rips one of those *rocket emoji* drives into the stratosphere. JT follows suit and also sends one into space. Two generational drivers of the golf ball show us what it means to unload.

Thomas is away, and finds the middle of the green with his approach. Rory, again smelling blood, takes dead aim and finds the surface only 10 feet below the hole. A Thomas miss; a Rory make; a European point. Rory wins 1 up.

Hush little Big J. Don’t say a word. Rory’s gonna buy you a dozen birds.

A proxy war for “most in the ass of NLU,” Noren gets deep on Soly in the opening foray, hopping out to a 2 up lead through eight. Not to be outdone, the Ricktator finds himself knocking down two quick tweeters on fourteen and fifteen to take it back to all square. After the second putt drops, the camera cuts to Rickie and he winks playfully, directly into Big Randy’s soul. In the end, however, Noren cruises to a full point by parring sixteen and seventeen and getting a conceded eighteenth after Rickie’s second finds the drink. Soly relaxes because “it’s not like Noren 

.” Randy googles “how to say schadenfreude in French.”

In the #VisorWar, Poulter prevails. He makes a comment on the first tee about Bubba playing a putt-putt ball for all of 2017, and Bubba, without a good comeback, is thrown off his game immediately. Bubba starts getting pissed about “not having enough trees to aim at” or something. Bubba tries to drive the short par 4 tenth, but overcooks his “baby fade” into the drink, concedes the hole, and goes 4 down. After getting a gust and coming up short in the water on the par 3 eleventh, Bubba goes OFF on his caddie and #PrayforTedScott is trending on Twitter for the first time in a while. Poulter wins 7&6 and puts the first point on the board for Europe of the afternoon, as his match finishes a solid hour before Rory’s.

Nothing good happens for the Yanks when Poulter puts on the mean mug every other September. Photo cred: Sky Sports.

The most contentious moment of the matches in nearly twenty years happens early on the par 5 third. With the match all square early, Reed tries his helicopter-finish fade off the tee, but it drifts on a gnarly zephyr way out to the right and into the water. Reed takes a drop, but the location is…um…a little suspect. Initially, Rose didn’t see it, because his pull-draw ended up in the left rough, about 50 yards away from Reed. Reed plays his shot quickly, before Rose really knows what’s going on. After Rose plays, while walking up to the next shot, Paddy Harrington tells Fooch and Rose that he thinks the drop was unsporting. Once they get to the green, Fooch and Rose confront Patrick about the drop, Reed immediately gets in Fooch’s face, and Fooch is ready to throw hands. Just before a kerfuffle can break out on the green, Matt Kuchar comes over to act as peacekeeper and break it up. Reed ends up losing the hole, but it lights a fire under him for the rest of the match, and he goes on to torch Rose 4&3. After he barely shakes Rose’s hand, and doesn’t shake Fooch’s, the crowd boos while Reed gives them the classic “shush” finger. Word quickly spreads around to the rest of the course and Johnny Miller calls it “not his finest moment, folks.”

Match 5: Francesco Molinari v. Bryson DeChambeau

Feeling dejected from the previous day, DeChambeau gets off to a rough start. Molinari ballstrikes him into oblivion over the first six holes and jumps out to quick 4 up lead. DeChambeau hears it from the crowd, as they repeatedly jeer him for having a “french-sounding name” but not being able to speak at word of the mother tongue. Meanwhile, Molinari looks like he’s mostly just strolling in the park, and although Bryson fights and claws his way back into the match, he still loses 3&2.

There’s a lot of Blue on the board, and Webb Simpson might seem like an unlikely hero for the Americans. But the most startlingly handsome lad on the squad makes it a quietly productive week. Casey just looks somewhat tired and disinterested from the start, while Webb seems to be 100% dialed in. Casey misses a few key putts in the early going, while Webb is repeatedly wet from distance. Scrambling to find some momentum, Casey makes a little run in the middle holes, but ultimately, Webb keeps his composure and is able to close out the match and put a full point on the board for the United States, winning 3&2 with a drippy birdie on the 16th green.

Webb leading the field in SG: Stealin’ ya Girl. (Yes, I already made this joke on Twitter. Bite me.) Photo Cred: Golf Channel/Getty Images.

Match 7: Tyrrell Hatton v. Jordan Spieth

With no shortage of drama, who better to get the back half started with a quiet reprieve than two guys known for keeping completely to themselves and going about their business. Just kidding.

In what becomes a sadly hilarious spectacle of self-talk turned self-loathing turned self-immolation, the Hatton and Spieth match demonstrates why getting the players mic’d up makes all the difference. After Feherty runs out of pithy things to say about how neither golf ball seems to want to listen, the production truck actually puts a booth fatwa on any commentary during their match after the fourteenth hole, where they find themselves all square. That’s right…on the last four holes, Dan and Johnny completely let Tyrrell and Spieth do all the talking.

Spieth starts with a wild push slice right on the fifteenth tee, 20 yards into the water. As soon as he hits it, Spieth shrieks a mighty “GOODNESS, JORDAN WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? THERE’S 70 YARDS OF FAIRWAY OVER THERE!!!”

Hatton, not to be #outdun, doesn’t club down but instead hits driver, and ALSO finds the water right. Hatton, in fullblown surrender cobra, compliments himself thusly: “Awww bollocks, you bloody stewpid muppet!”

The two go on like this until the eighteenth green, where neither seems to want to win any battle other than who can tell themselves they suck more. The match plays to the most amusing halve in Ryder Cup history.

Great form on the surrender cobra. Photo cred: N.Y. Post.

Finau justifies his pick throughout the Matches, but perhaps nowhere moreso than in the singles. With a winning record already assured by his 2-0 start, Finau decides to put the icing on the pastry and decimates a flustered Rahm, who has had a first Ryder Cup he would probably like to forget up to this point. The matchup promised to be a bomb-n-gouge tour de force, but ended up being a rout. Rahm gets inside his own head early by missing several short putts, while Finau keeps pouring them in with reckless abandon. For a much lauded pick, Finau shows just what he is capable of with the pressure on and his team in desperate need of a point. Tony plants the Stars and Stripes firmly on the board, and notches a full point for the Yanks.

Match 9: Tommy Fleetwood v. Brooks Koepka

Another match that surely spells fireworks, Fleetwood is treated to the opportunity to exact revenge on Brooksie for the U.S. Open. One is pure power, the other so much finesse. The players trade blows early and often, with each player netting birdies left and right, but neither of them are able to gain any ground. Koepka finally breaks free with a timely eagle on the par 5 ninth. He follows that with the most spectacular, soaring tee shot on the driveable tenth, and rattles in a second consecutive eagle from 28 feet, while Fleetwood looks to his caddie, and utters, “Not sure I’ve got that one, Fino.” Fino responds, “Right, mighty [inaudible] good [unintelligible] cracking one, that.” Koepka puts the pedal down and finds another point for the United States to cap off one of the single most dominant seasons in modern golf. Brock the Jock is simply too good. The residents of Fleetwood Island weep uncontrollably.

Match 10: Thorbjorn Olesen v. Dustin Johnson

With only three matches left on the course, and the tide turning quickly back toward the Americans, Team Europe need two of their three captain’s picks to step up and claim full points in order to win the cup outright. One would expect Thorbjorn to perhaps cave under the pressure of facing the number one player in the world and the most explosive golfer on the planet. But something doesn’t quite seem right for DJ on this Sunday. Part of the problem is the course setup takes driver out of his hand. Another issue is that it just hits him 3 minutes before he tees off that he casually blew a putt for $10 million at East Lake a week ago to the day. A third problem is the text he woke up to from the Great One telling him he is banned from wearing the number 99 L.A. Kings sweater when he hits his opening tee shot. The hits keep coming.

Thorbjorn, meanwhile, digs deep for the locker-room material. He harkens back to the No Laying Up Podcast, Episode 166, when Soly said, “Olesen isn’t the caliber of player that plays in the Ryder Cup.” Thunderbear is having none of it. He lets fly from the opening tee shot and goes on an opening tear, popping four birds on the first four holes. If Deej wasn’t shook before, he’s very shook now.

Thomas Bjorn watches eagerly as Olesen dismantles Johnson. Hole after hole, Olesen puts on an a ball striking clinic. DJ eventually finds a little footing on the back half, but by then it’s too late. Thorbjorn is able to make a snaking putt on the sixteenth hole to seal the deal of a 3&2 victory over DJ, and an all-time Ryder Cup upset.

Match 11: Henrik Stenson v. Phil Mickelson

Who wouldn’t want a chance to see Henrik and Phil run it back one more time from the 2016 Open Championship? That magical Sunday, when the Swede was able to edge Phil’s electric 65 with a final round 63 of his own to claim his first Major, felt like it could never be topped. Although the pairing elicited tons of opportunities to re-live those highlights on Saturday night, the Sunday redux in Paris, understandably and predictably, doesn’t live up the the hype. In fact, it’s worse than that. Stenson’s elbow inflammation is persistent on the morning of the singles, and although he tries to give it a go, Henrik’s tentative to engage the turf. The result is a number of thinly bladed iron shots and a complete lack of distance control. Stenson, finding himself 6 down through 10 and the pain too much to bear, concedes the match. Phil acts respectfully to his opponent, and mutters a few kind words about “wishing he could have gotten another shot at him at his best” as they shake hands.

Phil then immediately cracks open his phone on the golf cart ride over the action with Tiger and Sergio.

“Hi, I’m Phil Mickelson, pro golfer. I used to have painful elbow inflammation caused by psoriatic arthritis. Then I talked to my doctor about Enbrel.”

Much has been written of the new affable, likable, fun-loving Tiger. “Tiger seems to get along with his peers.” “Tiger has humbly transformed into the elder statesman on Tour.”

What does Sergio think of all that? “Mierda,” that’s what.

Much as been written of whether Sergio deserved a Captain’s pick. “He’s looked completely out of sorts the past three months.” “He hasn’t made a cut in the U.S. since March.”

What does Tiger think of all that? “Bullshit,” that’s what.

See, the blood is bad between these two. Of all the people Tiger would want to thrash on Sunday afternoon with a Ryder Cup on the line, El Niño would be numbers 1-99. And of all the people Sergio would love to take down to show all the haters and losers how wrong they were, El Gato Grande would likewise be the guy. There is a palpable, sour, gritty taste in the air on the first tee. 10,000 strong here to see the Cat and the Kid. Tiger blisters his opening tee shot–a 2 iron stinger that never gets 20 feet off the ground, followed by a twirl so hard, you’d think he was about to go airborne. Sergio, not to be outdone, takes 3 wood and aims for the incredibly aggressive line up the far right side, carrying all the mounding and skirting the water to leave a mere flip wedge into the green. The two exchange brief looks walking off the first tee box and into the gauntlet.

By nipping a crispy little hold-off wedge into the green 8 feet below the hole, Tiger applies the early pressure. Sergio answers, stuffing his wedge into gimme range. Billy Baroo isn’t glowing hot yet, but you can’t birdie them all unless you birdie the first. Tiger rattles the back of the hole…with AUTHORITY. Birdies halve the hole.

The two trade pars on the second, and birdies on the par 5 third. Two more pars on the fourth and fifth. Then, on the sixth, Sergio draws first blood. Tiger tries to get cute with his tee shot, but squirts one low and off the toe way out to the right in the heavy stuff, where he’s only able to hack it back to the fairway, 15 yards short of the green. Sergio pitches his second into gimme range, and when Tiger fails to convert his own pitch shot, Garcia finds himself 1 up.

The pair trade pars on the seventh, but Cat is able to gobble up the difference on the eighth, when he stiffs his tee ball to 2 feet from a mere 213 yards away. Sergio has a 30 footer that never threatens, but comes up within tap in range. There is a tense moment when Tiger looks to Sergio, as if to say “This is good, right?” Sergio never drops eye contact, and never mutters a word. Tiger replaces his ball, and in a moment that seems to be a call back to all of the history between the two, Tiger one-hand putts his ball into the hole just to show Sergio that, “Yes, you asshole. This was fucking good.”

Tiger’s blood is boiling as he walks to the ninth. Joey is able to calm him down somewhat, but there is some redass to be taken out on the next Bridgestone he puts on the peg. Top Tracer shows that 190 ball speed ain’t just for the kids, but also for the Cat. Notah Begay says he hasn’t seen him swing at one that hard since Stanford. Johnny Miller timely adds, “For all you folks at home, this is why when you find yourself playing your next match play against Tiger Woods, you should really not make him mad.” We will all miss Johnny Miller. Sergio answers with two good shots of his own, but finds himself right of the green in two well below the hole in a collection area. Tiger’s second, on the other hand, is a beautiful, high-flying fade that lands perfectly at the front of the green and trundles up to 10 feet below the hole. Sergio hits a remarkable shot to get up and down for birdie, but Tiger’s eagle try rolls perfectly end over end into the dead middle. Tiger is 1 up after nine.

On the back nine, the two trade birdies on the short par 4 tenth, and pars on the par 3 eleventh and par 4 twelfth. Both find trouble on the short thirteenth, and bogey halves the hole. On 14, Sergio is able to take back some control of the match when Tiger’s wayward second finds the sand left and short of the green. Sergio finds the surface in two, and two-putts his way to a birdie 4 that squares the match headed to the difficult fifteenth.

With the honor, Sergio steps up and pummels an iron into the fat of the fairway. Tiger, on the other hand, feels the wind swirling and can’t decide on the play. After a long conversation with LaCava, Tiger decides to go with fairway metal and try to carry the ball over the hazard and up close to the green. A gust hits it, knocks it down, and Tiger finds the drink. Sergio manages to hit it to the middle of the green and two putts for a 1 up lead.

Feeling it, Sergio launches a high, soft one into the middle of the green on 16–pin high and about 15 feet from the hole. Tiger doesn’t flinch, however. He summons the Tiger of…last week(!) and absolutely flushes a baby 8 iron. The sound…crisp. The traj…glorious. The cut…buttery. His shot lands three feet from the hole and stops dead. It’s now patently obvious that we are watching something special. Sergio’s putt slides just outside the hole, and Tiger taps his in to square the match.

After trading pars on 17, unremarkable in their execution but for the tension in the air, Tiger and Sergio march to the eighteenth, all square. By this time, the stage is set. Europe leads 14-13. A full point for Tiger retains the cup. Sergio is in the driver’s seat as a half or a whole point wins the cup for Europe.

Two tee shots perfectly down the middle. Garcia and Woods exchange knowing glances as they briskly walk in lockstep down the fairway. For a second, the bad blood melts away, and all that’s left is the gravity of the moment.

Woods, first to play, punishes a cracking iron shot towards the flag, but the adrenaline was just a smidgen too much, and it lands just over the hole and hops off the back of the green, barely into the first cut.

Firmly in control, Sergio channels that Sunday at Augusta, all of those feelings, and remembers all of the great things that have happened in his life since. He regrets nothing about the last 10 months of mediocre golf; they didn’t exist. Only him, the flag, and cup. And the CUP. Garcia’s signature whip-cracking action perfectly clips the ball from the turf and it sails through the air. A cry of “¡VAMOS!” cuts into the sky, as Garcia’s ball falls from the heavens straight into the middle of the green, 20 feet from the hole. Barring a miracle, two putts will all but assure the Europeans a victory.

Both bask in the moment as they make their way to the final green. But for Tiger, it’s mostly just business. He stalks his chip for what seems like an hour, but no one is in a hurry for him to hit it. After committing to a line and speed, he nips it perfectly, and the ball lands on his spot in the fringe. As it trickles toward the hole, it settles agonizingly shy of the cup. Tiger falls to his knees as just one more revolution…half a revolution, even, might have been enough.

Sergio gives him a thumbs up–no consolation really, but a sporting gesture of respect. El Niño has two putts from twenty feet to clinch the Cup. He would need only one.

The European Team wins the Ryder Cup by a score of 15-13, in one of the greatest renditions of the event that will ever be played.

Your winning captains? Photo cred: Getty Images.

The Eurozone #11: Blue-Tinted Glasses

We’re all jacked up for the Ryder Cup, and we’ve got an awesome (free!) contest for our favorite event. Mizzen + Main, Callaway, Travis Mathew, Ogio and yours truly have all thrown in to give us an incredible prize pool. Just fill out the questions in the link below, and see below for what you can win. There’s 32 total prizes! Tons of opportunities to win, so send this along to all of your friends.

 are hosting the contest, and will even provide live scoring! Be sure to check them out for any pools you may consider running in the future.

pay close attention to the rules of the contest

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Enter the No Laying Up Ryder Cup Contest, Presented by Mizzen+Main

Back in May, I got a chance to spend the day with Paul Azinger at his house in Bradenton. He gave us a tour of his trophies, his Ryder Cup room, where he fishes off his back dock, and some of his old clubs in his garage. It was a blast. Enjoy!

Special shoutouts to Ryan Young for the filiming, and Matt Golden for the excellent editing as always.

Home Game: Paul Azinger's Ryder Cup Room, Old Clubs, and Fishing Spot

The Western Golf Association brought the 2018 BMW Championship east to Philadelphia’s Aronimink Golf Club, and we made the trip north for the week’s festivities. Extreme weather on opposite ends of the spectrum complicated an already pressure-packed week, with players jockeying for a spot in East Lake’s Tour Championship. A summary of of our experience is below…

A couple of us headed up to Philly a couple weeks before the tournament to see the course firsthand. Gil Hanse recently restored the layout, adding a significant amount of bunkers, expanding the greens, adding new tees, and expanding the fairway width. Here’s a look at how the course has changed:

The restoration was carried out primarily with the club’s members in mind (as discussed on our podcast with Gil Hanse below), as many of the bunkers are simply not in play for professionals using modern equipment. We also tested our egos, playing the course from the back tees to see how we would fare. Here is that experience:

After arriving we got word of a Tiger/Rory practice round that was going down. We raced to the first tee and followed that entire round, capturing these photos along the way:

It was cool to see this two interact up close, and to listen in on the conversations. You’ll be disappointed to hear that they’re rather mundane (at least, anything we were in ear shot of). Equipment, the heat, etc. A bit of a letdown on that front until this exchange:

Rory takes the mega angle off 2 (ball in the left side of this pic), carrying 305+.



Tiger: “I don’t have that.”



Lays back with 3 wood. 

The second hole was a true litmus test for the bombers, and to hear Big Cat admit that he couldn’t keep up with Rory off the tee was a bit jarring.

I got a last minute Pro-Am spot playing alongside Tommy Fleetwood with musician Kelley James and his dad. Tommy was a guest on our podcast back in May, and is as nice and as genuine as he appears in public. I was happy to hear that he has really enjoyed his first year in the states, and in particular, has been very surprised with how much positive feedback he’s received from American fans.

The pins in Pro-Ams are notoriously generous, but this was still noteworthy. Tommy shot a stress free 60 without making a putt from outside of 10 feet. It was an absolutely clinical ball striking display. In the sweltering heat, I believe he hit every fairway and every green. He barely missed from about 20 feet on our 17th hole (the 8th), which would have given him the 59 assuming he still would have birdied the last. Man that was a treat to watch.

Tron got paired up with Kevin Kisner. But his day started with this:

Before the pro-am on Wednesday I was using the facilities in the locker room, minding my own business and Big Cat rolled up to the next urinal.



I struggled to regain my composure the rest of the day and my performance in pro-am suffered. Felt it necessary to clear my name.



— Tron Carter (@TronCarterNLU) 

Here’s Tron’s recap: “Imagine mindlessly standing there daydreaming and staring at the wall, then out of the corner of your eye you realize Tiger is standing next to you. Bizarre. I quite enjoyed the day with Kisner, who had his entire team out there (his physio, Adam Kerley, carried the bag, while coach John Tillery and normal caddie Duane Bock also walked along.) Duane is scheduled to have a hip replaced in the next six weeks, so he was thankful for a respite. Talking to him was one of the highlights of the week for me – he’s a supremely thoughtful guy with an interesting backstory on mini-tours and the Canadian Tour. That he’s been with Kevin for virtually the entirety of his professional career speaks volumes about their comfort level together. Tillery was gracious enough to help me with some swing advice (I’m getting worse the more I play), which was much appreciated/needed. I made three natural birds, and a few more net birds, most of which didn’t matter since the group all played well on the same holes.”

 just laid up on 16 with a driver off the deck. He says, “how good of a leave was that?” 

One of the overriding themes of the BMW Championship is the charitable element, with proceeds usually benefitting the Evans Scholars Foundation, which provides caddies with college scholarships. This year’s beneficiary was the Philadelphia-based Platt Evans Scholarship, providing full scholarships for local caddies to Penn State University. It was cool to stand on the first tee and witness the deserving scholars be recognized by the players:

Thank you for supporting the 2018 #BMWCHAMPS! All of the proceeds from this year's event will help send caddies like Parker Bria of Roslyn, Pennsylvania, to college on Platt Evans Scholarships!

 (@bmwchamps) on Sep 11, 2018 at 6:00am PDT

In keeping with the caddie theme we also shot a video with some of the tour caddies, who imparted lessons on their sauciest moves:

Wednesday night’s festivities included a surreal Oktoberfest celebration behind the 9th tee, looking back up to the stately clubhouse:

Matty was a guest on the podcast previously this year, and we finally fulfilled the goal of having the two of them on at the same time. Marc is the defending BMW Champion, and their friendship has always fascinated us. The podcast goes to some extremes, from a raucous celebration of their first big paycheck together, to Marc nearly losing his wife to sepsis and the miracle it took to save her. This is among the best podcasts we’ve done:

https://ia801500.us.archive.org/30/items/MattyAndLeish/Matty%20And%20Leish.mp3

We also got a chance to sit down with Gil Hanse, the man responsible for the restoration work being performed at Aronimink, and a great deal of the restoration work going on across the country at premier venues. We talked about the philosophy behind this restoration, and picked his brain about many of his other projects.

https://ia601507.us.archive.org/32/items/GilHanse/Gil%20Hanse.mp3

The Eagles played host to the Falcons on Thursday night to open the regular season (and raise their Super Bowl banner) and we lucked into some tickets. The game was a disaster…our seats were not.

 game tonight. I love how you put my business partners/large adult sons in the field goal section. We paid $650 and ended up in the same section as the rest of the 

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