But I Digress… 10-13-16

Hello. My name is Steven. And I am a golf nerd.
I grew up that way, can’t help it. Actually I was a sports nerd in general. I played baseball, basketball, tennis and a little bit of football growing up and I had nerdish tendencies in all of them.
I played Strat-o-Matic baseball when I wasn’t playing real baseball. The game had a card for each major league player, dice and a code sheet filled with dice combinations. You would roll the dice for pitcher and batter and through a complicated system of quantum physics, random luck and voodoo come up with an outcome. Double. Or strike out. Or passed ball or … you get the idea.
Not nerdy enough? When I was not playing real ball or Strato-ball I pretended I was an announcer. I used white shoe polish to paint call letters on an old desk, found a broken tape recorder microphone and sat down behind the fake mic and proceeded to call complete made up baseball games. I was pretty good as I remember.
Nerdy enough for ya? Okay, what about this:
I got into golf because my brother made me. This was after he had moved out, gone in the Navy, returned to Fresno, got married and had a kid. For some reason he decided that he wanted to start playing golf. And so he came to our parent’s house at 5 a.m. one Saturday, woke me up, got me dressed and plopped me in his Buick for the dark drive to Airways Golf Course, inventively named as it was in close proximity to Fresno Airport.
I was tired, sleepy, cold and playing in jeans and tennis shoes. I missed the ball the first three times I swung at it, finally topping it pitifully off the first tee and about 30 feet down the fairway.
I was hooked. And sliced. And trapped. And stymied. And shanked.
I was 12 at the time and still playing baseball but this new mistress proved a powerful attraction. I begged my brother to take me every day. If it was too late we would go to Hank Swank’s Driving Range and nine-hole course. Hank Swank? Who could make that up? We could play golf at night because the course was lit. It was there I duffed a nine iron on a 70-yard par 3 and the ball hopped, skipped and bounced onto the green, clanked against the flagstick and incredibly dropped straight in for an undeserved ace. My brother was not pleased.
We continued that way, early morning weekend rounds, evening nine-hole jaunts. But here’s where the nerd comes in. What no one knew (except my mom) was that I made a huge butcher paper scoreboard in my bedroom and kept track of every single PGA tour event. The winner, his score and the prize money. I did this for two years and the name Arnold Palmer showed up with amazing frequency.
Even as a tween, I knew in my heart that Jack Nicklaus was the better player, but Jack didn’t live in my heart, he resided in my brain. I couldn’t help but be drawn to Arnie, the anti-country club guy. No plaid pants, no perfectly pressed trousers. He had an athlete’s build and a wild, Tasmanian Devil of a swing. He was handsome, charismatic with a perpetual grin on his face. He made golf sexy and fun. No easy feet. While Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player were precise technicians. Arnie was just a guy hitting balls around a golf course. He took risks, he seemed to relish the challenges and getting into trouble. He probably blew as many tournaments as he won, but that’s what made him so captivating.
When he passed away recently, a little more light, life and fun left this world. From all reports, Arnie was a great guy, loyal friend, generous person and warm and caring human being. From what folks said, he always made you feel like the most important person in the room. That’s a trait for which I remain eternally envious.
Years ago, this golf nerd unwittingly made Arnold Palmer his teen idol. You can’t really know a public person, a star, a celebrity, but you can tell a lot by what people say about him, especially when he or she is alive. I read a lot about Arnie over the years and, tellingly, his many eulogies sounded remarkably similar to how friends, associates, even strangers described him while he was living. Can we say the same about Tiger Woods?
In my mind Arnie wasn’t just the king of golf, he was the king of humility, graciousness and sportsmanship.
The king is dead. Will we ever see another one?
Steven welcomes your comments. You can reach him at

st***************@gm***.com











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