Bratton Brotherhood

By Matt Ginella June 2009

The rates always went up in March, so one Friday in late February the Bratton brothers, Joe and Bobby, invited five of their friends in Birmingham, Ala., down for a weekend in Gulf Shores, where their father owned an 800-square-foot, one-bathroom "box." They would play three rounds of golf, drink cheap beer, play cards, laugh and log some memories.

The year was 1970. Nixon was president, 36 cents got you a gallon of gas, and the green fee at the only course in town was $5, with cart. They didn't know it then, but Bobby and Joe had just participated in the first of 40 annual Bratton Brother Invitationals.

Four decades later, Bobby, 65, and Joe, 69, have gray hair, longer belts, shorter swings and a slower step after sundown, but you wouldn't know they've aged a day judging from their spirit. Joe has played every round in the 40 BBI tournaments. One year he had bypass surgery in October and played in the BBI in February. Bobby has missed only one trip, because he had won a boondoggle to Rio that conflicted with the BBI dates. He called Hugh Johnson, tournament chairman since 1976, and tried to get the dates of the tourney changed (thinking with the last name Bratton he might have some pull with the one-man committee). No chance. "Bobby could've skipped Rio," Johnson says.

An expert at executing an annual event, Johnson, 67, says the key to a successful trip is simple: "It's not a democracy. I make a decision and stick to it." This year's BBI had 90 players, but there have been as many as 150.

Over the years 467 guys have played in the BBI, including 11 father-son combinations. Twenty participants have passed away, each one receiving a memorial on the website that Jeff Graham manages (bbitour.com). This is also where BBI members post trip details, photos and the tournament history.

Greg Waldrop, one of the seven original members of the group, submitted this year's itinerary to Golf Digest. I ambushed them at Peninsula Golf & Racquet Club, handing out drink tickets to all. They redeemed the tickets with the day's unanimous MVP, Tammy Taylor, the beverage-cart attendant. Taylor made an estimated $500 in tips distributing various forms of swing oil, showed off a heart-and-chili-pepper tattoo (lower stomach) and was a late invite to participate in the team picture.

In a group full of individual swings, the oddest belongs to the best player. Richard Poff was the defending champion of the first flight, but his pre-shot routine is as long as a par 6 and twitchier than a tuning fork.

The class clown of the BBI is a guy they call JV, whose real name is John Vanderford. JV used to work for Bobby Bratton, but Bratton had to let him go -- on his birthday. JV was playing too much golf. "We were members of the same club, and I could see he was posting all of his scores," Bratton recalls.

But there were no hard feelings.

One week later, JV made the trip to the BBI.

"Bobby's like a father to me," Vanderford says. "And to be honest, I had quit two years before he let me go."

What really made Bratton mad: "He wasn't getting any better."

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