Ever wonder what professional golfers chat about when the television cameras are off and the galleries are sequestered far away?
Me, too. Until this week at least, when I found myself inside the ropes of the Champions Tour. For a full day, I was like a National Geographic wildlife guide, studying this curious breed of golfus nontigris professionalium at the Constellation Energy Senior Players Championship.
Lurking in the shade of the 11th tee box, I spotted our subject - a 53-year-old specimen called Brad Bryant. He was resting on a bench when he took notice of a nearby portable restroom.
"I'll be getting there in a second," he confided to another nearby member of the same genus. "Maybe twice.
"That's one of the toughest things about deer hunting," Bryant continued. "You get up in the tree or whatever, and what are you supposed to do?"
Craig Stadler offered: "Take a bottle."
Said Bryant: "I do. Quart-size."
Stadler responded: "No. Half gallon."
You see! This is how they act in their natural habitat, far removed from the prying cameras and the finely tuned ears of the golf fan. Fascinating!
OK, truth be told, I wasn't exactly on a safari. In fact, around my neck I had a special badge that identified me as an "honorary observer." But it did put me right on top of the action. The only ones closer were the golfers and their caddies. It's a cool program that is unique to the Champions Tour. At this week's championship, there were five groups of honorary observers, usually corporate friends and budding business partners, embedded in the action.
Joining me and the 11:14 a.m. threesome were Joe and JoAnn Velenovsky, honorary observers from Ocean City. "I think this will be cooler than Disney World," Joe told his wife on the three-hour drive up. And indeed it was.
We're not talking about a front-row seat; we were in the huddle, allowed to roam the fairways as Bryant, Stadler and Larry Nelson played. We were close enough to see that the sweat seeping through Stadler's shirt resembled a Rorschach test.
On the second hole, the green looks like a giant anthill. It's 30 yards removed from the ropes, and no fan has an angle on the cup except for us. I would swear, when Bryant's 15-foot putt missed, his heavy sigh was the only audible noise in all of Maryland.
The trio of golfers chatted mostly on the tee boxes, but it wasn't like me and my buddies. Not many curse words and no unsolicited swing tips.
