It's 900 miles from New Jersey to Olympia Fields. We wake around 8am, strap up the car, secure the interior, and head west. Rafe's got first shift behind the wheel, mainly because he's a much better city-driver than Phil and he doesn't mind driving in traffic. It's his Zen attitude that keeps him from being frustrated, we think. Phil sleeps like a baby in the passenger seat.
It's worth mentioning here that this is Phil's 4th day of a self-imposed caffeine ban. Phil was drinking upwards of 8 Dr. Peppers a day up to this point in the tour. That, combined with about 8 beers a night and a piss poor diet consisting of hotdogs, brats, and stadium pizza, was leaving his jeans feeling a bit tight and his kidneys in a constant state of panic. Clearly, something had to be done. So, Phil decided to cut back to 1 DP a day. As for beer, well, he's switching to rum.
This is Day 4 of the self-imposed-caffeine ban. This is not easy for Phil. Especially when driving. It's even harder because Rafe knows exactly how addicted Phil is to DP and taunts him with it endlessly: "Hey, bro, can you grab me a Dr. Pepper?" Or, "we should turn down the refrigerator a bit, these DP's are almost frozen they're so cold." Torture.
At around 11, we turn on the TV as first round coverage of the US Open starts on ESPN. It's very, very easy to drive while the action unfolds on TV. It becomes quite a bit more difficult, however, when the rain starts just inside Pennsylvania. Brutal rain.
But, we plow on, switch off a few times, watch the Open and root for the story of the day, Tom Watson. Somehow, he manages a score of 5 under par. At 53 years old, with his caddy Bruce Edwards recently diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease, this is remarkable. We're cheering for him on every shot, riveted when he's over a 6 footer, typically his biggest problem thoughout his career. We're loving the Ernie Els, Tiger Woods, Ricky Barnes group, though Tiger seems to be playing some pretty sketchy shots.
Coverage changes over to NBC and then back to ESPN. Question, since when did Chris Berman because a golf announcer? Not that he wasn't decent, we just don't remember him ever doing a tournament before. Whatever.
We finally pull into Cleveland at around 6pm. We've been driving for 500 miles, and its rained for 400 of them. We're getting some pretty severe leakage at this point, and its difficult to determine where in the hell we should park for a game that probably won't even happen - Indians vs. Padres.
Eventually we find a spot, mop up the leaks, and settle in to wait out the rain before exploring Cleveland Thursday night party scene. Much to our surprise, the rain stops and the radio says the game will start at around 8pm assuming no more bad weather. We rush out, purchase $5 tickets at the window, and head into Jacobs Field.
Jacobs is one of the best ballparks in the country - the official ratings will have to come later this summer after we've seen them all. But, the hype was pretty much deserved. The park has great sight lines, an "old time" feel with new amenities. Best yet, they have slack seating attendants. Our $5 got us into $30 seats without much of a problem. Of course this could also be a function of the fact that the Padres are nearly the worst team in baseball, the Indians are barely cracking 0.500, and the interleague "rivalry" with San Diego is a joke best left for someone who is actually funny enough to find something humorous about it.
We suffered through the game, but genuinely enjoyed the park and the fans that we met. They even bought us a beer, instantly earning them a nomination into the Ultimate Sports Adventure Hall of Fame: "First baseball fans to buy us a beer." Thanks guys, and don't worry, if we need insurance, we'll be sure to call.
After the game, we were off to find some vibe and give Cleveland a shot. We tried a brewery called the Boneyard. It sucked. We tried another place called the Green Lizard or something like that. It sucked. We tried a blues bar called Fat Fish Blue. The band sucked and there were no girls. We caught a taxi and tried "Liquid." It didn't suck, especially when they played the movie "Jackass" on a big screen. We played some Chinese Poker, laughed at the hilarious stunts, and hunted for vibe.
Six girls walked in. Five were cute. No guys in tow. This looked promising. Giving them the requisite 3 minutes to get situated, we wrapped up the Chinese poker game and sauntered over. One very cute girl was dirty dancing with one of the other girls, kissing, necking, rubbing her breasts. This looked extremely promising. They had everyone in the bar captivated, and we'd be lying if we said we weren't watching and thinking desperately of some "in."
The show continued for a good 20 minutes, time enough to order some rum drinks from the bar. Rafe made a good play with a separate group of girls, but we didn't really bring our 'A' game tonight and it was perfectly clear that the "show" that was going on was just that. We decided to leave.
Outside, we see some people coming up from a bar called "The Dive." What the hell, we'll check it out. We knew we were in trouble when the Bouncer and doorman were wearing shirts that read "Mullets Rock." The NASCAR channel was playing on TV, ZZ Top tunes blared in the stereo, large girls danced with guys wearing Dale Earnhardt belt buckles. Having lived through the live version of this scene at the Daytona 500, we knew we weren't up for too much of this replay. We geared up, shot around turn 4, passed several car-sized asses, and headed for the finish line.
Friday, June 13, 2003 -- Round 2 Chicago, IL
Cleveland to Chicago - another 350 miles, and another day of watching the Open on TV. Today we rooted for Tiger, who seemed to bring his A-game. His eagle on 1 was amazing to watch, and the slice 250 yards on 6 was maybe the best shot we've ever seen on TV.
We finally arrive at the RV park in Tinley Park, Illinois, 25 miles south of Chicago and 5 miles from Olympia Fields. We watched the end of the coverage on TV, then Phil drove Rafe to the train station. He took the train up to the city to go to dinner with our friend, Carolyn. Meanwhile, our friend Beth, drove down to the RV park for dinner with Phil. Phil went to Nick's "The" Steakhouse for a reasonable steak with incredibly lousy service, then to see the movie, Finding Nemo. Meanwhile, Rafe and Carolyn went for dinner at a trendy sushi restaurant in the city and traded travel stories in preparation for Carolyn and Beth's upcoming assault of Mount Kilimanjaro.
Saturday, June 14, 2003 -- Round 3 Chicago, IL
Next morning we headed down to Olympia Fields. The parking lot was just minutes from the RV park, and from there, we caught a school bus down to the course, full of anticipation and ready for action. We were there just after noon, Tiger's tee-time scheduled for 1:30. This gave us an opportunity to scout out a few holes, eventually putting us over near #1 where we ran into Amy, Luke's new girlfriend who we'd met in New Jersey at the Devils game. This was a surprise, but pleasant. Shortly thereafter, Beth saw Luke in the crowd. Awesome spot, Beth!
We did our best to follow Tiger, but it was near mayhem. It seemed like fully a third of crowd was following Tiger. We were up directly across from him on #1 when on his second shot, someone yelled in his backswing. He almost whiffed, and sent the ball sputtering into a bunker just a hundred yards up the fairway. He was not at all pleased.
We couldn't get close enough to see, so we bailed on that plan and headed to a spot suggested by Luke, the #6 green and #7 tee. Number 6 is great, as it's a real turning point. It's a 550-yard par 5, and it was playing as one of the easiest holes on the course.
We stayed there for quite some time and saw all the big names come through. Then we went over to #17 for the rest of the afternoon. #17 is the longest par 3 we've ever heard of, 250 yards. Unreal. We watched for about 10 groups, and didn't see a single birdie. Pros were about 50% to get the ball on the green, but the brutal pin placement, just over a greenside bunker, seemed a bit excessive.
We went back to the RV, cleaned up, and then headed out for dinner - a place called Balagio. The food was good, but the enterainment was incredibly bad. A pianist played classics and bellowed at the same time. Piano alone would have been OK, we suppose, but the singing was the worst.
Fully intending on going bowling after dinner, we decided to skip it at the last minute and head back to the RV for a few card games and an early night's sleep.
Sunday, June 15, 2003 -- Round 4 Chicago, IL
Happy Father's Day! We arrived at Olympia Fields just after 12:30. Scalpers in the parking lot were doing their best to get rid of their tickets significantly under face value was the norm, and we saw one ticket change hands for $5! With Tiger 11 strokes back and the unexciting Jim Furyk in the lead, interest had waned, creating what ticket guys call a "soft market."
We arrived in time for our mass meeting with all our friends. Luke, Amy, Beth, Carolyn, Stacy, Rick and Rick's Dad, all met on time. Rick is a student at University of Virginia. Rick is a poker fan and has been following our trip since day 1. He's organizing a charity benefit golf tournament this September, a big huge USA blowout party, and a couple of other things USA related. Rick, thanks, and we're looking forward to the event in September.
Anyway, we all decided to head over to the #6/#7 spot. We did, planted ourselves in the bleachers, and started drinking beers. For most of the afternoon, we sat right there, bet on the groups that came through, got more beers. Rafe angled Beth, a certified physical therapist, for a backrub all day. He was unsuccessful.
After Furyk came through (birdie), we kicked it down to #14/#15 and did pretty much the same thing. Drank beer, watch and bet on the golfers, and drank more beer. Once again, the leaders came through, with Furyk having way the best of it. It is unbelievable that we missed maybe the most exciting thing to happen at the Open - the naked woman accosting Furyk on the 14th green. Somehow, we were on bathroom break when she ran out and offered him a rose. Leading the US Open has its privileges.
We follow Furyk up 16, then to 17, and finally, up the 18th fairway. There was not a hint of drama, except maybe the fact that he could break the all-time Open scoring record.
The scene at 18 was, well, nice. Furyk was joined by his new baby, wife, and mom and dad. He choked up, of course, and gave his dad a good Father's Day present - the US Open trophy. While the Master's ceremony seemed steeped with tradition, this seemed to be just a trophy presentation. The crowd was clearing out as Furyk spoke, if that says anything.
We somehow squeezed five of us into Beth's tiny little car and made our way back to the Blue Monster in time to watch the end of NBA Game 6. Unfortunately, the Nets couldn't quite do it, and there will be no game 7. Instead of heading south to San Antonio, we're going west to Omaha, Nebraska and the College World Series.
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