A Day at the Course

My son MJ has a sports media company, TDT (Third Down Thursdays–here’s a link). They’ve grown remarkably in their few years of existence. Yesterday, I accompanied him to the Byron Classic Golf Tournament, a major PGA event held ten minutes from my home in Allen, Texas. Warm and soggy from the previous night’s rain, this course is the weekly stop for pro golfers. That’s the context–now to the content.

While most spectators paid $90 or more for their tickets, I was Media. That’s right, I was a pretty big deal, courtesy of TDT. We had a free shuttle to the front entrance from the parking area. (What really happened? We were misdirected a few times and ended up hell and gone from Cartegena, so a kind soul gave us a ride.) We had access to a free breakfast and lunch, after the volunteer checked our badges to make sure we were legit. We received a swag bag with pins, a bracelet advocating mental health, fancy chopsticks from Bibigo, a Korean food distributor, and a boss ceramic-lined tumbler cup. Most importantly, the Media Center was air-conditioned, a key fact after walking the course for hours. It may only be the beginning of May, but the Texas sun is the real deal.

The course at TPC Craig Ranch is spectacular, exactly what you’d expect from a PGA tournament. Pristine greens that roll putts like the surface of a pool table. Finely mowed fairways. Clearly marked yardage. There are video screens all over the place. When Jason Day putts for birdie, the display tells you it’s 18′, 3″. Aaron Baddeley in the fairway? Yeah, he’s 193 yards away. Exactly. No guess work needed. Every player (and fan) knows the score of every other guy on the course at any given moment.

It takes an army of folks to host a tournament. Security and police are everywhere. Volunteers in red hats are always within view and always ready to help. They quiet fans when the players are about to hit. We moved up to the rope right behind the players because, ya know, we’re media. We befriended Vandy, a volunteer at the 17th tee. His job is to guard the rope, keeping ne’er-do-wells out and allowing the right people in, all around his corner of the world at the 17th tee. He’s one of six volunteers I saw at 17, a tiny squad in the army of folks deployed over 250 acres. It’s a breathtaking feat to run an event of that magnitude. And I know–I’m media.

I also had some hardcore player interaction. Wesley Bryan, on his way to the 14th tee, caught my eye, and probably spied my lanyard. Here’s a professional, in the middle of his round, sweating, working hard, focused on the task at hand. Dude is in the zone. “How’s it going?” I asked. He paused, actually altered his gait. “Pretty good,” says Wesley, before passing me by. Inspired by our conversation, he rocked a 5-iron three feet from the pin on his next shot. I’m tellin’ ya, I’m a natural at this media thing.

Best portapotties I’ve ever seen in my life. The Byron Nelson Classic wins this, hands down. As a coach, teacher, and fan, I’ve seen some ugly bathrooms in my travels. I’m guessing I’m not the only one. My dad’s Mariposa cabin had a two-seater outhouse. Words fail to convey the stench. But these beauties? Check out the pic. Three urinals, two stalls, two sinks. And clean. Men’s or Women’s, no lines. These things are everywhere, and nary a one smelled like fermenting garbage. Take it from an old guy with a pea-sized bladder, they pass the eye and nose test.

If you’re not media, there are plenty of amenities if you have the cash, the scratch, the denaro. But you better have plenty of it. There are suites overlooking greens, starting around $300 per person. The most luxurious, per Vandy’s insider info, is the Weiskopf Suite overlooking the 17th tee. We’re talking around 48k for the weekend. I’m not sure what all that entails, besides cool air, plenty of drinks, and free food. That’s a lot of moolah (in the words of Mr. Howell).

Littered throughout the course are booths, tents, and concessions, hawking everything from hot dogs to sweets to golf shoes to margaritas to hats to…well, you get the picture. Lots of local merchants from the McKinney area, plus corporate folks like H-E-B. (If you’re not from Texas, you may not know them. Along with Chik-fil-A and Buc-ee’s, H-E-B is part of the trinity of Texas royalty. In reality, and take this from a pseudo-journalist, we’re talking about a fast-food place, a gas station, and a grocery store. But don’t say that to a Texan.) There’s plenty of great golf on the links, and plenty of ways to bust out your plastic in between holes. When it comes to concessions, nobody cares that you’re media. No freebies out there. Open your wallet and pay the man.

By the end of the day, after 15,000+ steps, a bit burned but with a head full of memories, MJ and I returned to the Media Center, past all the officials and security, so he could tweet/post/Insta or whatever he does. Cool air swirled over my exhausted body. I propped my throbbing feet on a chair. All around, I watched journalists of all sorts–local TV, ESPN, foreign media, PGA beat writers, and some organizations I’ve never heard of. I suppose they do this all the time. Travel from event to event, hotel to hotel, unimpressed with the food and facilities and folks who make these things happen. For one day, I was one of them (did I mention that?).

Mike Hurley, TDT Media.

My two books (so far). Both available on Amazon here