Clown's Mouth or Golf Marvel?

"It's such a fine line between stupid, and clever."

- David St. Hubbins - Guitarist, Spinal Tap

This week, golf fans get to weigh in on the legitimacy of the infamous 17th hole at TPC Sawgrass. Is it a stroke of Pete Dye genius? Or a "clown's mouth".

Whether or not Sawgrass is the "5th Major" is an argument I find boring. My take: No. Just like there's really no "5th Beatle" there's no "5th Major". No matter how much money they shell out for the winner. No matter how strong the field. No matter how many FedEx Cup points are at stake.

No, no, and no. Run along.

As for the 17th however, that debate is endlessly fascinating to me. To wit, here's an annual TPC rant from my email in-box buddy John Witzke:

When your host course is a swampland goat track that features a made-for-TV clown's mouth, windmill and an island green, you're just never gonna be taken seriously as some sort of "5th major".

Doesn't matter how much $$$ you put up to attract the world's top players to come hang out at the amusement park located in the backyard of your headquarters in buffalo by the sea, FLA.

Nor does it matter how much NBC deepthroats Tim Finchem right when they know they've got the casual fan sucked in. This is no more important than the John Deere Classic or the Shearson-Lehman-Hutton-Andy-Williams-Clambake-Buick-Invitational-at-La-Jolla-Pines.

And of course, it goes without saying that when you make your pipe dream a full field 156 man event, inviting every schmuck on earth that has a tour card, sometimes you're gonna be forced to act like you're happy to be handing over that big fat check and a 5(!!!!!) year exemption to Jodie Mudd or Craig Perks.

Worst week in pro golf, Czabe.

REACT: Well, John is right in many regards. However, a few "yeah buts" on my part. First of all, I am fan of the 17th hole. Big fan. It's controversial, but fair, in my mind. Yes, even when a wind shear cuts down a Paul Goydos tee shot in a playoff and rinses his dreams of a massive payday and much needed exemption, that's golf.

The 17th is a hi-wire daredevil act, and it comes so late in the round, it exists in your head for hours before you even get to that tee.

I have played now both a replica of 17 (www.renditionsgolf.com) and the real deal. It's a scary look, no question about it. It's also a little popcorn wedge or 8 iron at most.

Make the shot, pro. You and your finely creased slacks, and courtesy. Make the f'ing shot!

As for the tournament, John is right. A full 156 man field is absurd. Pick the top 100 and make it taste better without all the gristle.

But I know why they don't do that. This event is to solely enrich the members of The Tour. Period.

In fact, that's why Deane Beman BUILT the joint in the first place. Beman's dream with Dye's creativity, turned a $1 parcel of god-awful Florida swamp into something pretty cool.

And helped make the Tour and the players rich.

I can respect that.

The layout itself is pretty forgettable, save for the closing 3 holes. But again, I must add a caveat. This is Florida, people. You can only do so much with +/- 3 feet of natural elevation change, and your stereotypical Florida golf course features.

Sprinkle of palm trees here. Swampy hazard there. Wind, wind, wind.

Not my favorite state for golf courses, to be honest, but I would wager many Floridians would admit as much themselves.

One of the coolest things about visiting Sawgrass this winter with my main man Mark Spencer, was looking at the framed invoice for raw materials that was typed up by Dye himself on letterhead during construction.

Who would think I could marvel at a document stating: "10,000 cubic tons crushed white gravel for cart-path rough in: $25,000."

But I did.

TPC Sawgrass was a dream of a pioneering sports commissioner, Deane Beman. I respect dreams. Too bad the current commish is so unworthy of the office.

End of rant.

TPC Sawgrass & Amelia Island from Steve Czaban on Vimeo.

Czabe's Trip to TPC Sawgrass - January 2010.

Ohhh, That's A Dagger!

So I'm watching "Dancing With The Stars" tonite, and wondering to myself: "Dude, all these chicks (minus Niecy Nash) are smokin' hot. Why don't you just TiVO the episodes, and zip through the crap to get to the booty shakin'?"

Especially since Erin Andrews is bringing her "A" game. And I have no idea how she's actually dancing.

Unlike on ESPN when she has to "dress down" in order to NOT be a sex object - remember, she's a journalist - on DTWS (as the kids like to acronymize) she is whored up to the max.

And by "whore" I don't mean an actual woman who trades sex for money.

I mean a woman who is dressed up very seductively with dark eye liner, bright red lipstick, and tight skimpy outfits that make men want to pay upwards of a thousand dollars to have sex with her, if they could.

Am I making sense here?

Anyway, my point is, Erin Andrews is hot. I like her. I was nowhere near those hotels when that asshole filmed her curling her hair while naked and putting it on the internet.

While I may, or may not, have the entire spliced together footage of said horrible incident on my laptop converted from the somewhat grainy .flv flash files and enhanced into a nice meaty hi-res .avi file, I swear I haven't watched it in days.

Perhaps over a week.

So yeah, I respect her for her journalism skills and now her dancing - in respectable journalism clothing.

Sorta.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. My wife. So the lovely Mrs. C and I are goofing on the show in general, when she blurts out:

HER: "So who is this dude here. Wasn't he on a soap opera?"
ME: "No, he's the professional dancer."
HER: "Oh. Well, this is why this show is dumb. I don't even know who the famous people are supposed to be."
ME: "The girl is Erin Andrews, the ESPN sideline reporter."
WIFE: **blank stare**

Dagger!

One would think that Erin might be happy that not everybody knows who she is, or what happened to her.

But I know people on TV. They HATE IT when people don't know who they are.

Oh well, I'm glad she's having fun. She's super hot. Dances nice. And when I need a football coach to give me a cliche about "halftime adjustments" she'll be standing there holding that microphone, looking very serious and all.

Carolina On My Mind

Just got back late Sunday night from our fabulous stay at "The National" in the Sandhills area of Southern Pines. (aka: "Pinehurst") If you have never experienced the glory of a springtime day of golf amidst the pines, you just haven't lived.

The consensus of the group was that THIS, was the BEST Malcolm Memorial Tournament ever. The weather was warm and lovely. Nobody was arrested. And best of all, Team Czabe was victorious, with a withering Sunday singles barrage to break at 30-30 tie.

Mucho mucho thanks, to Ken Crow, seen below with his aspiring little Rory McIlroy, Benjamin (10 years old, and already beating Czabe's pants off in a chipping contest!)



Ken is the bossman at "The National" and if you want to book a golf trip of a lifetime with unbelievable stay and play accomodations then just call the club and ask for him by name. Wouldn't hurt to drop The Czabe's name for a special little hookup!

You just can't have a certain weekend in May of 2011, because we already re-book the minute the scorecards are ripped up and thrown away from this year's tournament.

I've got a nice little video to edit in the coming days, but for now, here's a little pictorial recap of the event.

Warmup on the range, always important. And our group gets at least 3.5 minutes before each round. Bums.

Don't tell Jack, but we put the Malcolm trophy next to the championship monument on the way to #1 tee!

Ron Thomas laces a shot into #18 in front of the group on Friday at The National.

Being tournament chairman means taking crap for the rest of the group. Here, Jerry at Talamore gives me a good ol' fashioned North Cackilacki butt-whippin' over our slow play. Sorry, Jer. We'll pick it up!

Catcalls and cockatails on the veranda of Talamore

Grillin' and chillin' outside the "Butler Cabin."

Bill Fix attempts to give the cart girl at Talamore an impromptu golf lesson. Note: It didn't go well.

Ed Barbour finesses a wedge into #17 at Talamore.

Pete Cornellier shows that if you can't play it off the pine straw, you are going to struggle in the Sandhills.

Dave Adams sticks the dagger in with a par on #18.

Bryant Hatcher makes good use of post-match "down time" by checking his "Match.com" account. We just called him: "Hatch.com!"

Jimmy Joseph tries to "stay level" no matter how he's playing.

Kurt Knapper hit the Derby for a nice payday. He missed it for an even BIGGER payday! I'll let him tell you all about that!

Michael Kurtz lashes it out of the wispy hair tufts.

Jack Mateosky decides to "Release the Kraken!"

Mike McGowan. Not, "Malcolm McLeod." But close. Sorta.

Bob Miller. Reliable wheel man. Right to left ballstriker!

Ron Thomas grinding, baby, grinding.

Max Watson finds plenty to laugh about.

Czabe humbly accepts the Malcolm Trophy. Hell, he built it, why shouldn't he take it home!