For many, love is open-ended
Season's start elicits rapture
Never has there been a day set aside, one that would attract a steady stream of politicians or some celebrity to sing the national anthem. No red, white, and blue buntings, nor a public address announcer bellowing out player names.
Unlike baseball, there is no definitive opening day for New England golf. Maybe that's because the desire some people have for the game never closes.
"We would play all winter. If there was no snow on the ground, we were out there," said Dana Quigley, who years before the riches of the Champions Tour was a club pro at Crestwood CC in Rehoboth. "The barometer for opening day, I guess, was if the greens were open, golf season was here."
Though he has for years made his home in West Palm Beach, Fla., Quigley can relate to the feeling that is overtaking New England golfers these days in late March, when brown grass, thermometers in the mid-40s, and longer days produce the proverbial golf bug. Quigley has spent his life in the game and although he is heralded as a guy who refuses to take a tournament off, he offers that there are plenty of passionate golfers, no matter if they struggle to break 100 or 90 or 80.
"I just played in a pro-am [in Palm Coast, Fla.]," Quigley said. "It was 53 degrees, cold, windy, and these guys are so psyched to play, it's like they've just opened a new toy. You can see the look in their eyes. What a pleasure this game is. What a joy."
That sentiment seems to resonate throughout the golf world, especially when the season comes upon us. To many New Englanders, it is when the air is cold, the ground soft, and the anticipation bubbling over that their passion is easily identified. But if you ask why the game appears to have such an unshakable grip upon so many people, the answers will vary.
"It's a hard question to answer, but I think one of the things that makes the game so intriguing is that you never have it licked," said Olin Browne, the PGA Tour veteran who grew up in the Washington , D.C., area but spent several years in Massachusetts when he was honing his game. "Unlike a lot of sports, different people of different abilities can be in the same group. The game has so much to offer. It fills a lot of needs. It crosses generations."
To Brad Faxon, the Rhode Island native, there was time spent with all the usual team sports, but from as far back as he can remember, golf is what he loved.
"It's a game that allows you to be competitive, no matter who you play with, and also have a nice time," said Faxon. "I enjoy being with people. In golf, you're not on different benches, like hockey or football."
Said Paul Harney, the Worcester native who won six times on the PGA Tour and five State Opens: "I don't know why people like the game as much as I do, but apparently they do."
To get a true indication of golf's uncanny hold, consider how much the game still means to men who no longer play. Dick Haskell, for instance.
The retired executive director of the Massachusetts Golf Association, Haskell's passion for the game manifests itself in the countless hours he spends researching archives. He knows the game has changed dramatically, that players he admired, such as Bobby Jones and Ted Bishop, never put in the practice time that today's stars do, and Haskell bemoans the fact that amateur golf "is not as important today as it was 30, 40 years ago," but still . . . "the greatest pleasure I've had has come from the game of golf and it's certainly important to me."
That is why Haskell, even though he doesn't play, gets that same sense of anticipation when the weather gives off a hint of spring. His thoughts sometimes turn to those days he loved best, "the dollar Nassaus played with good friends," quite often the same foursome time and time again.
Even a guy who has made millions from his competitive exploits can relate to the simple pleasures the game brings, because to Quigley, nothing beats the feeling of sinking a 20-foot putt.
"I'm one happy camper when that happens," he said.
Even if it's a Monday round with the 20-handicappers at his club in West Palm Beach?
"Absolutely," he said. "The beauty of the sport is, at whatever level we play, we can relate to one another's good shots."
Faxon still remembers one of his great thrills in life, obtaining his junior card when he passed the playing test. Which was? "You had to play two holes in under 14 shots," he said. "Then I was able to play on the course."
When those days in March came around and it was time for high school tryouts, Faxon indoctrinated himself to spring golf in New England. The cold ocean winds made things uncomfortable, "but you didn't care," he said. "We had been inside all winter, playing hockey or Ping-Pong or whatever. I was just thrilled to be out swinging a golf club."
That feeling has never waned, and even though he's won eight PGA Tour titles and more than $17 million, Faxon cherishes this slice of the game: There are 6- and 12- and 18- and 26-handicappers who have a passion for the game that rivals his.
He knows they're looking at the soft, brown turf and thinking what he's thinking: It's time for golf. 