Chapter 39.3: PGA-OK

Finally the PGA Championship has left our sleepy little Springfield, though not without raising its temperature. For weeks before the tournament began, rumors spread through the town about where the professional golfers were going to live. Go to the post office and someone was whispering about how much so-and-so was getting for renting his home to Tiger Woods for the week. Thousands, said some; a million others had heard.

I don’t know where he lived, nor do I care. My home wasn’t quite close enough to attract offers of any money for parking on my lawn, but others charged $50 or more per car per day. There were some who were making money off those who brought their cell phones – banned by the PGA from the course. I made nothing from the event, though I enjoyed having it around.

My wife and I both volunteered to serve as EMTs during the week. Maureen ended up doing three different days, including Monday, when play resumed after storms caused a suspension. She was on national television tending to patients after the tree limb collapsed, injuring three. For the first time since I’ve known her, she seemed happy to watch golf on television.

I was on the course for the Saturday morning shift and stuck around to watch the rest of the tournament’s third day of competition. I saw Tiger. I saw Phil. I saw Vijay. I stood a couple of feet away from Steve Elkington when he punched out his ball that had landed in the woods from the third tee. I was along the fairway on 17 when John Daly became the first person to twice reach the green on two shots. And I witnessed some pro trying to pick up a couple of big-breasted twenty-somethings as he practiced on the putting green. (At least that’s how it appeared to me, and if I knew who he was I still probably wouldn’t name him here.)

There were some interesting little tid-bits that I’ll remember. For instance, in the radio traffic, Tiger was “The Package” and had a crew of two EMTs and a paramedic assigned to follow him because he attracted the most people. Some men drank obscene amounts of beer for even more obscene prices during the hottest, most unhealthy days of the summer. Even people who were drinking water were having dehydration problems because they simply weren’t drinking enough.

I’m proud of how the area handled the tournament. The people I met around town took it in stride; I witnessed more panic by New Yorkers last summer during the Republican Convention than I saw in Springfield during the PGA, and there were more people here than for the convention. (Of course, we wanted the golf; most New Yorkers didn’t want the Republicans.) I’d love to see old Baltusrol get another U.S. Open in the near future. I think we proved we can handle it.