George Plimpton - The Bogey Man: A Month on the PGA Tour

G eorge Plimpton has nearly gotten me killed eleven times. Hes pulled three hammies for me, almost got me gored, gave me quarter-sized heat blisters, made me throw up more times than an Ipecac tester, left me to drop animals into my pants, and inspired me to sign up for more dangerous jobs than the cast of Jackass.

Because Plimpton was one of my heroes, I attempted things no sane person should. I crushed six cars in a monster truck, ran with the bulls, tried out for the WNBA, played womens pro football, became a ball boy at the U.S. Open, flew upside down in an F-14, jumped with the U.S. Army parachute team, became a tour caddy, became a rodeo clown, faced Nolan Ryans fastball, competed in the World Sauna Championships, delved into ferret legging (dont), and, in homage to the book you hold in your hand, played in the Pebble Beach Pro-Am. Twice.

Plimpton had the genius to stop talking to the pros who play the sports he loved and start playing the sports he loved. The NFL, the NHL, Major League Baseball, boxing, pro tennis. Hed do it, mostly fail at it, and then write about it, hilariously. That was sports writings Bob Beamon moment. What Walter Mitty dreamed about, Plimpton did. He broke through the wall, which meant I wanted to break through the wall.

Of course, my attempts were junior varsity compared to Plimptons. He lived in the era of America that historians classify as Before Insurance Lawyers Ruined Everything. So when he wanted to play quarterback for four downs as a Detroit Lion? Do it! they said. (He lost 30 yards.) When he wanted to pitch to a lineup of baseball all-stars? Why not? (He nearly dropped dead of exhaustion.) Step into the ring against Archie Moore? Have at it! (Bloody nose.)

He had titanium guts, but thats not my favorite Plimpton body part. My favorite Plimpton body part is his over-caffeinated mind. For a guy who looked about as clenched-teeth, Thurston-Howell-III, summer-in-Maine button-down as a man can be, underneath he was an incurably curious five-year-old who couldnt stop asking questions. In Bogey Man, he never stopped being fascinated by the curious carnival life these golfers lived in bad pants on lush lawns, and its what makes this my favorite Plimpton book.

The things the man found out! For instance, Im a lifelong golf fan, player, and writer and yet I never knew:

Arnold Palmer woke up every night at 2 a.m. to have a Coke.

Jack Nicklaus, as a rookie, would wear the same pair of pants for all four rounds.

Porky Olivers caddy would put his money in his shoe, so that if you saw him limping down the fairway, you knew he was in the chips, as Plimpton wrote.

Oh, and my absolute favorite:

The caddy for Deane Beman recalling Beman being so cheap that when he paid him, he look at you like you done stab him in the knee!

When Beman went on to become PGA Tour commissioner, we wore that phrase out.

Writer 1: Hey, what did Beman say when you asked him about John Daly?

Writer 2: Man, its like I done stab him in the knee!

There was nothing Plimpton did that I didnt want to do. One time, Plimpton was writing a freelance piece for Sports Illustrated, where I worked for twenty-two years. This was in the dark days before email, so freelancers would get the final edit of their piece faxed or mailed to them. But Plimpton was in Europe at the time, and by the time he got the final edit, the piece had gone to bed without his input. When it came out, Plimpton was not happy with the edit. He sent the hard copy back to the office, with these words scrawled angrily up the side in red ink: Wholesale tin-eared butchery!