The last day of fine golfing.
After the star-studded lineup, Dan and I wondered if Pebble Beach would live up to our expectations. It was in tough company, but, yes, the king reigns. I was familiar with the course to a degree, having followed Jason Allred on it for three rounds four years ago. I wanted so badly to swing away then, dreamt of the day I might get the chance, then relished it when I did. It was shirt sleeves and no wind and no worries.
We played the public back tees, between 6,700 and 6,800 yards, and had a leisurely round (there was no choice, a twosome not going anywhere fast). But it wasn’t too bad. Our wives rented a cart as well and partook of the experience, marveling at the scenery and shooting lots of pictures as they went.
I couldn’t help but think back to that 2005 trip. Every hole, it seemed, had some sort of memory. Either from Jason’s practice round with Lee Janzen, Rocco Mediate and Tim Petrovic, where they got off the first tee and in the middle of the fairway set up an friendly little money game. Or at No. 4, when Jason and partner Carson Daly played on Sunday with Bill Murray and Scott Simpson, and Murray got in a TV reporter’s face. Or No. 8, where Jason chipped in on the practice round to win the hole.
On and on.
There were a few holes I really looked forward to. The short par-3 seventh, which measures about 100 yards as you hit at a green hard by the ocean. Thankfully, there was little wind, and the group ahead of us tipped us to hit an 80-yard shot. I told the others I wanted this to be my first hole-in-one hole, and, briefly, I thought … it was going right at the flag but came up 10-12 feet short. I then missed birdie. Our wives pulled out clubs and took a shot. Each has had better results, but they now can say they teed off at Pebble.
Right after came the difficult eighth, with the cove that juts into the fairway. Another hole I’d thought about. A good drive produced only a double bogey as I hit my 180-yard 5-iron into said Cove. The next approach found the bunker right, barely keeping it out of said cove.
At 11, I told Danny how much time the professional practice group spent several years ago dropping balls and testing the roll on the brutally fast and narrow green. I tried desperately to remember what they discovered but couldn’t. I managed par, but the insides of knees were bruised from knocking together.
No. 15 was where one of Allred’s family friends was escorted from the grounds after rolling in a mud hole and doing the gopher dance for Murray, saluting his Caddyshack character. That was a better memory than the nondescript way I played the hole.
No. 17 was cool, the par 3 going back to the Pacific. Made bogey.
At No. 18, we stood where so many greats have stood, on the tee box with the wooden fence keeping us from falling into the ocean. I could see the trees in the fairway the pros tried to get past. I remembered Allred and his group falling to the ground at the green, pulling a Murray-like antic after the comedian sank a putt. I remembered rows and rows and rows of fans lining the fairway, luxury boxes around the green and TV cameras zooming in on the action.
Of course, only the fence and trees were there this time, but I’m proud to say I hit the fairway, didn’t mess up my 4-wood second shot and put my 9-iron approach on the green, leaving a 20-foot putt I didn’t hit quite that far. But I gladly took a par finish. My score was 87, which was good enough to be used for my handicap because the slope is a robust 142.
Yes, Pebble Beach lived up to — nay, exceeded — whatever expectations we had.
It was the perfect way to end a perfect week of golf.
