How I met Arnold Palmer and other old golfers

I was rummaging through some clothes and ran across my old Scenic Golf Video polo shirt, the one I used to wear back in my sports casting days. All right, my one sports casting day.

Sometimes life gives me that which I don't deserve, and it always pleases me. For example, in 1992, I worked for a temp agency in Austin. The agency got me one solid gig, working for the Texas Treasury. My job was to connect people with money they may have lost through an abandoned bank account or an overpaid utility. The state's angle? Once they got the money to the rightful owner, they could collect the tax. Nothing's free.

It was an easy job. People found their names in the newspaper, then called me or one of my co-workers at the Texas Treasury Phone Bank. Here's a typical conversation:

Caller: I saw my name in the paper. I think I have some money coming to me, about $2200 from an old bank account I figure. My name's Travis Chester and my Social Security number is 555-82-7334.

 

Me: Okay, Mr. Chester. Let me look that up. Hmmm. It says you're owed $33.22 from an overpaid electric bill.

 

Caller: Yeah, that sounds right.

After that gig, the agency said they'd try to hunt up something else for me. Ten days later, I got a call.

"Hello, Mike Jasper? We've got a possible for you. It says in your resume that you used to do some journalism work. Was any of that in TV journalism?"

"Ahhhh, yeah," I said. It was somewhat true. I got interviewed on TV once.

"Can you run a video camera?"

"Absolutely," I said. It was somewhat true. I once borrowed my parents' Camcorder.

"Okay, we have a job for you, but it starts at 6:00 in the morning. What you'll be doing is covering the Legends of Golf Seniors Tour at the Onion Creek Golf Course. The crew's van will stop by in the morning at 5:30. Can you do it?"

"Sure," I said. It was somewhat true. I couldn't get up that early, but I could stay up that late.

When the van arrived, I climbed in, groggy, wired on coffee and unshaven. Fortunately, I had short hair then, so I didn't look completely freaked. During the van ride, I sat across from Matthew, a long-haired, bohemian-looking guy (which is pretty much how I look now).

"So, have you had much experience with video cameras?" he asked me on the drive to Onion Creek.

"Yeah, I used them a bit in college," I lied.

"Me, too. I'm a radio, TV and film major. I'd much rather be behind the camera than in front of it, but they decided to make me the announcer."

I seized the day. "I used to be a sports writer. I'd much rather be in front of the camera than behind it. Want to switch?"

"Yeah! Awesome! Let's ask them when we get there."

After we piled out of the van, we cornered Gary, the owner of Scenic Golf Video, and asked if we could trade jobs. He looked at the Serpico-looking guy, then he looked at me, the Chuck Norris-looking guy, and readily agreed.

Our job was to videotape the 13th hole of the Pro-Am portion of the tournament, so the amateurs could keep a taped souvenir of their round of golf with a famous professional. By the time the golfers finished the par-three hole, the mobile unit would hand each player a VHS copy of the tape. Very efficient.

My job was to interview the pro golfer, who would describe the other three amateurs in the foursome. After the interview, Matthew videotaped each golfer as they teed off. Another camera set up at the green recorded the golfers' putts. Like I said, very efficient.

Gary said we should rehearse a bit. He acted the part of the pro golfer, while I acted the part of the pro announcer.

Me: Well, it's a great day for golf. Describe how Tom Miller's doing today?

 

Gary: Well, he's been having some problems with his putting, but his drives are excellent. Straight and true.

 

Me: So basically, he sucks.

This was not the time to joke around.

"Look, are you sure you can do this," he asked somewhat heatedly. "Cause I can't tolerate jokes and you need to put that cigarette out. Also, you're unshaven and the black tee-shirt is unacceptable. Here, put on this polo shirt. Why are you unshaven, anyway? I need you to look professional."

"You have to remember, I thought I was going to be the cameraman." I looked around the golf course. It was 7:00 in the morning and the first foursome would be coming in at 7:15. How the hell would he replace me now? I decided to reassure him anyway.

"Look. I used to be a sports writer and I know what I'm doing. I'll get this down."

My broadcast of the first foursome came off a little shaky. Since I wasn't allowed to get too close to the tee ("You'll distract the golfers," Gary said), I had to stand where I couldn't see the green and a large part of the fairway. But after the second foursome, I got my system down.

"Johnny Miller's into his backswing and he crushes the ball," I whispered. "It looks like it's going to be right down the middle, unless it catches a tail wind." Then I'd run out to the fairway and see where the ball landed. If the ball landed in the middle of the fairway or on the green, I'd say, "Yes, he's got a great lie and should have an easy second shot." If the ball hooked or sliced, I'd say, "Uh-oh, looks like the ball got caught by a tail wind and landed just left (or right) of the green."

There was no wind that day.

After the third set of golfers came through, Matthew waved me over to his headset. "Gary wants to talk to you," he said. Sonofabitch, I thought. What the hell does he want now?

"Mike, you're doing great! I mean it. You're one of the best announcers I've ever used. I definitely want to use you again after today. Just keep doing what you're doing. I'm very, very impressed." I guess when you hire an unshaven temp chain-smoker, you're just happy if he doesn't say, "Look at that fucker's backswing!"

With the exception of Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods, I met every golfer I ever cared to meet. Arnold Palmer impressed me because... fuck, he's Arnold Palmer. But he didn't trust me at first (he's no dummy, you know). When I approached him for an interview, he gave me a who's-this-National Enquirer-geek look. But when he realized I wasn't a REAL broadcaster, he relaxed. I was tempted to ask him about the Pennzoil tractor, but I resisted.

Lee Travino didn't allow me to interview him at all. Travino does his own act on the golf course -- largely heckling the other golfers in his party -- but I was allowed to keep the microphone in his face. "Whoa, look at that guy, thinks he can use a five-iron on this hole. I don't know if you've got the power, Tommy. Look out for lightning."

Chi Chi Rodriguez turned out to be a saint: dignified, poised and down-to-earth. He praised his fellow golfers warmly and thanked me for the interview afterward. Conversely, Sam Sneed, may he rest in peace, turned out to be a cranky asshole. You never know.

Gay Brewer was the best. He came to the hole reeking of bourbon and happy as hooch to see me. "Hey, Mikey, how are ya, Mikey? Sure, I'll do an interview, Mikey, watchya wanna know? Say, Mikey, can I bum one of those Marlboros from you?"

For the record, eight professional golfers bummed smokes from me that day.

One other thing: the amateurs who played in the tournament were often as famous as the professionals. I met Darrell Royal, the old Texas Longhorns football coach, Ray Benson from Asleep at the Wheel and John Mackovic, former UT football coach and now TV sports caster (I'm sure I was a big influence on him).

Safe to say, it was the best temp job I ever had, even though I stood 12 hours in the Texan sun, thwarted an attack by fire ants, and drank Coke after Coke to keep my ass awake. When the day was over, I collected $120 for my first, and last, sports casting gig. Unfortunately, I didn't get a souvenir tape of my own to keep.

All I got was this lousy polo shirt.