When the height of summer approaches, and after you mow the yard on a Saturday afternoon, there are few things to watch on television while downing a cold one. Basketball ends and baseball drags on and doesn’t get really interesting again until September. That leaves us golf on Saturday afternoons.
I always thought golf was boring and about the only thing I knew about it was that the Masters was played in Augusta, Georgia, where my grandfather used to live. When he moved to Ft Worth, to be close to us, it was understood that the three boys would do his chores, including the yard.
So it was on those Saturdays where I learned to love the sport of golf. After I did his yard chores, I would sit down with a cold (root) beer and watch golf with him. Ever since then, we have used golf as a kind of a conversation starter.
My grandfather loves golf and I loved hearing stories about him wondering around Augusta National and running into the pros.
On Sunday, the final round of the Masters, he turned 89. As a sort of birthday present, one of our favorites, Phil Mickelson, captured the green jacket.
I wish I had been there to watch the final round like I used to in high school. But I was here in Huntsville, excitedly dialing his number as Phil sank the gimmie putt to win.
We talked about it for 20 minutes; about how Phil won, about how good Couples looked, about how Tiger was not being “Tiger” and missing go ahead putts. Everything was covered and he launched into another story about this one time he saw a pro and how nice or mean he was.
I just sat and listened. And you know what? I’ll never get bored.