The golf fanatic’s ‘Grand Slam’

By Gary Larrabee

There are so many reasons why I love the game of golf. Let me count, from a personal perspective, four of the ways in this privileged space that I fill four times a year:

The joy of watching the game. I could sit all day on one of those old fashioned benches situated behind the 18th green at Salem CC and observe as members young and old, male and female, hit their approaches, maneuver their chips and talk to their putts on one of the most devilish greens on the North Shore. I’d have just as much fun sitting behind the 18th at Kernwood, standing high above the 18th at Tedesco, sitting on the hill behind the 18th at Essex, or the stately porch behind 18 at Myopia. There is something unique about home holes, be it the ninth at Ould Newbury, Candlewood, Cape Ann or Rowley, or the 18th at Ferncroft, Turner Hill, Beverly Golf & Tennis or Indian Ridge, that brings out the best or worst in golfers, but always the most entertaining for the spectator.

On another level, I’ll never forget the 11 years of drama, both euphoric and heartbreaking, that transpired during the 1980-1990 run of the LPGA’s Boston Five Classic at Ferncroft, especially on Sundays – payday. More than a few careers were made or buried on those fateful afternoons. Winners like Dale Lundquist Eggeling, Laurie Rinker, Colleen Walker and Barb Mucha will remember the 72nd hole at the Boston Five as springboards to successful playing careers. For others, like Laura Baugh, who never won an LPGA event, but came so very close at Ferncroft, it was merely one more week of heart-sickening frustration. We all feel it whether we’re playing this crazy game, no matter what the stakes, or watching.

The joy of playing the game in a new venue. Case in point: a recent long-weekend visit to The Sagamore Resort on Lake George in upstate New York within the Adirondack State Park. Cape Cod is nice, as are the unique and remote venues of northern New England. But if you want the luxurious golfing holiday experience of a lifetime, check out The Sagamore. It’s the easiest four-hour drive in America (Mass. Pike to Interstate 87 North), made even shorter if you stop over in the embracing town of Saratoga Springs for lunch. A member of the Historic Hotels in America Preservation Trust, The Sagamore is a trip back in time: The century old main hotel represents the truly good old days, complemented by a swarm of modern luxury apartment and townhouse suites, all located on the water’s edge within its 70-acre Green Island retreat. The service is first-rate, the views breathtaking, the food and beverage offerings delicious, the accommodations fit for a king and queen. If golf isn’t your game, check out The Sagamore’s new sailing program, tennis center, fitness center, spa, swimming opportunities indoors and on the Lake, or take a cruise on the resort’s own custom built touring vessel, The Morgan. Golf? Oh yes, the golf. It’s a delight, whether you shoot 75 or 105 on the rolling, par-70, 6700-yard layout designed by Donald Ross. Opened in 1928, the course offers much the same visual and routing appeal as our own Salem Country Club. Located on a ridge slightly more than two miles from the hotel, the course has a wonderful variety of doglegs, elevation changes and sights of nature that will keep you coming back for more. Just like Salem, Sagamore’s golf course is fair in every respect and challenging for novice and expert alike.

The joy of reading the game. Real big surprise coming from me, eh? Some of our finest literature has emerged from the game of golf. Histories, biographies, fiction, essays. Bernard Darwin, Boston’s own Herbert Warren Wind, Charles Price, the North Shore’s John Updike, Dan Jenkins, Rick Reilly, P.J. Wodehouse. I survive most winters in these parts because my golf library keeps me warm. Oh, the little lady helps, too, but there is nothing (except maybe a week in St. Bart’s) like a golf book in January for transporting me mentally to a warm afternoon in July at the British Open, with, for example, Nicklaus and Watson dueling at Turnberry.

The joy of talking the game. It might not be as blood-boiling as talk of Red Sox-Yankee battles, but get two intense golfers chatting over a couple beers and they’re liable to get into a fist fight over who was the better golfer in his prime – Nicklaus or Woods or Hogan or Palmer or Jones (Bobby, not Steve, you wise guy) – or which course is the best championship test – Pebble Beach or Augusta National. I’ve debated the great golf issues of the day with chums from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. on more than one occasion, as silly as it sounds. The game should be played with calm, but that doesn’t mean it has to be discussed with calm.