Walking With a Tiger
Life is funny. It's true what they say. Life is like a merry-go round. You go around and around and you have to wait until the ride stops to see where you get off. Then, you hope it's in a spot in which there is an ability to find and enjoy a great new adventure.
My name is Robert Planter. I'm 37 year-old Pro-Am golfer who has learned the truth of this statement. Thirteen years ago the world was at my feet. I graduated form Arizona State University earning a Masters in Sociology courtesy of a golf scholarship. At twenty-three years old, I was ranked number-one by Golfweek magazine and number-one by Golfstat.
This propelled me to Augusta where I not only received the Silver Cup,(an award given to an amateur for making the cut), but the Hole in One crystal for a miraculous one-shot-stroke on the 12th hole. But I don't remember to many great details about the tournament.
On the second day, I was partnered with Ernie Ells. Having just teed off to begin the 7th, my caddie Kyle Stanley tapped my shoulder. I hadn't even noticed the course official approaching us. "Mr. Planter, there's been an accident sir. You better come with me." A million thoughts ran through my mind. The crowd looked as confused as I did. As the roped was raised, I noticed Georgia State patrolmen and more course officials waiting.
Taken to a small media tent, people were asked to clear out. Kyle sat down next to my right as I was handed a telephone. It was Charlie Greene, Cheryl's father. "She didn't make it Robert. It was a freak accident. A pickup ran the light and she didn't have a chance. Are you there?" I couldn't breathe. "Robert?" I could hear his voice, but it seemed to be a distant echo. "And Talitha? I asked. How is Talitha?" "She's fine, he replied. Not a scratch."
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The next thing I knew, I was on my way back home to Scottsdale, just outside of Phoenix. Kyle had wept with me as we were all close. With all of our backyard barbeques and family get-togethers, we were like brothers neither of us ever had. Carolyn and Cheryl giggled like slumber party girls, and when Talitha was born, our best friends were there with bells on.
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I met Cheryl in my junior year at ASU. Always running late, I was running out the front doors of the library, tripped, and fell with her into a Hydrangea Bush. Both of us were quite surprised. "Geesh, is this your way of asking me out?" She had a sense of humor; great. I picked a full flowering branch and held it up. "Well, what do you say?" We both laughed and the rest was history. We got married that summer and spent our senior year in an off-campus apartment. As beautiful as Cheryl was, she glowed brighter while pregnant with our daughter Talitha.
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As I walked up the gate ramp, I could see everyone waiting: mom, dad, in-laws, and friends. I was covered with hugs. Looking into the stroller, I could see Talitha. Her sleeping face had brought water to my eyes once again. I was afraid; afraid of how I could do this on my own, afraid of living without my best friend, my soul-mate.
Golf was a forgotten thought over the next few months as I needed to lay out my priorities. Talitha was my number-one. Ryan Gooden owned the Sanctuary, a course in the foothills of Scottsdale and offered me the position of Head Instructor. I accepted and have been there ever since.
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Family, friends, and fans, have asked over the years when I was going to get back on the tour. With a shrug of my shoulders and a mumble, they never pressed the issue. Little did they know that I still played virtually every day. At the break of dawn, or dusk of the evening, I was out there. I played against myself. I played against the demons that tried to bring me down. Tucking Talitha in at night allowed me to still love life and to trust in what was to come
"What was mommy like?" At seven years old, Talitha's curiosity for life's many mysteries was never-ending. Although my answers were always the same, she never tired of listening. I pulled the covers up and she tucked them under her arms. "Mommy was like a favorite song. Whenever she spoke, it made everyone happy. People would smile and their day would be better. She loved you so much, and when you were born, the sun shined brighter." Here reply was always the same. "Really?" "Really," I said. "I must be pretty special." Her dimples became exaggerated with a missing-tooth smile. "Yes, you are, just like mommy."
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"You think that you're pretty sneaky don't you?" My 9-iron dug in and threw a full, toupe-sized clump of turf. It was my boss Ryan Gooden. The sprinklers had just shut off as I approached my first hole that morning. "I've been watching you for years and I can't stand it anymore." Gooden was a hell of a player back in the day and his course was an instant success with his challenging design. "Stand what?" I asked. "Take a walk with me." he replied.
The distant yelps of the coyotes meant they were done with their nightly quest for food. It wouldn't be long before the Arizona sun would warm the air to a 100 degrees-plus. "Talitha's seven now. You've given such a great beginning to her life. But, it's time you used your gift as a golfer now. I've never seen anyone other than Tiger that strokes the ball like you do." I didn't want this conversation this morning. I had Mrs. Gilcrest as my first lesson and she was a rich......well, you know. "I appreciate the compliment Ryan, I do. But I've got too much going on right now." He stopped walking. "Pig poop," he firmly exclaimed.
"You see that cactus over there?" Gooden pointed to a large Saguaro Cactus with a Gila Woodpecker hacking away at it's skin. "Even as tough as that cactus is, it's still vulnerable. If you take it out of it's environment, it won't survive. Too much of this, or too little of that, and it's gone; history. You're out of your environment Robert. Your living and making it, but you need to get back on tour." He was serious. "The FBR Open is coming soon. You need to consider entering the field. I've talked to the tour committee and they're willing to let you play." Formally known as the Phoenix Open, the FBR was an incredible course.
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Sitting in the den, I had my father on the phone. As we talked, my eyes shifted from my trophies, to the multiple golf-course paintings, to the bi-foldable picture frame of Cheryl and Talitha. I had told my dad about the conversation with Ryan Gooden that morning. He laughed when I told the now-familiar lesson mishaps with my student Mrs. Gilcrest, (a rich widower that consumed a full pitcher of martinis before breakfast). Hanging up the phone, I reached into the top desk drawer and pulled out a photo. It was of Cheryl and I. I had just received the NCAA Div I Champion trophy. It was hard to tell who was happier as she was so glad for me.
"Don't you like to play daddy?" Talitha was standing on the other side of my desk. "What do you mean pumpkin?" I asked. "Well, everybody should play. It's important. If you don't play, life isn't any fun." She was just too cute. "Come here," I said. I do like to play hun." I gave her a big hug. She looked at me real serious. "Then you should play." I gave Talitha another squeeze and patted her off to bed.
I didn't sleep that night, at least not very well. Tossing, turning, and watching the clock, I knew I had little choice. I needed to do this.
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I walked into Gooden's office later that morning. "I don't even have a caddie. I can't ask Kyle as he's buried in responsibilities with Nike." My best bud's marketing degree had paid off as Nike gave him a huge position in their Region-West Marketing Department. "What, I'm not good enough for ya?" Ryan Gooden leaned back in his over-sized, leather diamond-tucked executive chair. I laughed. "Never even thought about it." He leaned forward. "Don't need to. You can be my boss for a change." He reached his hand out and we shook on it.
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I played great at the FBR Open. I was matched with a South Korean by the name of Brian Cheung. The guy lifted my game up as his drives were okay, but his short game was dangerous. Gooden's wisdom was invaluable. Cheung and I had moved up through the field together and we ended up finishing 14th and 15th; I the later.
I didn't fair as well at the "import tourneys" as Gooden referred to them ; The Nissan Open and Honda Classic. But I excelled in the others. My bank account was starting to love my deposits, and I was definitely finding my groove. I quickly sprung to the Top 50 Players list in the Official World Golf Association. This brought me not only an invite the World Golf Championship, but a special opportunity.
Gooden and I were able to have a quiet lunch with Tiger Woods and his caddie Steve Williams. As a private person, we met in Tiger's suite. Tiger's wife and Terri Gooden, Ryan's daughter, had run off to take Talitha out for lunch and shopping.
"I better watch out for you at Augusta," Tiger said with a smile. Gooden spilled coffee on the front of his white crew shirt. He was as excited as I to be there. "It's great to have you on the tour as we kind of missed each other; your time away and all." I nodded. "Yes we have." I replied. "I don't think you'll have to much to fear, but I am getting my game."
I ended up at 12th in the field ending my final day matched with Greg Norman. He was a true wild-man and loved talking about yachts. His current one is 230 feet long and Gooden and I received an open invite.
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That brings me to now. Here I sit on a back-deck of a new, but old-styled plantation home situated on the 12th green. A Jonathan White had called with an invitation to stay at his home. "If y'all don't show up, my wife will have a fit," he said in a long drawl. Making it in some auto-parts chain, White's Discount Auto, the guy was rolling in it.
It's Sunday morning; early Sunday morning and the final round at Augusta. I'm partnered with none other than Tiger Woods. My merry-go-round has stopped in a place for a hell of an adventure ride. The sun is barely creeping it's way into the day, and I'm watching as the sprinklers make their long, steady pass, then flutter in a spitting motion back to their original position. The fine mist slowly floats to the perfectly flattened grass, leaving little diamonds.
Robins, Jays, and other birds rustle about. Making songs and squawks, it's peaceful and my coffee tastes great. The sliding-glass door behind me opens, and I hear the light running patter of feet coming. Talitha jumps in front of me. "Hi!" she exclaims, as if thinking she'll startle me. "Good morning princess." I scoop her up into my lap and she settles under my arm, laying her head on my shoulder.
"I'm proud of you daddy." I lean my head back to look at her face. "You are?" She reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a photo. It's the one of Cheryl and I with my NCAA trophy. My throat tightened and my eyes watered. "I'm glad you are sweetie. You're my inspiration." Talitha hugs me. "And mommy?" "Yes, and mommy too," I say smiling.
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Tiger and I shake hands as we approach the tee. I shake Steve William's hand as Gooden and Tiger do the same. It doesn't ake long to figure out who to talk to, and who not to talk to when matched when another player. Reputation usually supersedes the pairing. Tiger is much too intense, and the talk it very light as we progress.
Every once in a while I catch a look at Talitha and Terri Gooden standing outside the rope marking off the field of play. We exchange smiles and waves. Tiger is getting irritated as he's unsatisfied with a few shots allowing me to stay with him. We're both at nine-under par; the next closest is Vijay Singh at seven-under.
The crowd gets more and more vocal as the day gets closer to an end. I'm still finding it hard to believe Tiger and I are paired up. It just seems so unreal. But, I am playing great. Approaching the 18th, we're both eleven-under, Singh is nine-under.
Tiger crushes the ball off the tee. I watch as it elevates up to whole different level of the atmosphere. It wanders towards the right, bouncing it's way towards a cluster of trees; partially blocking a clear second shot. I won't tell you what he just said. Gooden gives me a smile and head-nod.
My drive feels perfect off the tee and the crowd approves with applause and shouts. It lands in the middle of the fairway, shy of Tiger's, but centered. I have a chance.
My second shot should be further, but it lands on the apron of the green. I look over towards the world's best golfer analyzing his situation.
Tiger's second shot is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. It curves right around the imposing trees and centers itself in the middle of the green. He pumps his fist; then high-fives his caddie Williams.
"It's not over 'til the fat lady sings." Gooden smiles and hands me a two iron. He sees my questioning face and responds. "Run and gun baby....run and gun. It's a long walk for the ball to the hole." As we get to the ball, I see that he's right. "This drives the announcers crazy," he says.
As Gooden walks away, I'm left alone with my thoughts. The crowd is mostly quiet with a few coughs, whispers, and odd noises. I line the club for a fast straight on shot, not wanting to give it a chance to break. Silence. When a ball leaves the club right, you know it. And it feels right. It goes straight for the cup and swirls around the edge, stopping left by a foot. The crowd moans. Gooden smiles and hand me my putter.
Tiger's ball is six feet from the hole. Taking his time, he looks at it from every angle. A few words with Williams and the caddie walk away. There's a hell of a break two feet from the cup in his line. He taps it. Slowly moving up, over, sideways, the ball drops in. The Green Jacket is his.
Talitha runs up to me and hugs my waist. "You did it," she said. "Did what?" I asked. "You played and had fun." She was all smiles. I smiled back and dropped to a knee. "Yes I did pumpkin, yes I did."
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Golf is a funny sport to some people. You hit the ball, and then chase it down. You get there; then hit it again. But it's a great sport that allows a person to challenge himself in so many ways. Yeah, I played with Tiger Woods, and I'll see him again. But I walked with a greater tiger that day. The tiger within myself. While life may attack us at times, it's how we walk that allows us to get away from it's jaws. Like a writer said to me after the FBR Open; "That, my friend, is The Human Side of Sports."
This short story was originally blogged on Fox Sports and later published in the Shelton State Courier.
This story is purely ficticious and any simularities to persons living, dead, or yet to be born is just plain wierd.
Photo Credits:
pub.tv2.no/multimedia/na/archive/00187/t...
www.flickr.com/photos/essjay/149686849/
www.posters-n-prints.com/zoom/augusta-go...
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