My brother Andy has taken over the job of organizing our annual family invitational golf tournament. I know, it’s called the Open but that refers to any member of the family. Plus a bunch of friends we’ve invited to play over the years.
A week before the event, Andy sent this email to everyone:
Summer, 1972. Minneapolis Golf Club, St. Louis Park, Minnesota.
On the tee of the opening hole of the final match to decide the club championship, Punkin Hubbell stood behind her tee ball, deftly spinning her chosen club in her hand, and looked out over the the 10th hole. At once majestically beautiful and punishingly cruel, Number 10 at MGC had recently been named the #1 par 3 in America by Golf Digest . Her eyes closed softly, and the world fell away into silence as she envisioned the shot she was about to play. A moment later, they snapped open, and with a steely look that anyone who's ever played her in Trivial Pursuit is well acquainted with, she addressed the ball.
Just over two hours later, the formal awards ceromony, crowning Mrs. Hubbell Club Champion was commencing, but the match had ended right there where it began. Jack Nicklaus has been quoted to say that the most important shot of any round of golf is the very first one. All too true.
"I hit my tee ball so far left, it nearly went out of bounds" Mrs. Hubbell recalled recently, giggling. "I was so far below the green, I couldn't even see the top of the flag, much less the surface of the green."
To help put the difficulty of this situation into context for the uninitiated, this from the 2016 Indian Open Champion:
"The last time I played MGC with Dad and 2 of his buddies, we started on 10. I hit a 4 iron to the back of the green for my tee ball. A good start. Dad's friends were impressed. Lot's of 'Hey, Hub, where did this one play college golf?' type stuff being thrown out on the way to the green. I walked off with a 6. Nobody really talked to me after that."
Punkin eyed her lie, and consulted briefly with her young caddie.
"I don't know" JP Hubbell shrugged at his mother, looking up toward the hidden putting surface. "Tough shot."
Punkin smiled to herself at her son's naiveté. Someday, she thought, he'll think like a champion. Time to give him another lesson.
She took her stance over the awkward, severely uphill lie, waggled her club softly, and unleashed the swing that her husband described as "almost as naturally beautiful as the rest of her".
What happened next happened in a matter of split seconds, but as is the case with the greatest among us, time slowed for Mrs. Hubbell.
"Oh-Jeez, FORE!" JP hollered, as the ball came out low and hot. Punkin looked at him, rolled her eyes skyward, and thought, "Oh kid. Watch and learn."
A loud sound rang out, similar to the crack of a rifle shot. As JP scrambled quickly up the hill towards the green, desperately scanning the horizon for clues as to were the ball was going, Punkin calmly watched him, impressed at how fast he could move, and still keep her bag of clubs on his shoulder. She then calmly began her leisurely walk toward golfing immortality.
She paused just before cresting the hill, took a brief moment to prepare herself, and awaited her cue.
"Where is it? Where is it?" JP asked no one in particular, quickly scanning the horizon for any flashes of movement that might reveal a clue to the ball's whereabouts. Another pond in front of the 11th tee beckoned, and as he strode quickly across the green, it was difficult not to fear the worst.
Punkin waited calmly, just out of sight, and mentally counted her young son's steps. Any second now.
"What the..?? It's in! It's in the hole! Mom, it went in!!"
Punkin’s opponent stood stock still on the green, mouth agape. "Wait.. what?" She stammered in mounting disbelief.
Enter the star. "Did you say something sweety?" Punkin asked, striding into view.
"Your ball is in the hole!" JP yelled delightedly, pointing. "It hit the pin and went IN the HOLE!"
"You hit two terrible shots!" Punkin’s opponent finally hollered. "This is ridiculous! TERRIBLE shots. Two! That's so unfair!"
Punkin strode over to the hole and peered in. "Well would you look at that," she said. She bent down, and carefully retrieved the ball from the cup. Straightening up, she turned, held her her opponent’s gaze, and proceeded to lower the coffin containing the woman's hopes and dreams, so bright and shiny just moments before, into the ground. "Just lucky I guess."
"Ugh!" The woman blurted, red faced and raging. She turned on her heel, and harumphed off toward the next tee, leaving behind her composure,and any chance she may have had, lying in a puddle of indignation on the 10th green.
Punkin turned to her caddie, tossed him her ball, and gave him a wink.
Check and mate.
And yet, 44 years after that epic victory, as the tournament bearing her name prepares for it's 21st annual voyage, out of Punkin's 4 daughters, 11 grand daughters, 1 great grand daughter, and 5 daughters-in-law, not a single female participant has yet stepped up to challenge for the Bucket. Too bad really.
That’s right: Andy tried to shame a dozen Hubbell women into doing something they have no interest in doing. You can guess how successful he was: for the 21st year in a row, not a single one of us dedicated two full days to trying to knock tiny little balls into tiny little holes from hundreds of yards away. We all agreed that if we were going to walk around in the beauty of nature for three or fours hours, we’d rather be at the Arboretum, Lake of the Isles, the Falls…pretty much anywhere we don’t have to pay greens fees.
I’m not saying there will never be female contestants in the family tournament. I’m just saying none of us are bored enough to enter yet.
We all had lessons. We know how to play. We all know a bogie from a water hazard and what a bunker is. My daughter Josie was on the golf team in high school for two years. My daughter Katie planned on taking lessons this summer but was side tracked by a bigger project. Someday, the men will tremble in their spikes at the prospect of competing on the links with their sisters, cousins and aunts…but not this day. Not this day.
While the guys were desperately seeking par on Saturday, a bunch of us met at Katie M’s house and we spent the afternoon strolling at a leisurely pace around Lake Harriet. It was a warm, overcast and muggy day. It was wonderful.
My sister in law Royana was with us. She has a real job (boo) so the last couple of years wasn’t able to come due to a limit on her vacation days. We picked up Heidi before we reached the rose gardens.
We had a good walk, unspoiled.
Then we headed to Mom ‘n Dads for ribs. Mom had been slow cooking four or five racks all afternoon. As the golfers drifted in, we began to hear the tale of the tourney: Woody was in the lead at 80 but five guys were right on his tail with 81.
Woody is indisputably the best golfer in the family. He wins the tournament every year. Yes, on any given day, any of his brothers and some of his brothers in law can beat him but in the long run, no one else is even close. I think he’s won the tournament 10 or 11 times.
I’m so sick of writing his name on the Championship bucket.
I was rooting for “Anyone but Woody” to win.
There were a few new entries to the field this year. Two of the Frank boys joined the hunt, having never played 18 before in their lives. They paired up with cousins, didn’t sweat the outcome and had a blast. Together they shaved 35 points off their scores from Saturday to Sunday.
I went out to Ty’s place Sunday afternoon to help Megan with the set up for the anniversary party. We were serving brats with all the fixins, bars and cookies of all descriptions and root beer floats because they’re Dad’s favorite. The non-golfers arrived late in the afternoon and the golfers began rolling in after 5:00.
I’m pleased to announce that Woody did not win this year! He was unseated by brother in law, Mike McCollow, who apparently pulled off a 17-foot putt on 18 to take the crown, which is actually an old tin bucket.
And Mike H., who couldn’t play on Saturday due to other obligations (some friend was getting married. Whatever.) shot the best round of the weekend with a 77. He’d better play both days next year: he could win!
Update: Oops. I was uninformed: Mike H’s 77 was far from the best round of the weekend. Bill just told me he shot a 72 in an epic, spine tingling battle that ended with Mike M’s long putt to win. If Bill’s 72 wasn’t enough to win, Mike M’s game must have been on fire! Bill gave us both chills just telling me about it.
Soon, the whole place was hopping, with folks inside, outside, upstairs, downstairs, on the porch, the deck, in the barn, playing pool, badminton, ladder ball and whatever game Babalouie dreamed up with his large collection of bats, balls and clubs. The only thing we didn’t do was saddle up the pony for rides.
As the sun was setting over the corn field, Megan and I set up a rootbeer float stand under a crab apple tree in the back yard. Just in case you’re wondering if there’s anything better than having a root beer float under a July sunset in Minnesota: there’s not.
Jay and I left around 10. He had to work camp in the morning and it had been a long, wonderful day. I had deliberately parked the car near the end of the driveway so we’d have no trouble getting out. I put the bag of leftovers in the back of the car and we hit the road. We had reached the stoplight in town when Jay asked “Do you think Zack and Josie need a ride home?”
That’s when I realized that they had ridden out to the party with Katie. She had left twenty minutes earlier. The kids had no ride home and both had to work in the morning.
“You’d better call them and find out.” I told Jay. I was driving. I don’t use my phone while I’m driving.
So Jay called and sure enough, Zack and Josie had no way home. It was another few miles before I found a place to turn around. We got back to the house as several other family members were heading for their cars.
“This is the best party ever.” My brother Joe said. “The house and spread are gorgeous, I had a great time and I get to take a bag of meat home.”
Rather than being appreciative that their father and I came all the way back for them, Zack and Josie were much more focused on the fact that we left without them. You’d think they weren’t adults who managed to get to the party without any help from their parents.
Halfway home, Zack reached into the back of the car and made himself a brat, complete with sauerkraut.
MMM...there's nothing like a good brat hangover.