On the travails of being a golf writer

PRAGUE, Czech Republic - Not long ago I wrote, briefly, about a round I played at Golf Resort Konopiste, not far outside Prague, in the Czech Republic.

My review of the resort’s D’Este course is now on WorldGolf.com.

There is always a story behind a story, and what perhaps my blog on this round, and certainly the subsequent review, did not reveal were the trying circumstances that made this one hell of a hard 18 holes of golf. There are tough rounds, and there are tough rounds, and there are rounds at Golf Resort Konopiste…after a long bout of drinking Czech beer the night before.

Folks, I was very hung-over.

I know you’ve been there. That alarm snaps you out of some deep drunk dream at around 8 a.m. You get up, stagger a bit, and think you feel pretty good, all things considered. Better than you have any right to feel, you think at first. It takes anywhere from five to another 30 minutes before this optimism gives way to the realization that there is simply no way you’re going to make it to the first tee.

Of course, I had an assignment. And I was playing with my boss.

Relevant aside: You’ve seen the movie Tin Cup, right? My favorite line from that movie follows the decision of Kevin Costner’s character to get ripping drunk the night before he tees it up at the U.S. Open, in an effort to calm his nerves. Of course, since he’s a nobody, he has the first tee time at the crack of dawn. Cut to the next scene where Costner, running late, is making a mad dash to the first tee as the starter is announcing his name. He reaches the tee, and amid the silence, slightly out of breath, he asks the starter, “Is there time for a quick bucket?”

There was a mad dash to my first tee as well, but thankfully I was not to blame. My boss - the amicable and organized Mark Nessmith - had played one of Konopiste’s courses before, but somehow had forgotten how to get there. We got good and lost, and not a few times did Mark utter, “Where the hell is this place?” Our vague printout from the Czech version of Map Quest was little help. He didn’t bring the course’s phone number.

We missed our tee time. We managed to get another.

The first few holes are a blur to me, partly because of my condition - as many of you can relate, it’s very hard to swing a golf club hung-over, and there was no time for a quick bucket - and partly because the beginning of D’Este is truly forgettable, just straight, wide open holes back-to-back-to-back.

But man, did I wake up on hole No. 5, a short, 319-yard par-4. The sound that snapped me to attention? Mark’s booming drive that cut diagonally across the hole’s gentle dog leg, rolling to perhaps 25 yards in front of the green. It was a big poke. And man, did Mark make sure I knew it, especially in relation to my puny drive that was sitting a good 100 yard behind his ball.

Now Mark, often the very definition of modesty, is a big guy and can certainly catch a ball on the screws and let it fly. But he’s also just as likely to send a worm-burner that scoots on by the ladies tees and gets hung up in the rough before the fairway begins.

Looking back, I can’t remember if there were more of the former or latter on this particular round, though I do remember one of Mark’s drives that hooked at an almost impossible angle as to seriously threaten our golf cart parked innocently beside the tee, and another effort, this time from the fairway, that involved several frustrated attempts to negotiate a water hazard – a scene that also recalled Tin Cup.

But Mark crooned about that drive on No. 5 for much of the rest of the round, even as I got a bit of my game back and pulled six, then seven strokes ahead. I didn’t let on how I was feeling – or, actually, maybe I did - and when the beverage cart presented itself and Mark fished for two beers, I gamely took one in hand (Mark, always the model of virtue, drank a non-alcoholic beer - he was driving).

Of course, hangovers pass, and being outdoors helped. I felt myself turning the corner early into the backside (no, that beer didn’t help). But things were still a bit shaky all the way to the 18th green. I walked off the course. Mark said something like, “How ’bout that drive on No. 5?”

This background in no way impedes my review, dear readers. I paid careful attention to (most) of the holes, considered them all, and recorded my thoughts dutifully. But we golf writers go through a lot to bring you the truth, soldiering on through hardships - roiling stomach, throbbing head, bragging boss - to bring you the best of what’s out there. It’s all for you.

What did I shoot? Well, at the end of his first round in the U.S. Open, Tin Cup, dismally hunched over a scotch at the players’ bar, is chastised by his main rival, who’s the first-round leader. “I heard you put up a monster number today, Cup,” he says.

Yeah, it was something like that.