Much More Than Joe Pro

by Victor Williams

Golf pros have soul, too.

I’m not talking about Tiger, who spilled his soul in a torrent of emotion, in front of God and everybody, after the final putt under the bright Hoylake sun. Or Vijay, that loping, smiling, sneaky-soulful enigma. Or even Phil, whose soul was shaken to its core at Winged Foot, perhaps until the next life. Definitely not Annika, whose veins of Scandinavian ice belie a swing of pure poetic soul. Natalie? Nah — we’d never notice her soul behind the curves. Nope, I’m not talking about any big-name Tour guys and gals, but the rank and file guys and gals on the front lines of the great American golf biz — those PGA of America-accredited minions manning the practice ranges and pro shop counters at our local munis and clubs. They’re the bedrock of the game, and from where I sat at the annual meeting of the Northern California Section of the PGA in December, they’re true believers.

How true? As true as a patented, front-running Tiger dagger thrust to a pretender’s heart. When a good half of the recipients of the NCPGA’s year-end awards well up with emotion and leave more than a few of their colleagues and other attendees wiping their eyes, it’s no descent into maudlin posing. It’s the real deal, a sure sign that in that banquet room at Napa’s venerable Silverado Resort, the game’s human side had its day.

My wife and I earned entry to the show at the behest of two misguided souls — great guys named Mike Mazzaferri (longtime pro and Northern Nevada junior golf impresario) and Greg Enholm (head pro at the Resort at Red Hawk in Sparks), who nominated me for Media Representative of the Year. Must have been a weak field ’cause I got the nod and there I was, giving a speech about what an inspiration and help various NCPGA members have been in my professional life, naming a few names and just skirting the over-emotional territory I so often tread. But I couldn’t hold any of these pros’ 9-irons when they got on their various from-the-heart riffs.

Let’s start close to the meeting’s end, when Reno’s Fred Elliott landed his long-overdue Pro of the Year award. “No way I’d have gotten this far without my wife’s support,” he said with gentle eloquence. “She’s been there for me at every step.” Recognizing spouses is di rigueur at deals like this, but there was something in the way Elliott and several other plaque-haulers recognized their significant others, mentors, bosses, teachers, parents and kids that brought it all into clear focus for me, like dialing in just the right distance on a tough par 3. Haggin Oaks pro Tom Morton took one look at his dad and mentor, Ken Morton Sr. — perhaps the most respected pro in all NorCal golfdom — and gave him a warm son’s tribute. Kids in general got star billing from Mazzaferri, who with wife and fellow pro Denise was instrumental in landing a First Tee program in Reno-Tahoe. Several other guys and gals invoked the pricelessness of family, blood or business or otherwise.

For these folks, golf is nothing like the “individual sport” it’s purported to be. Nor is the golf industry suffering from much-publicized doldrums, at least as far as the NCPGA’s leadership is concerned. Secretary Monte Koch so stressed the team ethic to the troops that he got downright evangelical, setting a tone of “let’s kick this prayer meetin’ up a notch” passion. He challenged each pro to give a constant hand up to their assistants and take ownership of their career choices, with no regrets and even fewer excuses. And in a de facto testament to the NCPGA’s reputation as a model section, PGA of America honcho Joe Steranka trekked from Florida to deliver a fact-packed and astute assessment of the state of the game, from its $60 billion impact on the economy to its power to change lives for the better.

But in the end, after all the awards had been awarded, hands shook and backs slapped, the day’s crystallizing moment came from Brad Braden, a pro from Poppy Ridge. The PGA’s National Public Merchandiser of the Year is a survivor — of brain surgery, a cancer scare and more than one glance into the abyss. He cried openly and said his litany of thanks to those who hung in there with him, including the nameless Caddy in the Sky.

Emotional? You bet. Sentimental? Perhaps. Proof that the pro you look to for a slice cure or a putting tip or a set of perfectly fitted sticks is worthy of your respect?

Absolutely.

As a guy who sometimes takes a jaundiced journalistic view of the grand old game, I was humbled just to be there. FG