VERN BURNS
Former Mini-Tour Player
reporting from Afghanistan
in the middle of a war zone
Blog: August-October 2011
Coach Says, “You’re Ready to Compete.”
I had worked feverishly to learn every aspect of the golf game–thousands of practice balls on the range, countless hours of pitching, chipping and putting drills had left me with an eagerness to start competing.
After practice on a Friday night, I asked my coach, Herb Triplett, “Where do I start?” He suggested that I join a mini-tour in order to hone my skills and “See what you got!”
I searched the local Florida rags (newspapers/ magazines) for a place to play. I thought, “Hey, I’m better than many guys around here and I’ve worked hard. Why not?”
I found The Cadillac Classic Series Tour out of Texas. I began the contact ritual for an event in New Orleans by making calls to the tour administration for the official schedule, practice round schedule, course location, airlines, hotels and car rentals.
I was just as ‘green’ as I could be, but excited like my first day of elementary school! I was also concerned about getting time off from work; because I had already exhausted my sick days, vacation days, killed two uncles (figuratively speaking), an aunt (again, figuratively) and, an imaginary brother, all in my quest to continue practicing and playing rounds with friends in other states.
So I thought, if I can ‘sneak out’ of the office on next Tuesday morning, jump on a plane, play a practice round late Tuesday afternoon, and an early one on Wednesday, I would be familiar with the course.
–I, of course, would have to find a ‘sick’ relative in order to miss work for the rest of the week, but pro golf was calling. I HAD to go.
Off I went to New Orleans, confident, eager and excited. I arrived only to find that my clubs hadn’t. I didn’t worry too much; the airlines said they should arrive in an hour on another flight. It’s getting late–but hey, I’ll just skip a few holes and get to those tomorrow. Finally, the clubs showed up and I had wisely used the hour to get my rental car. Nevertheless, I was a little less excited, because I had “Murphy’s Law” on my mind now.
Off to the hotel I drove, with perfect directions and on a beautiful afternoon. At the hotel, I gave my reservation number and asked could I just leave my bags for someone to place in my room because I needed to get to the course. The receptionist asked, “Are you one of the pro golfers?” My chest expanded ever so slightly, and I said, “Yes,” with a smile.
What excitement the airlines whittled, I was back and I knew I had picked the right profession for myself. I was off to my practice round, just a few miles away. I didn’t know any of the other pro’s playing practice rounds, but I just got out there and watched and learned. –Did I tell you this was my first-ever ‘practice round’ for a tournament?
Certainly one guy sensed it and asked, “Come on, go around with me.” He was a tall African American man with a bit of a gut. I thought, hey I can take this guy!! (Did I tell you it was a practice round?) He complimented me on my swing a few times and made a few suggestions, as well.
I watched how he mapped the greens and played additional shots. After about 5 holes he says to me, “My name is Bobby Stroble.” I squinted a bit and said, “I’m Vern Burns.” I walked to the next tee thinking, I heard that name somewhere…. Oh well, I said to myself, as I struck my tee shot. He looked at me and said, “I have things to do and I’ll see you later.” Perplexed this time, I thought, I stroked the shot down the middle what’s wrong with him!!! As he drove off in his cart I had this feeling like, there’s something I should be doing to prepare, but what?
I played the remaining holes by myself and headed back to the hotel. Upon arrival, I notice my bags were still at the front desk. The shift had changed and there wasn’t anyone there from earlier in the day. I asked, “I’d like to pick up my room key, this is my luggage I left earlier.” The new agent looked at me with the coldest face and said–with an Indian accent– “There’s no room for you!!” I knew she didn’t mean it like I was begging to “squat”, or did she?
After much broken English, I find that my room was given away. Well, a convention was in town and I got bumped. Yes, even with a reservation. The conventioneers were paying twice my room rate and the hotel was accommodating them.
Back to the car I went, luggage in tow, looking for a room. I drove around New Orleans for 3 hours with no luck. I decided to pull into a hospital parking structure. I parked on an upper level in the corner and fell asleep. At 3:00 a.m., a guard tapped on the window and said, “You can’t sleep here.” I told him, “I have a family member in intensive care. I want to wait here.” (Another relative I’ve doomed.) He said fine.
At sunrise, I was back at the course for a quick shower in the locker room and a practice round. Then, back to the hospital parking structure after dinner for some sleep.
When I arrived at the course for my tee time, there on the range was my name on a sign in the grass, a fresh pyramid of balls and spectators in the stands facing the range. All of a sudden it hit me “Vern, are you really ready for this!” Doubt had arrived–not a good thing. A fan said, “Hey Vern, go get ‘em.” I didn’t know this guy from Adam, but tipped my hat and went to my spot on the range.
My coaches’ voices were all over the place in my head and I simply tried not to let the party in my head show on the outside. Earl Woods and Herb Triplett was all I could hear, now.
I took a minute, rumbled through my bag, and settled down–so I thought. I picked up a 9 iron to hit a few balls and get loose. I shanked the first one straight right! “What???” I said. I shanked the second one, and the third, and the fourth. Frantic, embarrassed and confused, I put the club down and called my coach Herby on my cell phone right there and frantically told him the problem, where I was and who was watching.
He said, “Put the phone on speaker and sit it near your ball and hit 3 shots.” I did just that, and picked up the phone, Herby then said to me, “Your hands are too fast and you are too nervous. Calm down. It’s just a game.” After his voice and advice, I began to strike the ball like I belonged. Off to the first tee. It’s time!
My name was called, a few claps ensued and I nervously hit a good tee shot. A decent approach left me with a 12 footer for birdie. I hit the putt and it went 8 feet by the hole….Wait, wait! These aren’t the same greens I practiced on for the last two days, I said quietly.
The greens had gone from about a 7 to an 11 on the stamp meter overnight! By the 7th hole, I was afraid to pull the trigger. By the end of the round I had carded an 86…. I was crushed. I called Herby from the car (the Chevrolet Inn) and told him the greens turned to ice! His only reply was, “Welcome to pro golf!” I dreaded the round the next day. As always, the next day came and I shot 42 on the front. I thought, “I need a bigger boat.” I made the turn and on hole #10 I decided, “Let’s just get this over with. I ‘wanna go home!!! I felt like I had a knife in a gun fight!
Then something interesting happened. Not caring and just wanting to go home, I hit fairways and greens at will. No fear of putting and I didn’t care what people thought. I finished my final 9 at 1 under. I didn’t have to call Herby this time, heck the scores were on the Internet! He called me and said, “You have no idea what you’ve done Big Man”. I said to him “Yes I do, I missed the cut!” He said NO, you just learned out how to play competitive golf.”
Below, some photos from my recent album.
All the best,
Vern Burns
