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Lovely: Sedgefield piling up the birdies
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Published: August 17, 2008
GREENSBORO - In less than a week, Davis Love experienced the PGA Championship's coffee grinder at Oakland Hills and the PGA Tour's cup of soothing tea at Sedgefield.
Upon reflection, a hint of lemon seemed more inviting than an unrelenting assault from mechanical blades. Love shot 77-75 in the PGA and missed the cut by four strokes. He shot 66-70 and made the Greensboro cut by two strokes.
"You see 5 over par winning U.S. Opens and 7 or 8 over making cuts, something is wrong," Love said. "It's too hard. It's like watching the Indy NASCAR race. If they stop every 12 laps to change tires because the tires are blowing up, people don't want to watch it, you know? If guys are putting for par every hole and never see any birdies or eagles, eventually people are going to turn it off and watch something else.
"That's fine every once in a while. We need a Vegas and a Buick Open, where guys shoot 20 under par and people are talking about: ‘He birdied four in a row.' That's what we're supposed to do. The NBA players are supposed to dunk. The big hitters are supposed to hit it out of the park, and we're supposed to make birdies."
PGA tourists and their fans came to the right place for birdies this weekend. Bob Heintz and Martin Laird emerged from golfing kudzu to shoot 7-under-par 63s in the first round, tying the Sedgefield tournament record shared by Gary Player and two others.
Carl Petterson, a Swede who arrived in Greensboro as the son of a Volvo Trucks executive and graduated from Grimsley High, tidied up the record book Friday. He shot a 61 that could have been a 59 had he birdied the relatively easy par-5 15th rather than stuffing his approach in a bunker and making bogey.
The assault continued during the third round. That sets the pins for a potentially rousing finish this evening, which would accelerate the Wyndham Championship's forward momentum.
By returning to Sedgefield for the first time in 22 years, the promoters snatched some fresh marketing material out of humid August air, most notably the remodeled Donald Ross course that opened in 1926. The course appeals to more players than Forest Oaks, and the change appeals to bored or jaded fans.
The tournament version of the course measures 7,117 yards. It plays considerably shorter. Oakland Hills, created by Ross but drastically altered in the past 60 years, measures 7,395 yards. It plays longer.
Sedgefield's only natural defense against pros -- those subtly devious greens -- grows weaker in late summer, when the caretakers must apply water to preserve roots. Significant rainfall Wednesday and Friday further softened the greens, encouraged the birdie parade and reduced par's grip on the gallery's psyche.
This weekend, birdie is king, and people are smiling. It's a new day that taps the unbridled spirit of old days.
Ancient Scots never obsessed over par, and it takes only a few trips into decades-old hay, rabbit warrens or gorse needles to understand why. Par didn't matter. Beating the other golfer mattered. A 6 beat a 7. A 3 beat a 4. The results counted equally, one hole in a hole-by-hole round of match play.
When they started counting the strokes in tournaments, such as the original three-round British Open played over the 12-hole Prestwick course in 1860, the lowest score won. That was Willie Park's 174, two better than Old Tom Morris and the other six players in the field.
Americans often obsess over par, a sporting disease traced to mugwumps, Victorian stuffed shirts and fussy guardians with bloated chests. Most folks would love to scream: "I won the lottery." The par protectors would rather announce acridly: "The course won." In twisted logic, the course represents the protectors' egos.
The U.S. Open, run by some of the planet's oldest living Victorians, spent most of the post-war years growing the American strain of decade-old hay and turning mean par-5s into psychotic par-4s. During the past few years, the agents of change finally tempered the agents of absurdity. Some U.S. Open courses now tend to reward good shots and punish wayward shots with the same relative values. Brilliant.
Elsewhere, however, an irrational fear of technology triggered a land boom. Courses lengthened holes to counter longer drives, cheered on by course architects who can pocket outrageous remodeling fees without burning much creative energy.
Augusta National succumbed to the quick fix under Hootie Johnson's bizarre leadership. Consequently, and regrettably, the club engaged architect Tom Fazio, who painted an ill-fitting mustache on the golfing Mona Lisa designed by Scotsman Alister Mackenzie and Georgian Bobby Jones. With Billy Payne running the Masters show now, Augusta National quite likely will undo the damage (especially on the 11th hole) and try to restore the birdie drama on Sunday's back nine.
The PGA slipped into the swamp this year, transforming monstrous Oakland Hills into a retro U.S. Open torture chamber. Sedgefield is a respite lined with swaying trees and eye-snatching homes -- and plenty of birdies.
That might not match the precise intent of the promoters or members -- Love insists that Sedgefield doesn't want to see a 61 every day -- but the chemistry works in most corners.
"I think we need variety," Love said. "We need the Hilton Heads to play short and tricky, and we need Oakland Hills to play long and tough, but we need variety and not putting for par every week."
Today, a contender putting for too many pars might not contend for long.
■ Lenox Rawlings can be reached at lrawlings@wsjournal.com.
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