Closing Out the US Open

2012 US Open ScoreboardWouldn’t you know it, just when I had deciphered the nearly incomprehensible leader board at the Olympic Club… the US Open was over.

The Club posted scores the old-school way; A couple of guys had stacks of cards with either players’ names, or red and black numbers, on them and updated the scoreboard manually based on instructions coming through their earpieces.  Jumbotron?  What’s a jumbotron?

Kind of low-tech, when you consider we were just a stone’s throw from Silicon Valley.  But it was rewarding too, in a way.  When I was ultimately able to make out who was in the lead and his score for the tournament, I puffed up a little like I’d cracked a secret code.

Maybe I was having so much trouble reading the scoreboard on the final day because I’d spent four hours in the wind and fog in the grandstands at the 18th.  I am only now regaining feeling in my fingers and toes.  There’s a rumor that it was toasty in other parts of the Bay Area on Sunday, but I saw none of it.  Behold the microclimate.

And so my US Open week has come to a close.  I have hung up my fanny pack – the only bag-ish thing in my closet that met the 8”x8”x8” size limit strictly enforced by the Olympic Club.  It smarts to know that I had such an awful, unflattering item from the 80’s still in my closet.  But let me be clear — I carried it over my shoulder like a tiny purse. I swear, that thing was not once worn in the traditional around-the-waist manner.  I HAVE standards!

A few additional closing thoughts:

Golf fans are good fans.  They are courteous and well-behaved.  Case in point:  On Friday I was in the crowded stands at the 7th, and a man stood to catch a glimpse of Tiger Woods on the 9th. Some patrons seated further back did not feel like rising to the occasion, however, and shouted for him to sit down.

He ignored them.

Things got a little heated, and a gentleman sitting near me became pretty insistent.  Standing man said he wouldn’t sit until after Tiger’s tee shot, because otherwise he couldn’t see.  So my neighbor loudly called him a jerk.  I kid you not. Just that — a jerk.

Standing man look wounded.  He replied, “That’s not fair, sir.”  Then… he took his seat.  No punches or concession food thrown, no curse words hurled.  And so I say, golf fans are good fans.

Jason Day

In the hole!  When I watch golf on TV, I simultaneously scratch my head and roll my eyes when fans yell “Get in the hole!” the moment a golfer hits a drive, especially when the hole is a par 4 or greater.  But I now realize it’s kind of a joke.  Other fans chuckle when they hear it.  I guess it’s like when somebody pulls out a guitar to serenade his buddies, and one of them yells “Freebird!”

Tiger Woods Practice GreenAgain, there’s something about Tiger.  When Tiger Woods bogeyed the 1st and 2nd holes, and double bogeyed the 3rd on Sunday, a lot of fans went home.  They said “Forget it, Tiger’s done.”  Are you kidding me?  You went to the trouble and expense – not to mention risked hypothermia — to attend the US Open, when all you really cared about was a Tiger Woods victory?  It wasn’t even 3 pm, and there was so much great golf yet to be played…

I wish the course hadn’t been so difficult.  So “extremely penalizing”, in the words of Phil Mickelson.  Watching the world’s finest players struggle to reach the green, and miss putt after putt, was at times a little tedious.  But I’m glad I stuck it out to the bitter-cold end.  The photo-finish was worth it… even if cameras were prohibited for the likes of me.

Opening Up: Day Two At the Olympic Club

Rory McIlory

I was back at the Olympic Club in San Francisco bright and early on Friday morning, to catch day two of the 2012 US Open Championship.  It was a great day, with Tiger clawing to take the lead and Phil Mickelson making the cut by the skin of his teeth. Unfortunately, cameras are not allowed during regular tournament play, so all the photos here are from Wednesday’s practice day.

Today (Saturday) I stayed home to watch the action from my living room sofa, and it was fun to just relax and let The Golf Channel do all the work.  I had the best seat in the house.

Watching at home can be stressful, though.  With TV cameras at every hole, the action is fast paced, and rather un-golf-like.  There’s an awful lot of talking and analysis, drowning out the dulcet sounds of birds chirping and the breeze in the cypress trees.  Still, viewers don’t miss a thing.

And so it occurs to me that attending a golf tournament is a great exercise in patience for someone like me, who does not possess that particular virtue in abundance.  I have to accept that I can’t be everywhere, to see all my favorite players’ triumphs and collapses.  I’ll hear the crowd roar and know something big is happening elsewhere.  I really hate that I’m missing something, but there’s not a thing I can do about it.

Or maybe I’ll spend 20 minutes slinking and slithering my way into a great spot to see Tiger or Rory tee off… only to have a Marshall, or professional photographer with a $15,000 lens that I covet, step directly in front of me at the last second, blocking my previously-awesome view.  I have no choice but to roll with it.

In the sunshine, green grass and Pacific breezes at the Olympic Club, there’s nothing to fret about. I have a DVR, after all.  They were invented to combat such dilemmas. And so I’ll be setting mine to record tomorrow, for the final day of play, so that I’ll know what all the cheering was about!

Until then, a few more photos…

John Peterson

I had no idea who this handsome man was when I saw him on the practice green on Wednesday, but for obvious reasons I decided to photograph him.  Many times.  I know his name now, though.  He’s 23-year-old LSU graduate and 2011 NCAA golf champ John Peterson, and today he hit a hole in one.

 

Andy Zhang

Also worthy of a shout out is 14-year-old Andy Zhang.  He didn’t make the cut, and today Beau Hossler was the amateur name on everyone’s lips.  But hopefully we haven’t seen the last of Andy, because his US Open press conference was pretty endearing.

Ricky Fowler

Finally, here’s Rickie Fowler.  I followed his group for a few holes on Wednesday, and women all around me were swooning.  I never completely understood his appeal until I saw him.  Now I get it.

 

Practice Makes Perfect: Observations From the 2012 US Open

The Olympic Club

Tiger Woods

There’s something about Tiger Woods.  Golf fans love Rory McIlroy, Phil Mickelson and Bubba Watson, and call them by their first names as if they’ve been friends for years.  We know their practice rituals, and personal details.  But with Tiger, it’s different.  He is in a class by himself.

This was evident at the practice green, where I hung out for an hour or two on Wednesday, the final practice day of this year’s US Open.  It was quiet and low-key as 15 or so players, and their caddies and coaches, milled around.  I heard a few spectators ask the whereabouts of “Bubba”, and lament “Rory’s” late tee-off time.  Then things changed.  First, TV crews popped up all around – seemingly out of nowhere.  There was even a big television camera on a crane that was long enough to get footage on the opposite side of the practice green.  Where did THAT come from?

Then the idle chitchat among spectators stopped, replaced by murmurs of “He’s here. Tiger’s HERE.”  It spread like the wave at a Major League Baseball game.

To what can we attribute this reaction? It’s true, Tiger is a spectacular talent and when he catastrophically fell from grace, most of us couldn’t look away.

Perhaps fans want to see a resurrection of sorts.  Americans love redemption, almost as much as we love to watch the rich and powerful fall down off their pedestals.  Or maybe fans have always reacted with hushed reverence when they got a glimpse of Tiger.   If that’s the case – and the guy can’t enter a room, practice area, or public event without the earth’s rotation noticeably slowing – it might help explain why he came to see himself as above the rules and social norms the rest of us live by.

Golf BagsMany professional caddies smoke.  This is a little surprising if you work under the assumption that smoking may not be conducive to cardio-pulmonary health.  A professional golfer’s bag loaded with clubs probably weighs 30 pounds, and caddies have to run with those things hanging over their shoulders – often uphill.  Smoking and caddying seem sort of incompatible but…

Miguel Ángel JiménezWhere there’s smoke, there’s Miguel Ángel Jiménez. The forty-seven-year-old Spanish golfer may smoke huge stinky stogies that seem to last for hours, but he’s clearly all about health and wellness.  Check it out.  No tight hammies on this guy!

 

Practice DayThey don’t call them practice days for nothing.  I went to golf tournaments in college, including a few practice rounds.  I guess I missed something, because I entered Wednesday expecting players to play 18 holes while following all the rules, as they got a feel for the course.  Not so.  There were mulligans galore, and on the greens each player probably took 10 practice putts from various locations.  On the 8th hole at Olympic, the green is on a hill.  Hit the ball short of the pin, and it’ll roll 20 yards or more back down onto the fairway.  Rory McIlroy, Ian Poulter and Graeme McDowell took turns testing this.

Golfers are outliers.  In his book Outliers, Malcom Gladwell demonstrates that excellence is no accident.  The average aficionado in anything — be it sports, music or computer programming — devotes about 10,000 hours to practice to get that way.  His hypothesis was supported on the practice green, where I watched players hit the same putt over and over — sometimes as part of precise drills.  I’d watch them miss eight inches to the left, then six inches, then four, then two until… success. Then they’d place the ball a foot or so from where it was before, and start all over.

cell phoneNo one would give me the time of day.  The US Open has a very strict “no cell phone” policy.  Security practically administers a TSA scan before they let you climb on a shuttle bus to the course, to ensure you aren’t smuggling one.  I missed having my phone and data access, but mostly I missed knowing what time it was.  Rising at the disorienting hour of 5 a.m. messed with my body clock, and it was too foggy to judge the hour by looking at the sun. Next time I’ll bring a watch.

And finally… Rory needs to get a grip.  Like golfers of every ilk, Rory McIlroy has perfected an insouciant lean-on-driver pose between shots.  Unfortunately, the bobblehead that shares his name and likeness — a gift from the San Francisco Giants — has not.

Rory McIlroy BobbleheadRory McIlroy

I Was Mad… But Then Came Madbum!

Rory McIlroy and Sergio RomoI have more than 100 reasons to dislike San Francisco Giants Chief Operating Officer Larry Baer tonight, and each has a dollar sign in front of it.

It was Irish Heritage Night at AT&T Park, and I went to the game in search of a Rory McIlroy bobblehead, and a photo-op of him (Rory, not the bobblehead) throwing out the first pitch.  I splurged on a seat in my favorite section by the Giants dugout.  It’s Larry territory — perfect for photo taking.

Rory threw pretty well for someone who once divulged on Twitter that the only sport he doesn’t care for is… baseball.  Then, I couldn’t believe it – he joined us all in Costa del Baerville, taking a seat four rows in front of me, next to Larry!

Unfortunately, this is when the trouble started.  It was crazy.  Streams of Larry Baer’s BFFs appeared out of nowhere, and stood fawning over Rory and air kissing one another — even after the game started.

For the rest of us, the expectation that one should wait until an at-bat is finished before getting up/returning to one’s seat applies.  Don’t time your restroom break just right? You may be forced to crawl back to your seat on your belly.

Not so for Larry and friends.

Baer was positively giddy, glad-handing and moving his friends and family around constantly.  At one point, while he was standing and blocking everyone’s view, Melky Caberea hit a smoking foul ball that whizzed no more than five feet from his head.  I don’t wish Larry injury, but I’m not sure getting bonked on the head would necessarily do him much harm.  (ZING!)

I’ve always been fairly ambivalent about Baer, but after tonight I know this for sure:  There is not a down-to-earth bone in his body.  He flamboyantly worked the crowd in “his” section.  The problem is, no more than 75% of the folks sitting there appeared to be his guests.  The rest of us paid a substantial amount of money for our tickets and wanted to watch THE GAME instead of Larry pressing the flesh.

The next time Larry Baer decides to throw a party during a Giants game, I would respectfully suggest that he rent a luxury suite upstairs.  He can certainly afford it.

Despite my feud with Larry and his entourage, I would be remiss if I didn’t say… it was a great game for the Giants.  I got a bobblehead, albeit a slightly defective one. Rory’s tiny driver keeps falling out of his hand.  I think a dab of Liquid Nails may be in order, but I suspect that’s not regulation and the USGA will disapprove.

Madison Bumgarner hit his first Major League home run tonight.  How could I stay mad, when I was so happy for Madbum?  Brandon Belt hit one too, and more than one helpful fan yelled down to Manager Bruce Bochy — just to make sure he saw it.

Not The Giants’ Sunday Best

Tim Lincecum
Tim Lincecum

I caught Sunday’s San Francisco Giants game against the Oakland Athletics.  The weather cooperated, but the As did not.  They beat the Giants 6-2.

My seat was just to the right of the Giants dugout, deep in Larry Baer territory.  So while I’m pleased with the photos I took, I’d be a fool if I didn’t give proper props to location, location, location.

Sunday was my first time being in such close proximity to Tim Lincecum on the mound.  It was the perfect vantage point from which to watch him get creamed by Collin Cowgill.  Ouch.

It wasn’t Timmy’s finest hour… but I still had fun, and at those prices (ouch, again) THAT is what counts…

That, and scoring a Brian Wilson gnome!   I arrived one hour before AT&T Park’s gates opened, and waited patiently in line for one.  No small children were injured in the capture and taming of my gnome.

A San Francisco Giants promotional giveaway: Brian Wilson Gnome (2012)

Timmy Takes It On The Chin

San Francisco Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum has to cover home plate from time to time, and I always cringe when he does it.  These photos of his collision with Collin Cowgill in the fourth inning of today’s game against the Oakland A’s illustrate why.

Timmy’s ankle, especially in the second shot, stirred some intense flashbacks of last season’s Buster Posey collision at the plate.   And I could see his head snap back after Cowgill’s batting helmet struck his jaw.

Those few seconds when Timmy was face down in the dirt felt very long.  He’s a string bean.  But he’s our string bean.  And he’s tough.

My Diamond Level Best

Jack Hannahan

As a die-hard San Francisco Giants fan, I buy plenty of tickets to games each season from either the Giants, or StubHub.  I avoid keeping a tally because I don’t want to know the out-of-pocket – although it’s safe to say that Suze Orman would not approve.

This season, I decided to branch out and also buy a ticket to see my other favorite team – the Cleveland Indians – play the Oakland As.  Not surprisingly, As tickets are much easier to come by than Giants tickets, and the “best available” option online can be a blessing or a curse, depending on your budget.

My best available seat for Sunday’s game at Oakland Coliseum was on the Diamond Level.  The name suggested that I wasn’t going to be stuck in the bleachers, but you never know, right?  Maybe there’s also a Krugerrand Level or a Platinum Level?

Another clue?  The fact that you don’t really see signs for the Diamond Level anywhere in the ballpark, which I assume is intentional.   I had to ask five different ushers for directions, and each time was told cryptically to “turn left/right at the hat stand”.  It felt very prohibition-era, like I might be expected to know a secret handshake or password to get past the bouncer.

When I finally found the secret passageway next to “the hats”, an usher gave me directions to the bowels of the stadium.  (Perhaps the Diamond Level also got its name because getting there feels a bit like descending into the mines?)  I was then coached on protocol.  It was at this point that I began to understand why my ticket cost so much.

The walk to my seat was like slipping backstage at a Springsteen show – except it was very quiet.  The usher pointed to tape running along the floor, splitting the walkway in half.  I was to stay to the left, because players from the opposing team (a.k.a. the Tribe) would be walking back and forth to their locker room on the right.  I was advised not to speak to the players, and that photos are strictly verboten in the hallway.  In fact, I was not even allowed to carry my cell phone in my hand, because I might be tempted to snap an iPhone pic.

Are you kidding me?  The only thing separating me and lovable Jack “Super Mannahan” Hannahan would be a sliver of masking tape?  Sadly I passed Jack and Jason Kipnis on my way down… and dropped my head to stare at my sneakers.  I was nervous and shy, so I suppose I defaulted to Zoo Rules:  Don’t try to touch the player (he may bite!), make eye contact with him, or feed him your hot dog scraps.

Speaking of food scraps, food is free on the Diamond Level – well, given the ticket price I guess it’s more accurate to call it complimentary – through the seventh inning.  And they have LOBSTER ROLLS down there!  Food orders are taken, and food is delivered, by very handsome waiters.  Too bad no one told me all this in advance, before I bought a bratwurst up on the concourse.

As these photos attest, my seat was right behind home plate, a few yards from the on-deck circle.  Before and after the game, I could photograph players going to/from the dugout, which I’m sure they hate.  A few of them rushed past like they were running the gauntlet.

All in all, my foray into super-luxury seating was a blast, despite the game’s final score.  (The Tribe lost 5-1.)  I got the kind of photos I’d hoped for – not a ton of variety but amazing detail, like Justin Masterson’s facial expressions when he pitches.  I also scored one lobster roll, awesome ballpark nachos, two Sam Adamses, two bottles of water and a bag of peanuts (still in my purse).  Throw in some above-average Bay Area baseball weather and I’d say I broke even.

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Play Ball!

The San Francisco Giants 2012 home opener against the Pittsburg Pirates was everything I’d hoped for… starting with sunny and dry.  For several days prior, I had monitored the Weather Channel, while also chanting “ohpleaseohpleaseohplease”.  I guess it worked.

Bryan Stow’s son Tyler movingly threw out the first pitch.  It looked like a change-up.  Seriously, he’s 13 and I think he may have a future in baseball.

Matt Cain threw a gem – a one-hitter complete game.  Aubrey Huff homered, and Buster nearly did.

I splurged on my seat, under the auspices of trying out a new camera lens.   Really, I was just ready for some baseball and I wanted to be close to the action.  I can now say my investments in the lens – and the Opening Day ticket – were wise ones.

On a personal note, my apologies to the nephew of Bob in section 126, row 10.   According to the season ticketholders seated around me, Bob couldn’t attend yesterday’s game, and gave his nephew his ticket.  It eventually became MY ticket, through the magic of StubHub.   When I told my seatmates where I bought it, eyebrows shot up.   Uh oh.

Sorry if I outed you, crafty nephew of Bob.  If you didn’t split the ticket-sale proceeds with your uncle, your next conversation with him could be a little awkward!

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Fonte-Not

Many Americans are waking up with a Mega Millions hangover this morning.  But imagine the kind of morning you’d be having if yesterday you had missed out on lotto millions AND been fired, like 31-year-old infielder Mike Fontentot.  The San Francisco Giants put him on release waivers on Friday, just one day before his $1.05 million contract for 2012 would have been guaranteed.   Now he’ll make only about one quarter of that.

Fontenot seems like a good guy, and he made important contributions to the Giants in 2010.  But his batting average in 2011 was just .227, and the Giants need bats — so Ryan Theriot had better bring his!

I took these photos of Mike Fontenot at this year’s spring training.  You can zip though them quickly to get that choppy, 8mm effect.  Prepare to have your mind BLOWN.

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Temporary Area Of Refuge

Buster crosses home plate after his homer.

I am currently waylaid in the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, my flight delayed by at least two hours due to stormy weather in San Francisco.  As I blog (and sigh, and fidget) I stare at an illuminated sign in my boarding area that reads “Temporary AREA OF REFUGE”.  I have no idea what this means – refuge from what, I wonder?  Unfortunately I don’t see any cots or hammocks for napping, so there appears to be no refuge here from exhaustion.

My Spring Training adventure has come to a close, and I’m a little sad to be saying goodbye to Scottsdale.   Today’s weather was – no shock here — amazing, and my seats were much improved.  Just like yesterday, I sat next to some really funny, friendly people.  I think Scottsdale puts something in their water that brings out the nice, neighborly side of baseball fans.  If so, where can I buy the stuff?  I’d like to run it through the water filter at my office.

But I digress…

Today was the high note of the trip, baseball wise.  First and foremost: Buster Posey had his first hit of Spring Training off Indians lefty Tony Sipp, and it was (naturally) a home run. It’s rare to see unilateral support for a player at a professional sporting event – even in the preseason.  But people all around me – Giants and Indians fans alike – were exuberant.

Spring training facilities have an interesting feel — somewhere between a little league field and a big league ballpark on the intimacy scale.  They aren’t rowdy but they aren’t sleepy little places either.  Yet, anytime Buster Posey approached the plate a hush fell over Scottsdale Stadium.  At the risk of sounding melodramatic, people didn’t just stop talking… they seemed to hold their breaths too.   When he hit that home run, 10,500 fans collectively exhaled… then went crazy.

Matt Cain pitched well, allowing two runs on five hits in 5 2/3 innings.  He was followed by Brian Wilson, who pitched with plenty of zip, and was hitless and scoreless.

I got to see lots of familiar faces play for the Indians, Shin-Soo Choo (who famously got his hand broken by an errant Jonathan Sanchez pitch last season), Lonnie Chisenhall, Asdrubal Cabrera (who I strongly suggest fire his barber), pitcher Scott Barnes (a former Giant) and first baseman Matt LaPorta. I have a soft spot for LaPorta; he joined the Indians amid a lot of hype.  When he didn’t quite live up to expectations, he was viciously mocked and vilified on Twitter until he finally deactivated his account.

How fitting for me – the girl who has a troubling conflict of interest when the Giants play the Tribe – that the game ended in a 2-2 tie after 10 innings.   Nobody won… but nobody lost either.

Awesome!  My flight is boarding.  Adios Giants, see you in April!