For many years my father covered the greatest golf tournament in the world for CBS Sports, The Masters. And for many years his friend and Chairman of the Board of Augusta National, Jack Stevens, would invite him to play the course just before the tournament began. Dad always looked forward to this not only because he felt it was a great honor to be able to play Augusta, but because right before the tournament it was always in great shape and he really liked and respected Jack Stevens; he and dad were both graduates of the University of Arkansas. To say that Mr. Stevens was a wealthy man is an understatement. Jack, as my dad used to say, owned half of Augusta. And like many of the most successful people in life (the ones I most admire, anyway), youd never know that he was loaded. He was genteel, refined and humble...the epitome of a Southern gentleman. You may recall the year that, because there were no female members at the club, feminists protested The Masters and put pressure on its TV advertisers. Fine, Mr. Stevens said, and they broadcast the tournament that year sans commercials... Jack picked up the tab himself. Typically, dad would show up to play every year and be paired with Jack Stevens and a couple of the other members. One year, it was dad, Stevens, a member and a guest the member had invited...a rancher from Kansas City. Dad described the rancher (dont know his name so thats how Ill refer to him a) as a boisterous, prideful ten-gallon hat wearing type. Now the deal at Augusta is this...if youre there playing golf and particularly if youre a member, its not about being flashy and showy. In fact its about the opposite, and enjoying the privilege of spending time on one of the most challenging, beautiful courses--indeed, settings--in the world. But I guess Mr. Rancher didnt get the memo. The trouble started on the first tee. Whats the bet around here? asks Rancher, hitching his trousers. Here at Augusta we typically play $10 a hole, Stevens replied. Ha! Back in Kansas City we play $100 a hole, says Rancher. A $10 bet would be fine, says Stevens. They begin, and all the while Rancher is making it no fun for anyone. He is boasting, he is bragging, refusing to concede foot-long putts and just making things generally miserable, according to dad. They get through the round (my father and Mr. Stevens relieving Rancher of some of his money in the process) and no one has had any fun. Dad said it was the one and only time in all of the years that he played there that he didnt enjoy himself. Now it was customary, at least for Mr. Stevens, to adjourn to the card room for a few hands of gin rummy after finishing a round there, so thats what they do. They get to the table and sit down to play, but here again, Rancher simply will not desist. Whats the bet in the games round here? he asks. Jack Stevens tells him that its a gentlemans game...a penny a point. Rancher laughs and proclaims that at his club in Kansas City, its $5 a point. Now, having listened to the complaining and grousing for four hours, the unassuming, polite and courteous Jack Stevens has had enough. Sir, he asks (and dad says its the only time he ever heard Jack raise his voice), If you tallied up all of your assets--cattle, houses, stock--everything you own, what would it all be worth? Rancher, taken aback just a bit, replies, Well Im not sure right now. Maybe nineteen, twenty million. Stevens lays the deck of cards on the middle of the table: Ill cut you for it. Rancher beats a hasty retreat, and to my knowledge has never returned.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 19:33:52 +0000