Letter from St. Andrews: Blessings of Eighth Place
Two hundred yards or so behind the 18th green of the Old Course, on a broad street called the Scores, sits a sturdy stone townhouse with a brass plaque at its entrance. Inscribed on the plaque are the words “The Old Course Experience.” “Could this possibly be what it suggests?” I wondered on the day […]
Letter from St. Andrews: Worst To Finish First
A year ago, when Phil Mickelson won the Masters, he lost something almost as significant—the title “best player never to win a major championship.” Lefty thereby joined the relieved ranks of David Duval (2001), Mark O’Meara (1998), Davis Love III (1997), Tom Kite (1992), Greg Norman (1986) and Ben Crenshaw (1984) in shedding an unofficial […]
Letter from St. Andrews: Breakfast at Augusta
My own record of perfect attendance began in 1976. The last time I missed a Masters, Gerald Ford was president and Tiger Woods was an embryo. But this year, not only will I not be in Augusta, I won’t be anywhere near Augusta. I’ll be here in the Auld Grey Toon, and that makes my condition all the more gruesome.
Letter from St. Andrews: Shinnecockemamie
It’s a cold, grey day in the old grey town, so my thoughts stray happily across the Pond toward posh, breezy Southampton, N.Y., to the Shinnecock Hills Golf Club and the approaching 104th U.S. Open. And there’s a goofy smile on my face. To paraphrase our favorite son, Bobby Jones, you could take out of […]
