TALES FROM THE BUICK INVITATIONAL, PART 1

Given the choice between slaving away at work or spending the day watching the pros at majestic Torrey Pines, site of the Buick Invitational, I opted for the latter.
It was a no-brainer if there ever was one and not surprisingly, it proved to be a good decision.

To begin with, anytime you can spend a few hours at Torrey Pines, a picturesque confluence of sky, cliffs, ocean and course, you must seize the opportunity! Very few golfing venues in the world can rival its beauty and breathtaking vistas.

And then there are the players. It's always intriguing to see craftsmen plying their trade, often doing things that simply stagger the imagination.

And there's such a diversity of status among the pros at virtually any PGA event. You have the elite and the familiar names, recognizable by both appearance and swing.
There are the young turks, starting to make an impact with stardom only a win or two away. You have the grinders, golf's middle class, whose goals are rather modest. Just keep making cuts and cashing checks.

Finally, there are the unknowns, whose career paths are uncertain but their stories are compelling nonetheless.

Perhaps more than any other sport, golf runs the gambit from grandmasters to serfs and seeing them all do battle on the same patch of real estate, makes for great theatre.

Now, for an observation that strikes you like a slap in the face.
Technology in golf is definitely trending toward running amuck. The clubheads on drivers are so massive, it's a wonder the pros ever miss a shot. What's next? Drivers with heads the size of a bowling ball. The sweet spot has gone from small to supersize.

As I stared in amazement at the dimensions of these drivers on steroids, I wondered what Jack, Arnie, Gary or Tom Watson would have done with such equipment. More to the point, would Tiger, Phil, Ernie and the like be anywhere near as dynamic without the benefit of clubs that act as launching pads and balls that nearly travel to the moon? Doubtful!

It's gotten to the point where almost nobody's a short hitter anymore. It's just a matter of degree. It seems in today's golfing universe, the pros are either long, longer or longest.

Of the 50 or so players I watched, no more than two or three didn't blast the ball into orbit. Somehow this distance craze struck me as detrimental to the game. But pizzazz sells and the crowds want to see these guys crush the ball into oblivion.
Well, enough of the rant. Let's turn to the players. No matter how outlandish the equipment becomes, the men who wield that equipment will never cease to be the primary story.

Let's start with Thomas Levet, a compactly built Frenchman now playing out of Florida. Last year at the Buick, I remembered watching Levet on the range and being utterly awed by his accuracy. As he worked his way down thru his clubs, everything the guy hit was dead straight. I mean everything. One shot after another found it's way right down the middle. Levet was William Tell but with clubs instead of arrows. He simply never missed and I wondered why hasn't this machine won more.

Fast forward to this year's event. Levet was due to tee off at the 10th hole on the North Course. I had to make my way over just to see if he was still the marksman I recalled. Sure enough, Levet hammered a drive right down the chute, practically dead-center. You couldn't have placed it in any more of a perfect position.

As far as what I've witnessed, the only thing straighter than Levet is a line. Only a laser beam has been more precise. Interestingly, Levet would fashion an opening round 65 and actually lead the tournament after 18 holes. But alas, the machine soon broke down as he faded from contention and finished at an uninspiring 2-over par.
John Daly is always worth a look because he'll either turn into a train wreck or do something spectacular. So I followed him for a couple of holes.

The burly blond-haired blaster was wearing a beige poncho-like outfit that even he couldn't fill. I mean he was practically swimming in the darn thing. It looked like he was trying to play in a modified tent.

But that didn't prevent him from absolutely murdering two drives, both of which were majestic, towering shots that traveled forever but were also right down the slot.
What immediately grabs your attention about Daly is his exaggerated backswing and the incredible torque and bend he creates in his shaft. One of these days, Daly's going to bring the clubhead back so far, he's going to take a divot out of his posterior.

May it also be noted that Daly's ever present companions, his cigarettes and soda were never far from his side. Between shots, Big John was puffin' and slurpin' with a vengeance. It's hard to imagine Daly without a grit in one hand and a pop in the other. But alas, perhaps he needed even more of a caffeine fix as he played indifferently and finished well back at +3.

The group following Daly included John Rollins and Jesper Parnevik and they provided some interesting moments.