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                      The Millenium Fripp Out
                         Jan 27-30, 2000
                          Dave Tutelman

"You gotta have a lotta balls to play golf the way we do."

That was the theme for Friday. We got our act a bit more together as 
the weekend went on, but it seems like a fair -- if totally 
insufficient -- summary of the weekend.

This time, we spent the entire weekend down the shore (sorry for the 
New Jerseyism). Columbia was pretty much snowed in. Thor may call us 
wimps for not playing the [closed] courses in the snow, but Thor 
chose not to be there. So we landed and headed for Fripp Island 
straightaway. As we passed Orangeburg, the snow along the highway 
abruptly disappeared. The shore is always 5-10 degrees warmer than 
Columbia in the winter. Even so, it was really cold for golf. The 
consolation was that it was even colder and snowier in the northlands 
from which we were weekend refugees.

Brent Hutto met us at the airport. Mark Georg and I arrived almost 
simultaneously. Chuck Sedlacko had arrived an hour earlier, having 
driven overnight from Cincinatti. We took two cars down, intending to 
meet for lunch. But Mark and Chuck missed the turnoff, and took some 
back roads. (I don't know how you miss the I-95 intersection, but I 
don't have much imagination about such things.)

Anyway, we were in constant cell-phone contact, and agreed to meet in 
Waltersboro. Mark and Chuck were working the back roads and, on the 
basis of the signs, decided that "all roads lead to Waltersboro."

We got to Fripp before 3PM, leaving us enough time for 9 holes before 
dark. Got in our warmup round at Ocean Creek. Chuck had a really 
interesting round: a triple-bogey, a quad-bogey, five pars, and a 
birdie. I had a mixed round, with some really bad shots. Somewhere 
around the fifth hole, I had to take a drop from the woods, into deep 
rough, 200 yards from the green. I said to myself, "There's only one 
club in my bag that can go 200 yards from the rough, and I haven't 
hit a decent shot with it all winter." Then I took it out -- the 
5-wood -- and hit a bad shot. Mark had heard my muttering, and said, 
"You haven't read Rotella recently, have you?"

We finished nine, then used up the little daylight that was left 
playing the sixteenth (tee near the clubhouse, and green near the 
condo). Mark parred it, in the dark. I came close, but got penalized 
for hitting Chuck's ball from the greenside bunker. (Didn't know it 
wasn't mine until I pulled it from the cup.)

Digression about the weather: My wife and son told me when I returned 
that the weather channel showed South Carolina as a big green blob 
all weekend. Well it did rain a lot, but seldom when we were on the 
course. And this without benefit of Thor.

Friday was cold and windy, but we played 18 at Ocean Creek anyway. We 
were all losing golf balls ("You gotta have a lot of balls to play 
the way we do"), but Brent was setting some records in this regard. 
By the time he left us on the ninth tee -- to walk to the clubhouse 
and regroup for the back nine -- he had drowned ten balls. New start 
on the tenth tee! Brent topped it, but hey -- no water on this hole, 
right? We walked off the tee, and saw that there was this small 
hidden pond -- exactly where Brent's ball had gone. So no theories 
about it being mental...

Mark was, for the most part, hitting great metalwood shots and really 
booming his drives. Chuck was doing a good Bruce Lietzke off the tee; 
he was generally in good shape in the fairway, except when the drive 
didn't fade. The high point of the round was the eleventh. Mark hit a 
good drive, dead center, and Chuck matched it. Then Chuck's second 
shot from 135 yards was "right at it!" As he was saying "go in the 
hole" to the ball, it clanked off the flag (LOW on the flag) and 
stayed just a foot away for a tap-in birdie. I rate that the shot of 
the weekend!

After the round, we went back to the condo and waited for Joe Dean to 
arrive. When he did, we went for dinner at the marina. This year, the 
restaurant has yet another name and another menu. Not bad now, but 
still a lot more commercial than the first year we were there. 
Anyway, if you go there and Jennifer is your waitress, don't tell her 
you know us. We didn't live up to the reputation we built last year, 
but we tried.

Saturday was very cold and VERY windy. HOW COLD AND WINDY WAS IT?
 - The greens fee was $45 or the wind-chill, whichever was lower. We 
   paid $21 apiece.
 - On the second hole, 150 yards straight into the wind, only Joe got
   across the water -- and he hit a perfectly struck driver. Mark's
   fairway wood blew back into the pond to the left of the tee. Chuck
   drowned a fairway wood. I was sufficiently impressed that I played
   it as a par-4: 7-iron short of the water, and 7-iron over.
 - On a few exposed holes on the back nine, our bags were constantly
   being blown over.
 - On the eighth hole, a long par-4 into the wind, we were hitting
   good long iron shots that were going only 100 yards. Hit it high
   and it blows back. Hit a low screamer and it stops at the first
   puddle. (Oh yeah, forgot to mention that the course was drenched,
   with lots of standing water.)
 - On nine, which is a relatively short par-4, Chuck hit a solid
   drive (best of our foursome, to the left side of a dogleg left)
   followed by a solid 3-wood -- and was still well short of the green.

Brent had better sense than to play in those conditions. Chuck 
decided at the turn to let discretion be the better part of valor. 
(Eight and nine left him somewhat demoralized -- see above.) Mark, 
Joe, and I played the back nine. My score was astronomical, but I'm 
glad I played. I learned a lot about playing in wind; this was the 
most I had experienced, by a lot.

I had a 51 on the front nine; Brent, who lunched with us at the turn, 
said he would buy my dinner if I broke 100 for the whole course. His 
money was safe. The back nine is harder -- with more wind-exposed 
holes. I did break 110, but I struggled. Still, I had some of my best 
shots that round, as well as my only birdie of the weekend: - The 
fifth hole is a short dogleg left par-4 of 310 yards. With a somewhat 
helping wind, I hit a 3-iron 210 to the corner. The second shot was 
100 yards, normally a full sand wedge. But if I hit it up in the air, 
it would be at the mercy of a 30+mph crosswind. I hit a PW with a 
knockdown 3/4-swing to keep it low; bounced it just before the green, 
and ran it back to within ten feet of the pin. Made the putt. - My 
sand game was a bright point all weekend, but Mark convinced me that 
my bunker shot on 14 was the shot of the day. I was having a disaster 
on the hole anyway (SCREAMING wind, and water on both sides of the 
fairway). When I finally got near the green, the ball was absolutely 
plugged under the steep lip of the greenside bunker. I had to stand 
with one foot in the sand and one foot on grass at least 20 inches 
higher. I took a lob wedge and aimed at the sand behind/under the 
ball; it popped almost straight up, landed on the green short of the 
hole (um, I had short-sided myself too) and stopped just six inches 
from the hole.

I was really impressed with Joe's tee game. He was hitting long, low 
drives, and pretty straight, all day. Even windy, exposed holes, with 
trouble on both sides, he hit the fairway with a boomer. Well, ALMOST 
always. On the third hole, he hit a way-errant drive into someone's 
house. (I HATE residential courses.) The owner came out and helped 
Joe find the ball. Joe's apology for hitting the house was met with 
the most reasonable reply I've heard in such circumstances 
(especially considering the heated debates on RSG over the subject), 
"Hey, I live on a golf course."

After the round, we chilled at the condo. A few words are in order 
about this place. It has a living room combined with kitchen and 
dining area, three bedrooms, and a big "sitting room". Every one of 
those rooms has a TV. The upstairs sitting room has a big-screen TV 
and enough sofa space for the whole crew. The remotes got very 
familiar with with The Golf Channel (of course), and even more 
familiar with the Weather Channel -- for obvious reasons. And with 
the weather suggesting only 18 holes a day, there was a lot of use of 
the TV and the fridge. :-)

On Sunday, we set off bright and early for Cat Island and South 
Carolina National. We played as a three and a two: Mark, Chuck, and 
Joe leading, and Brent and me bringing up the rear. It didn't seem 
terribly windy (maybe my judgment had been torqued by Saturday's 
round), but as cold as the other days.

Brent and I were both playing better than we had the rest of the 
weekend. I even had a stretch where I parred three holes in a row. Of 
course, I managed not to use a metalwood the whole stretch. My "new 
swing" is working fine for the irons, even the long irons, but I was 
having trouble all weekend getting a driver off the tee. I even 
parred a par-5 irons-only.

On sixteen, Brent had one of the better bogeys I've seen. It's a 
short par-3, but distance is critical and we didn't trust the marked 
distance. There is marsh from the tee to the green, and marsh beyond 
the green, so you have to dial in the right club. Brent hit one a 
little short, and it hit the front slope at the edge of the marsh. 
His provisional found the green, but he found his first ball and it 
could -- conceivably -- be played. He managed to put a wedge from the 
marsh onto the green, and two-putted. Great recovery.

On the seventeenth tee, we heard some thunder in the distance. 
(Thunder? In this cold? We didn't believe it either.) By the time we 
holed out, it was raining, the thunder was unmistakeable -- and 
accompanied by lightning. We Walked in without playing 18, catching 
up with the other threesome. Their game at that point looked less 
like golf and more like polo without ponies. They were as anxious as 
we to get back to the clubhouse, but unwilling to forego the last 
hole. With 20-20 hindsight, I'm sure I know the message mother nature 
was sending us. "I let you guys off this time, but next year bring 
Thor!" I've played enough with Thor to know that the thunder and rain 
would have held off until we had holed out on eighteen.

We all had "interesting" trips home. Brent and I were delayed by a 
wrecked 18-wheeler on I-95, and took back roads back to Columbia. My 
flight was delayed, but ALL flights in the southeast were delayed or 
CANCELLED that evening. (Remember Superbowl night in Atlanta?) I 
finally landed at Newark in a snowstorm, with 3-4 inches already on 
the ground.

This was more rambling that most of my writups, but the weekend sort 
of felt that way too. We improvised, doing the best we could with the 
weather we were given. I thought we played well the hands we were 
dealt. And -- at times -- we played well on the golf course too. As 
always, we enjoyed each other's company, and we're going to do it 
again.

Thanks for putting this together, Brent. It was great.

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