PUTTING A FINGER ON IT AT PB
26/04/07 14:38
By Brian Dunn
It was exactly two weeks to the day after St. Pattie’s Day that I began to wonder if the Luck o’ the Irish was all a big hoax. I had just dislocated and fractured my finger in a rugged, hard-core game of football. To be exact it was no-contact flag football and I had tripped over the opposing QB’s smoking hot girlfriend on the sidelines, but who’s keeping track? Under normal circumstances I could care less about the ER visit and the six weeks of recovery time. I even managed to meet a young cutie in the waiting room as I took in the final four games. However, this happened to be the weekend before the Imbiber had scored a couple of discounted rounds at Pebble Beach. I headed to the docs’ office two days later and asked him point blank if I could play golf in four days. He chuckled and spewed out a bunch of medical lingo. I interpreted what he said to mean “Sure go up there and give it hell.” With that strong vote of confidence The Imbiber, Moke and I packed up the car and started the five and a half hour trek towards the golf Mecca known as the Monterey Peninsula. We met Dan’s good buddy Nate on Friday and played a scenic Poppy Hills course. The beers were flowing as we all tried to iron the kinks out of our swings. After the round we enjoyed a nice dinner and some tasty bourbon at a fine seafood restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The long drive from LA and the threat of me whooping everyone’s ass in darts sent us back to the hotel early for a good night’s rest.
We woke up Saturday and wolfed down an early brunch. The feeling of excitement was palpable as we drove along the famed Seventeen-mile drive on our way to Pebble. We ordered up Bloody Marys as we hit the putting green and driving range and took in all the sights. Before you could scream “FORE” it was time to tee off. We played the front nine and sat in awe of the amazing views of the Pacific coast. Each of us had our bright spots; Moke and I managed to par the legendary 7th hole. Nate and the Imbiber striped the fairway on 8 with some well-struck drives. The turning point had to be when the Imbiber cracked the 12 year aged Pebble Beach scotch on the 5th hole. We were downright giddy as we made the turn and the bottle slowly dwindled. Each of us had a keen sense that we were walking (and stumbling slightly at times) along the same hallowed grounds that legends like Palmer, Nicklaus and Woods once strode. Miraculously my game seemed to improve with each sip of scotch I took. I have to admit that it wasn’t too difficult to improve upon the debacle that was my front nine. The scotch seemed to be having the opposite effect on the Imbiber- he nearly took out the windows of a multi-million dollar home on 14 with his tee shot- twice. He managed to pull it together on the last few holes though. The highlight had to be T.I. taking a big puff of his Cohiba and 19 practice swings before his 3rd shot on the par 5 18th. He must have done something right as he managed to draw the ball perfectly over the front bunker to within 8 feet of the pin.
We all admired the view of the ocean on the 18th green as the last bit of sunlight disappeared. After that it was off to the restaurant to enjoy some local microbrews and a superb steak dinner. And while the scores more closely resembled an NBA western conference shootout than a round of golf, it didn’t matter. What made the trip for me was four good friends getting the opportunity to play one of the finest tracks the world has to offer over some excellent scotch.