Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
King Lear
Act 3, Scene II
William Shakespeare
By MacDuff
We knew it might get serious when heavy gray sheets of rain began to advance with alarming speed down the fairway.
An hour or so before the great McNabb Cup commenced, the radar delivered the hopeful image of approaching storms seeming to weaken as they raged across Lake Michigan. As it turned out, Nature herself proved, again, that what Momma wants, She gets.
The week started merrily with a beautiful Friday afternoon round at the Donald Ross gem called Muskegon Country Club. Over a rolling ground just south of sparkling Muskegon Lake, Ross took a 1908 Thomas Bendelow effort and re-worked that good man’s beginnings to create a truly inspired course that begins with a flourish at the 381-yard first and comes to a champion’s finish at the 443-yard par 5 18th. These are forward tees, played from 5400 yards. The youngsters and their modern steelies go from the 6700-yard tips.
Head pro Stephany Pawloski and her assistant, Jackson Koert, played with Hugh Cameron and Bill Tucholski. We are told that
Jackson, Bill, and Stephany at MCC.
our host professional finished her nine holes at two over par. Throughout their journey, we, in the group behind, noticed several MCC members join her for a hole or two, to try out the new-fangled golf clubs, which, apparently are gaining a notoriety of sorts at the club. The hickories, and our players conducted themselves well enough that we are invited to return. A memorable and welcome change from the usual for the usual suspects of the Michigan Hickory Tour.
Following a hearty repast at The Handsome Hobo’s restaurant, where waitress Roxanne stirred many hearts, we made our way to the McNabb cottage where a variety of single malt whiskys enlivened conversation well into the night.
Ah, the morning of The Cup. Fortified by black coffee and with regular looks at the weather radar, the bleary contestants heeded the call to the first tee where all were supplied with Ouimet golf balls, (insert product placement here) courtesy of McIntyre Golf Ball Co.
Up in the booth, guest announcers Bobby Jones and Walter Hagen, with help from on-course announcers Old Tom Morris and Harry Vardon, prepared for the great contest. The McNabb Cup itself, polished to a satin glow with the hopes and dreams of so many suitors awaited the customary embrace of a newly crowned champion. In the gallery, excitement built to such a pitch that even Henry Longhurst was heard to utter “Oh my!”
The Field
There were 19 in the small, but glittering field. Walter Bills was there, from Detroit, assessing the competition and liking his chances. Howard Vogel of Traverse City, a McNabb rookie, showed no signs of nervousness, despite the bite marks on the grip of his driver. Jack Maynard, the musician; Sunny Bieszka from Dexter – a perennial hopeful, eyes ever on The Cup. Much book was made on the Phantom Flyer, Tim Stroshine of Ohio, as McNabb cognoscenti are well aware of his generous handicap index and his uncanny ability to go low when it counts. The 2014 Champion, Stroshine would like nothing better than to become the first repeat McNabb Cup victor. Up in the booth, Jones spoke knowingly about Stroshine. “The object of golf is to beat someone. Make sure that someone is not yourself,” he said, Hagen nodding wisely beside him.
Other rookies included Bill “Touch” Tucholski from the Detroit area, a man rumored to be deadly with approach shots; Frank “Frankie” Abrahams of Marne, an agreeable player, well-liked by his Michigan Hickory Tour companions, but wide-eyed at the depth of the field and understandably nervous at his first Cup; and Mike “Pish” Pishlo, a veteran of the WHO hickory wars in Wyandotte he had heard of the Cup and determined to add its glory to his swelling trophy case, which by now must take up several inches on a shelf next to dusty Linda Ronstadt and Willie Nelson/Don Cherry CDs.
MHT Commissioner Roger Hill strode the grounds. T was he who won the first Cup in 2011, a victory still fresh in someone’s mind. Wee Mon Scott Staudacher panicked upon forgetting his tie, but with quick thinking donned a close-fitting weather jacket and was afforded a grudging approval by the Ancient Committee. Staudacher is a fine competitor with a solid game and it would, indeed, be a hollow victory to gain the Cup bereft of the Wee Mon in the field. He has two low-score trophies to his credit at The Cup.
Rounding out the field were Cup veterans Hugh “True North” Cameron of Corunna, Ontario, a seasoned hickory champion of international stature; TJ Riker of Muskegon, an easy-going man with a deadly accurate game, an early Cup favorite; Dave “The Marshall Kid” Ramos, the club maker to the MHT, and as tough a competitor as they come; Jim “The Mariner” Collins, fresh off the boat, but a seasoned player with a steady game that can wear down and outlast any weakness in a competitor; Larry “Pinch” Pinchback of Wyandotte, a Cup zealot who has time and again measured the name plaques to assess the proper font size for his moniker, and close he has come, second in last year’s great contest to Jason “Man of Flint” Shaffer who was unable to defend his title this year; and Bill “Willie” Ellington, a chieftain of the WHO tribe, known as much for his generosity as for his vicious cornhole underhand. Asked about Ellington, Ben Hogan, with uncommon emotion, said “If he could have just screwed another head on his shoulders, he would have been the greatest golfer who ever lived.”
That left but three. Host J.H. “Jimmy” Davis thanked the field for accepting The Ancient Committee’s invitation and turned the mike over to outgoing Capt. Joseph Bodnar. The McNabb Cup is begun with the traditional installation of the new year’s Captain of the Cup. Captain Bodnar, who fulfilled his role admirably during 2016, ably representing The Cup at several national functions of state as well as at pubs throughout the downriver Detroit area, was visibly moved in transferring the Captain’s Medal to his friend and WHO mentor Gary Trapani. For his part, Capt. Trapani was blessedly brief in his remarks, urging all players to conduct themselves with honor and to enjoy this great game. “It’s time to play,” he said.
With that, it was time to “drive in” The Cup. The new Captain assumed a heavy stance on the first tee, waved his truncheon-like club and, in the hush of anticipation, drove off in all directions at once. On-course correspondent Harry Vardon, in a turn of wit mindful of David Feherty, remarked that “Golfers find it a very trying matter to turn at the waist; particularly if they have a lot of waist to turn.” At this, a smiling Lee Trevino turned to a friend and whispered “You don’t have to look pretty out there, you have to win.”
Not to be outdone, Hagen chimed in. “Every golfer can expect to have four bad shots in a round and when you do, just put them out of your mind,” he said. “This, of course is hard to do when you’ve had them and you’re not even off the first tee.”
The Cup was on.
Into the Maelstrom
Your correspondent is a hearty soul, undaunted by many of life’s more disagreeable vicissitudes, but the black turn of the sky on this McNabb Cup day filled the mind with foreboding and the blood with a queer chill. It made Lear’s description (see above) look like a child’s nursery rhyme by comparison.
In short, it was an epic blow, one that the newsreels later claimed took several mighty trees along the Michigan lakeshore. The McNabb Cup players braved the worst of it. Only nine holes were managed this year. Nine holes that will live deep in our memory, or at least what’s left to us following the confusing aftermath of an Albanian cognac that somehow found its way to the apres-storm festivities.
The Phantom Flyer, Capt. Trapani, and Jimmy were out first and moving fast, emboldened by an encouraging seven all around on the first hole. The second, the number one handicap hole, was subdued with double bogies. The par three third, mere child’s play to earn one par and two bogies. The fourth yielded miracle pars. And then, it happened.
That black sky in whose breast a boiling discontent was stirring, decided it was time to vomit forth its naked fury. On the fifth tee, the world became wet. Giant filmy sheets of water, driven by bullying winds, assaulted the gentle earth and its insignificant inhabitants, especially its ridiculous golfers and their puny aspirations. Man, it was stormin’ Jackson!
“Might as well keep playing,” said the Captain. “We can’t get any wetter than we are now.” A man of sense, the Captain. Stroshine and Jimmy agreed that someone must shoot him. But, nowhere could be found dry ammunitions or arms, so on they played.
On the eighth hole, the streaming rivulets were a great help in determining the exact line of certain putts. But, no. Putts became no more than lame imitations of great grandmothers in bloomers warily wading in ankle-deep water. A few holes later, whitecaps were seen on the green of the Schmidt Hole. Or so the survivors would have us believe.
Todd Riker had, in fact, already departed. He had his young son in tow, serving as the first McNabb Cup caddie ever, and the young lad was getting a bit cold in all the drenching downpour.
Under the shelter of an accommodating tree as we floated to the ninth, the Captain and his committee of two made the unprecedented decision to abridge The Cup to but nine holes of play. Nine holes! Surely it takes 18 holes of the sternest to identify a McNabb Champion. But not this year. Shouting to be heard above the gale, Jimmy volunteered to alert the rest of the field. Off he sloshed in a golf car. Vardon, sheltering at the media tent, remarked “Even in our darkest hour, we must remember; never despair.”
While the Captain and the Flyer rowed their way to the ninth tee, Jimmy managed to locate the rest of the players, most resembling refugees cast from some great fish’s mouth, dripping and slimy, but all of whom, but one, readily agreed that nine holes would be good. Yes, very good.
All but one. The Cameron, the True North, defender of the faith and a man of solid reputation, he is not one to be put aside by a mere malestrom. He demanded to play on. “What would Isabel McNabb herself say?” he asked. “Would she not want us to continue? This is for the Cup!”
(Actually, intelligent woman that she was, Miss McNabb, considering the probability of ill weather, would not likely have ventured forth in the first place, choosing instead to stay indoors and play at bridge, canasta, or mah jong with close friends. Golf, after all, is just golf.)
Cameron’s pleas found sympathy in the person of Old Tom, who covered the play from the safety of the clubhouse. “The unlived lived life is not worth examining,” quoth the old gent, knowing full well the fire burning within The Cameron’s competitive breast. By the way, this toughest of golfers had just shot a 38 in the worst conditions imaginable.
It was easy to see the conflict in Jimmy’s face. Though inwardly he agreed with The Cameron, and despite a brief clearing of the heavens, as the on-field representative of the Ancient Committee he had to think of the wives and children of the contestants, he had to consider their agents and product endorsement commitments. No, he said, we must end it at nine. And so, the great McNabb Cup of 2016 was brought to a halt after nine holes of the worst rain and wind seen along the Michigan lakeshore that entire summer.
A disheartened Cameron accepted his fate. It was heartbreaking. Witnessing the drama from the booth, Jones, too, felt for the man. “On the golf course, a man may be the dogged victim of inexorable fate, be struck down by an appalling stroke of tragedy, become the hero of unbelievable melodrama, or the clown in a side-splitting comedy,” he said.
The McNabb Cup, for Cameron, and for all the players, was over.
Well, not completely.
Epilogue
Having retreated to the warmth and comfort of the McNabb Cottage, and after shedding soggy clothes (Sunny removed a frog from his golf shoe) and following the repeated application of strong beverages, the players found once again their legendary penchant for good cheer. Even the weather began to moderate. Snacks were found, dinner was put to the oven and the scorekeeper went to work. You will find his efforts reproduced below.
The 2016 McNabb Cup champion, Bill Ellington, was roundly cheered and then roundly ignored, for dinner was served. Heaps of lasagne, chili soup, and chicken/portobello lasagna; deserts of fruit cobbler (Mrs. Hill!), cherry pie, cookies and more.
Spirits were high, very high, before Capt. Trapani announced his selection for Vice Captain. Upon hearing his name, Dave Ramos looked confused. “Did he say my name?” Assured it was thus, “The Marshall Kid” became simply “The Marshall.” Paying the customary tribute as the newest consigliere to a McNabb Captain (see photo below), The Marshall served notice that his will be an administration of accomplishment. That will wait for next year. For now, Capt. Trapani beamed at his minions and decreed that a cornhole tournament must commence forthwith on the cottage lawn. The cornhole equipment was brought forth – two boards beautifully handcrafted and painted with the McNabb Cup and WHO emblems by the Captain’s kin – and the second tourney of the 2016 McNabb Cup began. It is enough to say that hilarity ensued, augmented by that questionable Albanian cognac…
It was a long and deep night.
The 2016 McNabb Cup passes now into memory, the treasury and guardian of all things…should any be left.
The trophy passes. Capt. Trapani, left, and Jim Davis congratulate Bill Ellington, right, on his new status as a McNabb Cup champion.
The Outcome
B. Ellington 80, net 63 2016 McNabb Cup Champion
H. Vogel, 80, net 66 Runner up
B. Tucholski 80, net 67 Third
H. Cameron 76, net 69 2016 McNabb Cup Low Score
G. Trapani 92, net 69
S. Staudacher 82, net 72
W. Bills 88, net 73
L. Pinchback 92, net 73
J. Collins 90, net 73
J. Davis 96, net 75
R. Hill 94, net 80
T. Stroshine 104, net 80
F. Abrahams 96, net 81
D. Ramos 100, net 84
J. Maynard 104, net 85
R. Bieszka 114, net 87
J. Bodnar 108, net 87
M. Pishlo 102, net 87
T. Riker WD
Dry before the storm, the McNabb competitors pose for the media.
Clubs, shoes, hats – all drying out on the McNabb Cottage porch.
The corn hole boards donated to The Cup by Capt. Trapani.
Capt. Trapani and Pish let the bean bags fly on the Lake Michigan coast.
New Vice Captain Ramos pays the customary tribute to the Captain of the Cup.
McNabb Cup heaven; the day after the Great Storm. (Photo by Roger Hill.)