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Much has been made of the beauty, the majesty, the history and the quality of Pebble Beach Golf Links. In the runup to today’s first round of the US Open, both players and media have been effusive in their praise of the golf course and setup. An increasing number of voices have joined the chorus calling for Pebble to be the semi-permanent home of the National Open, with the tournament returning every five years in much the same way the British Open returns to St. Andrews twice per decade. At least for now, the USGA is not prepared to take that step. However, it has announced that the Open will return in 2019 to coincide with Pebble’s 100 year anniversary.

Over the years Pebble has provided several of the game’s most enduring images and most memorable and historic tournaments. Nicklaus won the Amateur there in 1961 and the Open in 1972; Watson’s chip-in on 17 in 1982 is one of the most memorable shots in the history of the game and it propelled him to an exciting victory over the hard-charging Nicklaus; Woods’ 15 shot victory in 2000 was the most dominant championship performance in the modern era. Dramatic events and historic moments seem drawn to Pebble.

But not every championship has been epic. In the highly anticipated Amateur of 1929, Bobby Jones won the qualifying medal only to be upset in the first round of matches by Johnny Goodman. In the 1992 Open a largely pedestrian leaderboard and insanely difficult conditions on Sunday made Tom Kite’s victory seem rather dull. Ditto 2000. Tiger’s romp was historic but hardly compelling. The tournament was over on Saturday morning and Sunday was utterly devoid of drama.

This year Pebble needs to produce magic. Since Mickelson’s win at Augusta in April, the professional game has been, in a word, boring. Rory McIlroy’s coming out party at Quail Hollow was a joy to behold, but other memorable moments escape me. The PGA Tour has been too long on TPCs and too short on characters and character. Increasingly I find myself agreeing with the critics of the game who I always believed just didn’t get it. Now either I am not getting it or there is truly little to get.

Maybe Virginia’s wacky weather has something to do with it. The oddly debilitating and snowy winter left scars that could not heal in a too short springtime that has ended in an oppressive heat wave that suggests a summer of discontent and discomfort. Or maybe the oil spills, the natural disaster in the Gulf and the national disaster in Washington, are to blame. But there is a malaise that has settled on the country, on the game and on my psyche, and I need Pebble Beach and the US Open to puncture it and kickstart what should be a memorable summer golf season. The Old Course will do its part in July, Whistling Straits in August has geat promise, and the Ryder Cup awaits in autumn. But this week the stage is set on the edge of Carmel Bay and more than ever before Pebble Beach Golf Links needs to work its magic.

Secondly, the Mojo 6 introduces a new tournament format, Raceway Golf. The competition consists of six hole matches in which each hole is worth one point and the overall match is worth one point. So, for example, if player A wins all six holes in her match against player B, she would earn a total of seven points against player B’s zero. Points are cumulative and determine seeding for each subsequent round of matches. Day 1 begins with sixteen players. For the first round of matches, the top seven seeds choose their opponent from the lower seeds. But after the first round, seeds are determined by point totals, introducing the possibility that round one’s top seed may find herself unseeded for rounds two and three. After three rounds of matches, the top eight point-getters move on to day 2. The remaining players are seed, bracket style, for the remainder of the competition and play single elimination matches until the champion, the player who is able to win three straight matches, emerges.

Thirdly, The Mojo 6 serves as another stark reminder of how stale the PGA Tour product has become. The PGA Tour is absurdly wedded to the 72-hole stroke play format which is often as short on drama as the PGA Tour is short on entertainment. The basic PGA Tour event telecast appeals only to golf junkies who enjoy the Konica-Minolta-STP-Wood Brothers-Swingvision Camera. The Mojo 6 should realistically appeal to all sports fans and to anyone who enjoys one-on-one competitions. Much of what is coming from the new LPGA headquarters in Daytona Beach should be heeded by the PGA Tour fat cats in Ponte Vedra. Even casual observers know, however, that that is a most unlikely occurrence.

So, as they say, check your local listings for The Mojo 6. If we golf fans are lucky, it just may be a glimpse into the future of televised golf.

Image by Guus Krol via Flickr

The best way to kick off Masters week is to enjoy some great music. To that end, Wilco will be webcasting their Tuesday, April 6th show from Boston and their Wednesday, April 7th show from Concord, NH. Find the details at http://wilcoworld.net/roadcase/. Shows should begin just after 8pm in the East.

Although this was my first Wilco show, I have been a fan since I first learned of them following 2002′s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot record. I am familiar with their entire catalog and have listened to several bootleg shows over the years. Yet I was unprepared for the show I saw. The biggest surprise was how well the songs from A Ghost Is Born and Sky Blue Sky worked live. Those two records never captured my imagination in the same way the band’s earlier, and later, efforts have. They seemed overly atmospheric to me. But the atmospherics translated perfectly from the stage and those songs had a power and drive that I never expected. Meanwhile, the songs I expected to be great didn’t disappoint.

Musically, Wilco has some serious chops. Leader Jeff Tweedy writes interesting lyrics and melodies, but when he steps out front on guitar he reminds me of Neil Young. The playing sounds a little dirty and imprecise. Yet it fits perfectly into the song and adds an aural element that increases the punch. What he may (or may not) lack as a guitarist is covered by Pat Sansone and Nels Cline. Sansone handles the more traditional guitar lines, while Cline appears a certified mad axman. He coaxes sounds and emotions from his instrument in much the same jaw-dropping manner as Jeff Bird (on mandolin) of the Cowboy Junkies. His work is as much a reinterpretation of the instrument as it is music. Glenn Kotche on percussion is another amazing musician who could easily put on a show by himself. With his work, along with that of longtime bassist John Stirratt, the Wilco groove is in solid hands. Those two set the foundation from which Tweedy’s songs arise.

As a frontman, Jeff Tweedy is a surprisingly powerful and emotive singer. He also packs a very dry wit. One of his apparent pet peeves is audience chatter. As is his tendency, he made several comments about members of the audience talking during the performances. As luck would have it, I was sandwiched in amongst some of the worst offenders. From my perspective, which must be similar to Tweedy’s, why pay good money to come to a show and not pay attention? Sing badly (as I do) and dance badly (which I don’t), but acknowledge that the evening is about the music and only about the music. Otherwise, Jeff might call you out from the stage.

If Wilco comes to your town, and if you’re not afraid of being reawakened by the power of rock and roll, do whatever you have to do and get to the show.

During his short time on air, Palmer made several interesting points. On the renovation of Bay Hill, I of course waited for him to speak to the need to rein in the golf ball. That did not happen. But he did make a good point when speaking to the lengthening of the par four fifteenth. He remarked that the modern pros complain when they are forced to play long iron shots into par fours. Back in Palmer’s day that was a common occurrence. Check out a rerun of All-Star Golf. A generation ago pros played long irons and woods into par fours on a regular basis. It was a recognized part of the game. Nicklaus, for instance, separated himself from his competitors, in part, by his ability to hit high, soft long irons. That’s a skill that has been lost in the pro game. Long irons/hybrids are played from tees or into par fives–places where there is a larger margin for error. Make them hit greens with three and four irons and today’s pros get a little twitchy.

Another interesting point arose when Palmer was talking about coaching his grandson, Sam Saunders. He spoke to a few technical issues, but then brought up an issue that applies to everyone who plays the game. He said he asked Sam about what kind of player he wanted to be. The point goes to the matter of identity. How does a golfer see himself? As an aggressive, gambling Palmer type? Or a calculating, controlled player like Hogan or Nicklaus? On the surface, it seems a simple concept. But on the course, situations arise when a player must make a do-or-die decision. Making a decision that conforms to the player’s own paradigm of play simplifies the situation. There are myriad ways to play the game of golf. Putting some thought into own’s personal style simplifies the game and gives every player a better chance of enjoying their time on the course.

In America it seems golf courses must be green. It’s been that way for at least a decade and a half. We have television and Augusta National to thank for that. For a large portion of the golfing world the golf season begins with The Masters telecast. It comes at the best time of the year-the NFL is dormant, MLB hasn’t gotten revved up, and the NCAA men’s basketball tournament (during which there were countless promos for The Masters) has just ended-and the Augusta National Golf Club, built on the grounds of an old nursery, is at it’s dogwood-blooming, HD-Technicolor tv, green greener greenest best. The golf course appears to be utterly perfect, groomed to a greater degree than the finest English gardens. In fact, since the days of Frederick Law Olmsted, America has not seen such a garden as Augusta National. The golf holes seem to flow as naturally as Rae’s Creek and the dogwoods perennially bloom on cue. Put it all together and the golf season begins . . . green.

But green comes at a price. At Augusta green comes from vigorous watering, meticulous chemical application and a comprehensive autumn overseeding. The end result is stunning. But the front end of that product for the first week of April is an extremely well funded private club with an essentially unlimited maintenance budget. The entire spectacle that is The Masters is orchestrated to be, well, green.

This is in no way an indictment of Augusta National or The Masters. Both occupy a unique position in the psyche of the golfing world. It is right and just that they should. From the outset, Mr. Jones’s course and tournament set themselves apart from the rest of the game. But somewhere along the way, over the last two decades in particular, the American, and to a lesser extent the international, golf world decided that any golf course of significance should be as green as Augusta. That means clubs need to invest heavily in chemicals, man hours, irrigation systems and water. So initiation fees, monthly dues and greens fees must increase. And the game of golf, which has always had an air of elitism in America, has become increasingly cost-prohibitive for the average golfer. The increases in costs and fees have undermined most attempts to increase participation, and thus has jeopardized the future of the game.

But what is worse is that, from a golfing standpoint, green is simply less fun. Perfect, lush, green fairways provide little roll and little interest. In modern American golf the ground game, arguably the most intriguing and challenging part of the game, is non-existent. The player strikes the ball which flies to a point and settles near that point–that is the American game. Hazards, whether sand, water, desert or rough, are navigated through the air. To a large extent, it is the Nicklaus effect run amok. Jack Nicklaus was the first highly successful pro to play by numbers. He knew exactly how far he hit each of his clubs and he meticulously calculated his on-course yardages. With such data, the game was often reduced to golf course murder by numbers.

Donald Ross, perhaps the most successful and influential golf course architect in the history of the game, believed the game was in part a vision test. The expert player should be able to judge distances visually and then react to that info in the best manner according to his skill level. It is a far departure from, “It looks like a five iron,” to “174 yards, seven iron.” Then again, had Ross been subjected to soft, green turf at every turn, he no doubt would have concluded that a half-blind golfer with a good GPS unit would be no easy mark.

The rush to green has also been fed by the “advances” in golf equipment. The modern golf ball flies so far, so high and so straight that lush fairway and rough grasses have become one of the means of “protecting par.” Since the game’s governing bodies refuse to slow down the golf ball, green superintendents must attempt to do so. As a response to changes in equipment, golf courses have changed. And not for the better. Fairways have narrowed, hazards have been made more severe and many courses have been stretched to the ultimate limits of their property. All of this is a reaction to technology and has resulted in the expenditure of untold millions that have been passed on to the golfing public.

As much as this green movement has had financial repercussions that have, in part, adversely affected the participation of both new and existing golfers, it has also damaged the soul of the game. For the average player, such courses are simply less fun to play. Continually thrashing from three-inch rough and bunkers as deep as the player is tall will break a player’s spirit sooner or later. Meanwhile, the less-skilled player is forced to play high pitch after high pitch rather than the bump-and-run or Texas wedge shot that may better fit his abilities. Even at the elite level of the PGA Tour, the game is rather boring. With virtually no opportunity to use the ground, tournaments have become glorified putting contests. Combine the bland characters with the bland play and there is no wonder ratings and interest are down.

Ratings and galleries aside, The West Coast Swing once again proved to be a compelling start to the season. With the Hawaii courses, Pebble, Monterey, and Riviera, the Tour has seen a handful of the most interesting venues it will visit this year, and the list of early season winners is a pleasant mix of the expecteds, the reasonables and the surprises. Every event has been compelling and, aside from the usual caveats, fun to watch. I for one have not missed Indefinite Leave even a little bit. He would have only played twice anyway (Torrey Pines and the Accenture) and both events had story lines aplenty. My vote is that Indefinite Leave takes the whole year off, but that’s another issue.

But while on the subject, one hopes the Tour has learned its lesson. For more than a decade it has put all of its eggs in one basket, eggs that are now, at least for the time being, rotten. Meanwhile other members of the Tour who are deserving of recognition have been passed over. That a few of those personalities and stories have come to light over the last two months is a positive for the Tour and for the golf fan. There are many Tour members who are more deserving of attention than Indefinite Leave. One would hope the Tour has recognized that.

The West Coast Swing has also presented a stark illustration that the new groove rule will have little effect. From this viewers vantage point, there has been no discernible increase in strategery for the young guys. Balls are stopping plenty quick from all lies. The greens appear so soft (even when not dictated by weather) that any diminishing of spin rate has been neutralized. To this point, I’m sad to say, the rule change seems much ado about nothing.

So, onward to Florida.

And Daylight’s Savings Time is only ten days away. It can’t come quick enough.

Jon Krakauer has carved out quite a niche for himself in American letters. In his previous books, chiefly Into The Wild and Into Thin Air, he has created quasi-biographies of people in extreme situations and done so in unusually compelling fashion. Even though the plot, so to speak, is often known before the tale is begun, his books are every bit the page-turner of a Harlan Coben novel. He really has quite a remarkable talent.

His latest, Where Men Win Glory, is no different. It is the story of Pat Tillman, the Arizona Cardinal who made headlines in 2002 when he turned his back on a lucrative football career to enlist in the Army. More headlines followed in 2004 when he died in combat. Tillman was held up by the Bush Administration and others as an example of patriotism, personal sacrifice and honor. He was all of those things and more, but his was a life not easily pigeonholed. He was thoughtful, with a philosophical turn of mind, but he was jock. In college at Arizona State, he was thought too small for linebacker, too small for the NFL. But he overcame his lack of size with speed, determination and controlled fury. Personally fearless and occasionally reckless, he was a loving, dependable and attentive friend. He was a patriot who was hellbent on hurting al-Qaeda and those who attacked the US, but he was not blinded by his patriotism–he never believed in the Iraq War and he distrusted his Commander in Chief. He believed in duty, yet looked forward to returning to football when his 3-year commitment to the Army was satisfied. In short, the lasting impression of Pat Tillman is of a man who understood the importance of perspective and of his word, a man you would like to call a friend.

But in Krakauer’s tale the life of Pat Tillman, while important in itself, serves as an illustration of the conundrum of modern war and the invasive effects of modern media. Though many serving up the chain of command held Tillman up as a poster boy for the post-9/11 military, he wanted no part of such publicity. Through basic training and Ranger school he kept his head down and his feet moving, as any new recruit must. He neither sought nor expected exceptional treatment. Pat Tillman the football player, the celebrity, was left behind in Arizona. Yet it was evident that the qualities that carried him to the NFL–hard work, determination, and the ability to inspire those around him–would also carry him through the Army. He was a player of team sports and in many ways the military and warfare represent the ultimate test of a teammate. Tillman met that test and earned the respect and trust of his fellow Rangers.

So it is both sad and ironic that Pat Tillman was a victim of a friendly-fire, that the ultimate team player was, in a sense, betrayed by a teammate. Any death, in war or beyond, is a tragedy, but a blue-on-blue death is beyond tragic. To a certain extent such events are inevitable and, with the changes in warfare, becoming more so. Gone are the days when two columns approached each other across a killing field, or the days of trench warfare, or even carpet bombing. Gone are the days when the enemy was obvious. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have been better examples of chaos than traditional warfare. The work of finding insurgents in city or village environments is closer to police work than armed conflict and the randomness and unpredictability of targets often presents the possibility of cross fire. That the enemy is able to mask his identity among non-combatants is one of the chief reasons for the slow progression of the recent wars and the confusion it engenders can leave even the best trained soldier in a position of uncertainty. Fratricide is one of the predictable outcomes of such situations.

Such confusion can also make the truth elusive. As presented by Krakauer, the aftermath and investigation of Tillman’s death is a bleak illustration of modern politics. As news of his death spread up the chain of command and across the globe, it was not immediately understood that he was killed by friendly-fire. But as that fact became clear there were apparent attempts to hide that information. Obviously, in the eyes of many, acknowledgement of such an event would further tarnish the image of a war that was becoming increasingly unpopular. In our world, image is everything and the first image that is presented is usually the most lasting. This is why truth has become an accessory to any political story. The entity generating the story, the Army and the Bush administration in this instance, presents a controlled and often contrived image of the events in question and as time wears on and public interest wanes scraps of truth arise to little fanfare. The public’s attention has moved elsewhere. The greatest shame lies in the knowledge that such measured dispensation of the truth only deepens the pain felt by family, friends and comrades while the machine of government churns unaffectedly along.

That Pat Tillman became a pawn in the government’s public relations game was unavoidable. Tillman was keenly aware of it and studiously avoided any incident or interview that would increase his profile. But in the end his enlistment became another sales pitch for the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. The Bush administration went to great lengths to preserve the groundswell of support it gained following the terror attacks. From the first actions in Afghanistan to the UN presentation to embedded reporters to the Deck of Cards, more than ever before the war effort was about salesmanship. It was the most important lesson from Vietnam–the government must maintain popular support for the war. As information has grown increasingly abundant and instantaneous, the effort to control or contain information and the outside pressures on those who own the information has necessarily grown also. Somewhere along the way, honesty and truthfulness have become devalued. Reticence has become a greater sin than dishonesty. Piecemeal truth has become a form of psychological warfare that a government, no matter the administration, conducts against its citizenry. Such tactics create far more victims than necessary.

In the end, the story of Pat Tillman is both inspiring and heartbreaking. He and thousands like him who put their lives on hold to serve their country deserve unwavering respect and gratitude. Their sacrifices deserve a truthful telling. The failure of our government institutions to do so only exacerbate the waste of young life.

Even for a Southerner, his was a unique voice. Faulkneresque, O’Connorish, Southern gothic, Southern redneck, uncouth angel, Barry Hannah. With language concise and electrified, he wrote stories that make you flinch, stories that offend the gentle soul, stories like the car crash that draws your attention, stories like a streaker at the Super Bowl. Oh, but truth is beauty and there is beauty down the dirt road, dangling off the end of the cane pole, riding the rusted glider on the front porch; beauty and truth and honor in the tales that man told.

“The point is to strip down, get protestant, then even more naked. Walk over scorched bricks to find your own soul. Your heart a searching dog in the rubble.”

-Barry Hannah