123rd Women’s North & South Amateur Scoring
125th Men’s North & South Amateur Scoring
By Alex Podlogar
Coming off the 18th green of Pinehurst No. 2, the player greeted his family, their friends and his girlfriend. At that moment, none of the six of them looked like anything other than people who had diligently followed their connection to the 125th Men’s North & South Amateur around for 18 holes.
Skin glistened from the mix of sunscreen and perspiration. Wide-brimmed hats shaded the ladies, and caps left exposed the tops and backs of ears of the men, making them match the shade of the player’s Houston Cougars golf bag.
The initial conversation was brief. The player had thanked the tournament volunteer behind the green, had given his last three holes’ score, and told the friends and family he’d be back after visiting the scoring area to sign and attest his 5-over 75.
Eleven minutes later, they gathered near the same spot, the grouping following him now on the green to finish their rounds. Rinse. Lather. Repeat. The friends and family had emerged from the shade of the veranda and the coolly conditioned restrooms of the clubhouse to regroup, returning into the sun, back on the grass near the drop zone at the crook of the brick pathway.
Goodness, in this heat and humidity, why there?
Why not?
The talked of the round. They joked of the bad lie on one hole. They discussed the transfer portal and coaches calling. Dinner plans were made. Toothy grins were evident, laughs were audible and belief was returning. Not quite out of it yet. Maybe tomorrow will be a good day. And boy, it would sure be tough to just be starting your round now…
Phones were in hand and in camera mode. The player and his girlfriend turned so the clubhouse would be their background. They strolled hand-in-hand to the Payne Stewart statue, mom dutifully giving them space, and struck the pose for more photos, he on Payne’s right, she on Payne’s left. They are young and athletic enough to hold the pose for several seconds. Not even Payne could do that.
He will play No. 7 Wednesday for his second round. Chances are he won’t be back of the 18th green of No. 2 again this week.
They had made the most of their time.
The Story
Spend time at the North & South Amateur, and a few sights and sounds reveal themselves as patterns woven deeply into the championship’s fabric. The players change. The names change. The families change – though some of the host families who give some of these players a cool and welcome home for the duration of their play do not.
They return every year as well. Maybe this is the year their genial guest will make a run.
What follows here are some of those moments from Wednesday that can be found year after year after year, like the previous scene above. One does not even need to watch or listen all that closely. But if you do, you will see and hear more than just another golf tournament.
You will witness the humanity of it all.
Lunch
Lunch is served, buffet style, in the Outlook Room of Pinehurst Country Club. It is a fitting name.
The drapes are open and the expansive windows put the first tee and the 18th green of Pinehurst No. 2 on full display. Round tables seating eight dot the floor, and a tall cooler packed with water and sports drinks hums in the corner. It is frequented more than the dessert table.
Leafy greens spike their way through the tops of serving bowls. Grilled chicken breasts are popular. Cold cuts. Wraps. Nothing too heavy.
Lunch is for tournament volunteers, rules officials, tournament staff and players, among a few others sprinkled here and there. Media members love a good spread like they love a witty line or a fire photo. Each group generally keeps to themselves, but a few mingle. Space requires it. A few join together, a slumped-shoulder mosaic punctuated by the college colors of players against a sea of the white shirts of volunteers and the red badges of the rules folks.
Nobody sits alone.
Players competing for cutlines come together in twos and threes. They speak of their rounds sometimes, but not too terribly often, and usually only in the greeting: “How’d you do?” So many know each other from the summer circuits, from junior golf over the years, from conference tournaments and other collegiate events. Conversations are casual and cordial, and smiles and laughs are permitted. Even the phone is put down sometimes. It is a traveling circus without high-wire acts or animals, unless you count the fox squirrels and that one chip shot left of the 8th green.
Hats rest on tables. Hair is tossled. Chairbacks are used, and their sturdiness is welcome for someone just coming off the golf course.
At lunch, everybody has been out there. They have seen things, experienced triumphs and lows, made decisions and pushed themselves.
Inside, they rest together. And not much else needs to be said.
Caddies
Caddies come in all shapes, sizes, ages and personalities. Some are boyfriends. Some are girlfriends. Some are dads. Some are mothers. Some are teammates. Some are teammates who also played the first two rounds, got cut, and now will pick up their teammate’s bag for match play. Some are old-timers who have worked these grounds for decades. A few of those guys seem to always find their way into match play. Like Mark Epperly. Some carried the bags of previous champions here. Like Mark Epperly.
And most rounds end in one of two ways.
Demoralized players are lifted up, or not spoken to at all. By this point in the day, the caddies know which is best. Jubilant players smile easily, and handshakes stumble into sweaty hugs. They’ve done it.
“I’ll look for the tee time tonight.”
“Yeah, I’ll text you.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Others quietly fold their caddie bibs and walk down the stairs to the caddiemaster’s window. They don’t need the bib anymore this week.
The Starter
“Welcome to the 123rd North & South Women’s Championship. This is the 12:10 tee time. From Mililani, Hawaii, Kate Nakaoka.”
Brian Bodker enunciates like a Tony-winning Broadway star. He pauses where he should, carefully expressing each syllable of a name whether it is difficult to pronounce or easy. He owes this much to the players. These are names to be respected.
As the starter on Wednesday afternoon, he greets the players and caddies individually as they approach the first tee. “Hi, I’m Brian. I want you to meet your walking rules official, Maryann.”
He is thoroughly succinct in his instructions to the players. Even in quiet conversation, his voice cuts through the stew of the heavy air and is delivered with aplomb. Among his instructions are, “Please stay hydrated today.” “Pace of play is critical.” “Please exchange scorecards and identify your golf balls.”
“If it looks like a bunker, if it smells like a bunker, if it feels like a bunker, please play it as a bunker.”
And, finally, “One minute.”
When that minute is up, with coordinated clarity, Bodker steps into the sunlight from under the canopy and in one slick motion turns to the veranda of the clubhouse behind the tee. Whether there are 10 people walking with the group or none, his intonation doesn’t change. His voice can rise in volume now, but it loses no heft, its edges still sharp enough to slice diamonds. “Well-COME to the One Hundred and TWENTY-THIRD…”
Nakaoka strikes her tee shot. Before it has reached its apex in the Carolina sky, Bodker turns again. “From New Albany, Ohio, Anna Ritter.”
“Isn’t he great?” says Pinehurst Tournaments Director David Gilinsky, smiling.
As the players begin their walk down the fairway, Bodker turns down the volume with sincerity.
“Good luck. Play well.”
