There would be drama – of that, we were all certain. There usually is at these major golf championships.
Oh, what would unfold at Aronimink GC in Sunday’s final round of the 108th PGA Championship might not reach a level on par to Jack Nicklaus out of hibernation in ’86 or Jean Van de Velde standing-in-the-burn in ’99, or even Y.E. Yang stunning Tiger Woods in 2009.
But as we studied the first page of a leaderboard that seemingly had 72 players in contention, all money was on heavyweights named McIlroy and Rahm and Åberg and Schauffele and Rose and Reed, but none on Aaron Rai, he of the two gloves and iron covers.
The thought "which is why we actually still play these final rounds" was quickly interrupted at mention of that most dreaded word.
Playoff.
By itself, the word no longer makes me cringe, perhaps because the angst of a 2001 U.S. Open has worn off, or perhaps because guardians of these major championships have wisely committed to getting them resolved quickly should there be a tie at the end of regulation.
But it was when a colleague brought up the ’96 PGA Championship and Kenny Perry’s ill-fated decision to sit up in the TV tower instead of staying warm on the range that an internal button ignited a rush of warmth.
Not because Mark Brooks beating Perry in that Valhalla playoff tickles my fancy. No, sir. Instead, it’s the “1996” that caught my attention. Standing in the media center at this year’s 2026 PGA Championship it occurred to me that 30 years had gone by, maybe not with Rory McIlroy’s ball speed, but certainly in a whirlwind that leaves me in awe.
First and foremost, the opportunity has been a blessing but what forever will be worn like a blanket on cold winter nights are the memories. Even those away far from the course but clearly in the line of duty.
For instance, that morning on Long Island in 2002 when the bus driver asked the only rider at 6 a.m., me, for directions to Bethpage. He was told that he was asking a guy from Boston. “Aren’t you from here?” was my question, to which he replied, “No, sir. I’m from Tulsa.”
Ah, yes, of course. The busses had run beautifully in Oklahoma the year before so USGA folks brought the drivers to Long Island. Talk about your head-scratchers.
Totally random, yes, but it is a memory that always produces smiles because it’s the side dishes that support a great meal. To ponder a 30-year journey is to embrace the side dishes with great warmth.
The greatest press room evah, beachfront at Waialea CC in Honolulu, where 5:45 a.m. arrivals were rewarded with majestic sunrises. Oh, and when the weather turned cruel, as it sometimes did, trips to the Pebble Beach Pro-Am were combated by lunchtime soups, exquisitely delicious and served by those folks who represented the heart of the PGA Tour, the volunteers.
Arnie Burdick (RBC Heritage) and Bill Bachran (Sony Open) – may they rest in peace – enriched the tournaments they were entrusted to serve and each man personified dignity. Institutional knowledge is a treasure; just a shame it’s less appreciated by today’s marketing gurus.
What has been the best part of this 30-year journey are the stories dipped in pure golf. When told by the likes of Michael Bamberger, the best in our business, they shine an even more beautiful light on those who are just hopelessly in love with the game.
That flowed forth one day years ago when Bamberger and his friend, former PGA Tour player Mike Donald, played ultra private Cypress Point in the morning then blue-collar public Pacific Grove in the afternoon. “The better golf experience?” Bamberger asked Donald, who didn’t hesitate. “Pac Grove,” he said.
Bamberger gets it, to the max, which is why he smiled at one of my favorite stories, bumping in to Dick Mast on the range at the 2011 Sony Open. He was 59 and flew all the way from Virginia Beach to do the Monday qualifier. Why? “Because I just love to play,” he said.
Mast didn’t get through the qualifier. He shot 74 when 68 was needed. But he hung around the range in case an alternate was called (didn’t happen) and there was always joy in hitting golf balls (which surely did happen).
How that memory morphed into a round of golf Lundin Links in 2007 is a mystery, but it did. Located outside of St. Andrews, Lundin Links just two years earlier had served as my office for a few hours, my laptop and notebook spread out at a table chronicling Brad Faxon’s successful bid to qualify for the 2005 Open Championship.
But to return as a paying customer and have the chance to take many shots along a pristine links was brilliant stuff and it got even more enchanting when Faxon’s name was mentioned as we savored a pint.
It's been used before and will be used again . . . because it's one of my favorite photos and has been since first spotted in about 2005. It sums it all up.
She gushed with joy, the barkeep did, and she apologized that friends of Brad Faxon had to pay 40 pounds to play golf. Totally our pleasure, we told her, and it was.
“That’s because there’s a purity in that,” offered Bamberger, who truly understands that while assignments to cover the PGA Tour is the day job, it’s those opportunities to write about the soul the game – the people, the places, the mom-and-pop tournaments that should not be forgotten – that inspire and keep him as fresh as he was in those post-college days when he caddied on the European Tour.
Every major championship ends with a winner but when the window is from a spread as wide as 1996-2026 the side dishes are plentiful and often outshine who won.
Years later, there is still dismay over the R&A decision in 2002 to conduct that four-man playoff into twosomes – Steve Elkington with Thomas Levet; Stuart Appleby with Ernie Els. Oh, Els’ win over Levet on a fifth hole (they each shot 16 on the four-hole playoff; Elkington and Appleby scored 17s) is what’s in the record books and cheers to The Big Easy. But what’s locked at the forefront of my memory banks is a ludicrous decision not to send the four players out in the same group.
Similarly befuddling is Bubba Watson in that PGA playoff with Martin Kaymer in 2010. Watson was in gnarly rough and had he taken 30 seconds to walk forward and see that Kaymer was in the same predicament he perhaps wouldn’t have made the choice to try a heroic shot.
Watson dumped his approach into a hazard and made double. Kaymer saw that and wisely pitched out and made bogey to win the three-hole aggregate, 11 strokes to 12.
And all anyone could talk and write about, of course, was Dustin Johnson being penalized for grounding his club in a bunker and having the Wanamaker taken out of his hands because of a penalty.
That’s the thing about what you remember from these majors. It’s never wrong; it’s always personal and should you savor the side dishes, have at it.
Butch Harmon explaining to Nick Watney a valuable lesson on the 18thhole of practice round money-game with Phil Mickelson at The Old Course in 2010 – “When you play for pounds and lose, Phil expects to be paid in pounds, not American dollars,” is cemented forever.
When you have a five-and-a-half car ride after yet another major, you embrace what makes you comfortable. Music, most definitely, and the choice Sunday night was to start with Emmylou Harris – "Red Dirt Girl "always gets a replay when it ends – bring in Seger, mix in Zevon and anything with Aimee Mann.
Time passes magically with music pushing you into the still darkness of a long drive and it helps open up the floodgates to thoughts of how golf still moves my spirit.
Aaron Rai’s brilliant story will hopefully inspire, as it should, and while we’re not likely to factor two gloves and iron covers into our golf games, from the Pennsylvania Turnpike onto 95, then to the Garden State Parkway and over the Tappan Zee (apologies to Mario Cuomo) and back onto 95, what consumed me and was in great harmony to my music was this from Aaron Rai about how the gloves and iron covers provide a great reminder to him (as it should to us):
“The value of not losing perspective of what I have and where I am.”
