From the get-go it seemed a bad idea as we watched the caddie put my bag on one shoulder and my friend’s bag on his other.
“Jimmy Mac, you want to tell him or should I?”
Devilish grin on my face, my response to Jeff Babineau made him laugh. “Nah. Let ‘em carry ours. Might be fun.”
Left hand on bible, right hand raised, every single moment with Babs was to be cherished and this day at Western Gailes Golf Club, a brilliant Scottish links that is pure as a child’s conscience, was vintage joy. Especially when on about the fifth hole, our caddie realized he had been saddled with a hooker and a slicer.
“Now, Jim, that church steeple way out on the horizon,” he said, pointing miles left. “You aim for that. And Jeff, take it at that lighthouse (a mile to our right, sitting peacefully out on the Firth of Clyde.) Lord willing, we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.”
We did not, at least not often, but it didn’t spoil the festive atmosphere that was present whenever Babs was your wingman, though it was exponentially more intoxicating if the stage was the golf course, any golf course.
Unfortunately for joviality sakes, more of our times together were spent side-by-side at our laptops drinking coffee, eating cookies, and wondering just where in hell that next word was going to come from. Babs would scan the press room at whatever golf tournament we were at and notice some early exits, scowl, then put his head back down.
“Babs, we’re here till they run out of coffee,” my voice would mutter. “Besides, Fergie (Doug Ferguson, another great friend) is still here.” Babs would smile and nod.
Here is where there is a pause to wipe away tears that have been flowing since learning of Babs’ death Dec. 9 at an age, 62, that is far, far too young.
For nearly 30 years he had been one of my dearest friends and from 1996-2016 when we shared life beneath the big top for probably 24 weeks a year on this traveling circus that is the golf media, it's impossible to calculate how many days, how many conversations, how many laughs we shared.
What is clear as the pain in my heart is the first time we met, at the ’96 PGA. No shock, Babs initiated the introduction. Sitting at my seat with The Boston Globe placard, he came over to me and with a huge hand extended and warm smile on his face, he said, “Jim McCabe, nice to meet a fellow Bostonian. Jeff Babineau from the Orlando Sentinel.”
Later that day he ditched the formalities and called me “Jimmy Mac” and it was clear that he was simply “Babs.”
No trip to Kapalua was complete without gathering with Doug Ferguson (right) and Jeff Babineau to say thanks to our favorite media host, Karin Sagar. Below, Babs was always at home at Dennis Pines on his deloved Cape Cod where old friends such as Kevin Carey were sure to stop by.
My initial observations about Babs bordered on awe. He was always out walking, there wasn’t an interview at which he didn’t ask great questions, and when the clock in the press room got to the bewitching hour – newspapers still ruled back then and 10 p.m. was pretty much that time when editors started screaming for your copy – there was my new friend with Cape Cod roots still banging away.
Thank goodness, a voice inside said, a kinship has been born.
No internet back then, no cell phones either. So when back at Boston Globe offices a few days later, a call was made to a friend in the Orlando area who read me Babs’ Monday morning lead from that ’96 PGA where Mark Brooks had defeated Kenny Perry in a playoff. It was good, very good, and while my memory had forgotten it, it was easy to find it on newspapers.com as my time needed reasons to stop crying.
“In a town historically known for producing weekend long shots – ones who usually come riding home on hooves, not golf spikes – the 78thPGA Championship at Valhalla Golf Club produced a photo finish Sunday.”
Babs, six years younger than me, was far more experienced on this golf beat and that meant he had to field a thousand questions from me. Good thing that patience was part of his skill set. Along with a calm demeanor, all-world wit, uncanny insight, and a remarkable knowledge about golf.
Most of all, what was to love about Babs the most was this – he was devoid of ego. When he left the Sentinel in 1998 and joined a small, golf-centric magazine called Golfweek his star shined even brighter. He wrote brilliant commentary and the stories that were hardest to write – Payne Stewart’s shocking death in 1999, for instance – were in his wheelhouse.
Why? Because he might have been the most caring soul who has ever blessed my world.
Ah, but Babs being Babs, he also took enormous pride in mentoring young staffers at Golfweek. Beth Ann Nichols (the first woman president of the GWAA; Babs had been president a few years earlier), Sean Martin, Adam Schupak, D.J. Piehowski, Brentley Romine, Eric Soderstrom, Kevin Casey, Julie Williams, Asher Wildman . . . those are just some of the names who earned valuable experience on Babs’ watch at Golfweek and it’s a joy to know that they are successful in their current endeavors (Nichols and Schupak are still with Golfweek) and flattering in their praise of Jeff Babineau.
When Babs in late 2008 enticed me to leave the Boston Globe and join Golfweek, three things dominated my decision to say yes: The opportunity to cover golf 24/7 and 352 days a year, my unyielding respect for Babs, and the hope that he’d open up that rolodex of his just a little.
It wasn’t enough that Babs appeared to know everyone, it was heartwarming to discover that everyone loved him. In short time, he tossed stories my way that introduced me to engaging subjects not known to me.
“Write Gary Woodland,” he told me at Woodland’s PGA Tour debut in 2009. “He’s a good one.” Nailed that one, Babs.
“Got a cool guy to write about,” he said another time. “Eddie Loar.” Babs was spot on there, too.
“If you’re going to write about Q School, you need to talk to Harry Taylor,” he told me. Bingo.
He opened up the doors to Chance Cozby and Mike Dunphy, caddies Pete Bender and Andy Martinez, the late Dave Adamonis Sr. and Todd Anderson, Tom Creavy Jr. and Bobby Casper. All of them lent their voices to stories that were written through the years and all of them said they would talk to me because they knew Babs was a stand-up guy.
Dan Rooney was a Major when Babs met him in 2011 and told me this guy was the definitive Real Deal. Now he’s Lt. Col. Dan Rooney, a PGA Professional and F-16 Fighter Pilot, and he is a force of nature, doing incomparable work for Folds of Honor. One of the FOH board members? No shock, Jeff Babineau, who was the Real Deal himself.
Babs indeed was a stand-up guy and so much more. He believed that a story wasn’t finished until you bled a little, till you had poured everything into it, till you had revealed to the readers something about the subject that wasn’t known.
Never, ever did he suggest writing about golf was life-saving work. But he believed in being fair to readers and honest with yourself, in being thorough, being accurate, and paying respect to your profession.
You left way, way too soon, Babs, but you left an indelible mark in my life. And maybe, just maybe when we meet again you will be in control of that hard right-to-left tee shot and my left-to-right drives will be kept in check and we indeed will meet in the middle of the fairway. The caddie will be pleased.
Cheers,
Jimmy Mac
(Prologue: If possible to read a little more, there is a Go Fund Me page that has been started to help the family of Jeff Babineau. The last few months did not treat our friend well, though none of us knew. Please go to gofundme.com and search for Jeff Babineau.)
