In the Walker Cup (and in life), is to enjoy the moment

Pebble beach, caliph. – I’m here for Pedestrian cupIn Cypress Point, a good course and a beautiful, but let’s not go crazy here. There are other good and beautiful courses in the vicinity. Pebble beach. Both courses at the Monterey Peninsula Country Club. Nine rear – nine oceanic – in Pacific Muni PG has the fraud for which I think as an essential value of golf course maintenance. There are people in Augusta National who would not agree. I have a course holding friend who understands the importance of fraud but also the importance of keeping your job: “Try selling a coffee membership,” he says. In the United States? You can’t sell coffee. Our golf year begins with Augusta, wall to wall in green. They all have a color TV these days.

I appeared at the Grove Pacific shop at 6pm and I was at 10pm, with a rental placed in a comedy bag on my shoulder, about 10 minutes later. The sun was 7: 30ish. Fella after the counter asked me if I would need golf balls. I did. I bought a Srixons sleeve, the cheapest ball he had. I played nine holes in 90 minutes and didn’t miss a ball. No one was behind me. Instead of waiting with teat, I chipped and set up and set up until the coast was clear.

Ninety minutes Golfe Nirvana. No unemployed scam. Some blind shots. Countless roads. Brackish air. There is no head protection. (Leave them in the store.) In this environment, your life becomes all: your childhood, your college years, finding your way to the world afterwards, marrying and raising children and golf when you can; Whatever you call this other phase. I’m 65 years old. My friend Sam Reeves, a 91-year-old youthful, likes to say if you do not know if you are middle-aged or elderly, you are old. He also says golf is a connector.

My mind withdrew, while in the Pacific Grove again nine: I’m in Bellport in Long Island, where I got the game; Many games and great times at the Golf National Links, farther in the East in Suffolk County; Golf in Elie and Old Course and Machrihanish and other courses in Scotland; The embarrassment of wealth that is Golf in the Great Philadelphia, where Christine and I raised our children, throughout the 1930s, 40, 50 and 60. Personality traits and golf oscillations of hundreds of players have been deposited in my head over the years. For now, I am thinking of a man named Tommy Blue, my age exactly, 65. He is a retired roof in Machrihanish, Scotland, and once worked on the roof of Paul McCartney and once played the McCartney registration. There was a memorable game with her. We have plunged around. We both had metabolism for fast golf.

A friend, Sharon Harrington, died last month. She was 65 years old. I have recorded many rounds with her husband, Steve Hags, a former player of Yale hockey and a Hoganophilia. Sharon set up two wonderful girls and a boy, completely engaged in her family life. She was also a golf player, a bridge player, a gardener, sharp as a trouble and capable as it could be. She entered a hospital for a kidney stone, complications took place and she died on August 22. Who would imagine that he would not see August 23? Not her husband, not their three children, not someone. Hundreds of people came to the memorial service of her backyard. Sharon all of us and golf tied many of us. Golf is a connector.

I travel a lot during the summer, as many of us do, and find golf games here and there, as many of us do. In a round this summer, I played with a retired man a few years older than me. He played from Tees ahead and had a beautiful control without gloves and made a good twist through the ball. His good shots were good and if he were to make a series of shootings he captured, appropriately. He was walking, as I was, and his rhythm was fine.

“What was your handicap at its lowest level,” I asked Fella.

He showed a divot hole on the way to the way down us and said, “Like this.”

He was not humorous. I realized then he did not really understand the question. Daily conversation, the usual processing of words and information we often take for granted, was robbed of it. He was holding in golf as long as he could. It was moving, painful and inspiring.

I do things very quickly. I am a slow, caring reader and a slow, caring runner, but for the most part I am BA-PA, BA-PA, BA-PAin the other thing. Another day, I entered a dinner and told the new server while he sat on me, “I don’t need a menu, just two eggs above average with toast wholewheat, please.” The food quickly reached and this young man said, “Without a hurry, enjoy your meal.”

Omg. He nailed it all. Without hurry. Enjoy your meal. What is the rush?

This Walker cup is funny. There is a funny pace. 20 players and two captains have been here all week, playing nine holes here, nine holes there. Long foods. Long ping-pong sessions. A slow, beautiful week, and then comes the competition itself: Saturday morning, afternoon; Sunday morning, Sunday afternoon. Bam, Bam, Bam, Bam. It will go very soon, but children, win or lose, will have sustainable memories.

They can actually remember the days that lead to the competition as well as everything. Ian Poulter talking to GB & I. George W. Bush team at the opening ceremonies. Evening chocolates in the player rooms in the Spanish bay every night, right there on the pillow. I mean, this is living great. You are a college child (most of them) and you are representing your country in a team competition and are staying in a super luxury room (in the Spanish bay), and every night, during turning service, They give you a piece of chocolate free!

I am not offering this as a pro advice, but it works for me: you get the chocolate from its wrapper, place it in your tongue and leave it there until it melts. Your teeth should not be touched at all and chocolate, smell and taste and texture, is everywhere.

Michael Bamberger welcomes your comments on Michael.bamberger@golf.com.