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	Friday, July 08, 2005

Introuducing GolfGirl

We were quite busy so we sent our Stateside intrepid far from tepid reporter Dr Sharon Morgenthaler aka GolfGirl to report on life behind the ropes at the Booz-Allen Classic. We like to prepare our charges so packed her off with nothing more than some old GolfPunks and a cheeky smile and told her to get on with it. And you know what she only bleeding did.

On the Dance Floor
GolfGirl goes to the Booz-Allen Classic Part 1

I came of golf age in the shadow of the mighty Congressional Country Club. But it was not on my playing radar. I am a municipal girl, playing the fine public courses of Maryland, USA. But to see the mighty Congressional, with its hundred year old fairways and the beast sleeping at the 17th hole, is to enter a headier realm of golf.

I had high hopes of being invited to play Congressional. I did everything right: I practiced hard and slept with a member! Sadly, it turned out that he was one of those men who would not, could not golf with a girl. He was notoriously intense and was known to have a passion for the sticks. We could talk golf, drink golf, and exchange balls, but bring up the question of playing and the answer was, “I’m not ready. It’s an ego thing.”

To get to Congressional became a personal quest. I didn’t even envision playing the course, I just wanted to get through the damn gates without crashing them. I assumed this meant meeting another graying rich member. It did not. It meant riding the tails of GolfPunk all the way to the press tent.

From across the pond, GP sent me a press pass and a couple of copies of past issues, along with the edict to stay nice. I was on my way with some sexy mag covers, a digital camera, and no concept of the power of a press pass, or how to work a tournament. I also had no bunker babes or party trailer, not even a goddam GP visor! I took this to be a test of my staunchness. I saluted good-bye to my day job for a week and drove over the tracks to the nice side of town where the wealthy play.

I arrived on a practice day. I had no real plan; as much as I love GP (and I really do), my legitimate arrival at Congressional was my aim. The minute I drove into reserved parking my quest was complete even if nothing else happened during my stay. However I did have a couple of strategies that had worked on the muni courses: no sunglasses or cap, let the red hair fly and the big blues do their work. Simply smile, look men in the eye and say (my greatest line) “HI!”.

I found my seat in the media tent labeled “Golf Punk”, right next to Golf Weekly. Oh, it was a moment. I sighed happily. Everyone else had lap tops, heavy duty cameras, and an air of efficiency. I had an issue of GP with a babe on front. I put it on the table, cover up and sat back. A nanosecond passed. A man glanced over, and glanced again. He nudged his friend to look. I smiled and looked them in the eye. RESULT! CNN and Golf Weekly were mine.

To be continued….

Words and Photos by Dr Morgenthaler

7/8/2005 5:09:49 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)

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