I can now say I know what it's like to find a pot of gold. I met Gary Holland.

Holland, 62, lives in French Lick, Ind., with his wife, Melinda, of 37 years. He's the type of guy who removes his cap the minute he walks into a room. He gives firm handshakes, looks you in the eye and answers direct questions with honest answers. He's a guy who buys a ranch and push-mows five acres of the grass. Which makes him the perfect employee at the new Pete Dye course at the French Lick Resort.

Holland no longer has to work for a living. The gig at the golf course allows him to keep busy and gives him an opportunity to coach some of the younger staff through life. "They're good kids," says Holland. "But some of them could use my help."

Coaching, like mowing, is something Holland loved to do. When he was 25 he was given the boys basketball head coaching job at Springs Valley High School in French Lick. Holland inherited a 6-foot-7 senior by the name of Larry Bird.

"All I did was get him on the bus and get him to the game," says Holland. "He did the rest."

This past April, my friend Kevin Price (a huge basketball fan) and I met Holland at the Springs Valley gym one evening after his day at the golf course. Holland walked us around and told us stories of Larry Legend.

He told us Bird liked to play basketball in jeans because he was so self-conscious about his skinny legs. He said he had to warn the other kids on the team to keep their hands in front of their face at all times or they risked a broken nose from one of Bird's now-famous no-look passes. Even after Holland ended practice, Bird and his teammates would stay and keep shooting. And if he forced the kids out of the gym, they would hide outside and wait for Holland to leave before they would sneak back in to shoot some more. "I would see their little faces in the windows trying to see if I had left yet." Bird averaged 30 points per game his senior year, and that was before there was a three-point line. He scored 55 in one game--and came out with three minutes left in the fourth quarter.

I wasn't sure I would get to speak to Bird about the story I was writing for Golf Digest. But after some help from one of my spiritual coaches and friends, Sports Illustrated writer Jack McCallum, I got the call 10 minutes after I sent Bird the e-mail request.

"Hello," I said. "This is Matt."

"Matt, this is Larry Bird."

"Hello, Larry." And then I scrambled for a pen and paper. Half of me wondered if it was one of my friends playing a practical joke.

Bird gave me about 15 minutes. He told me he was happy for the town of French Lick--that the new Dye course, restored resorts and things like the water park would help create jobs and stimulate the local economy. He said he used to caddie at the Donald Ross course, which is also in French Lick and one of Bird's favorites, and he used to run the hills where the new Dye course was built. Bird played to a 5-handicap before he started suffering from back spasms and before he got the job as president of the Indiana Pacers. He says he doesn't have much time for golf right now. 

The last time Bird was in French Lick was in 2008 for the funeral of Chuck Akers, who died in a car accident.  Akers was the football coach at Springs Valley and a first-tee starter at the Ross course. Bird never played football, but Akers also had a big influence on his life. When Bird showed up with his wife for the funeral at the Springs Valley gym on Larry Bird Blvd., the line to pay his respects was two and a half hours long. Someone came up to Bird and explained that he could be escorted to the front of the line and avoid the wait. Bird declined. He insisted on waiting just like everyone else.

Bird told me how much he appreciated Holland and all that he did for him when he was in high school and beyond. Holland says he and Larry were kindred spirits. "I was in the right place at the right time. I was quiet. Larry was quiet. And we both wanted to win ball games."

In 22 years as Springs Valley's head coach, Holland won six sectional titles. He still thinks back to the 1973-'74 season, when he was just a rookie head coach, working with a kid who had NBA talent, and he wishes he would've had more experience. "I would've used my bench better," he said. "If I had a couple more years of experience I don't think we would've lost in the regional finals. We could've beat Bedford."

--Matty G.

Here's a link to the Away Game in the current issue of Golf Digest about my trip to French Lick, a review of the Pete Dye and Donald Ross courses, and some other things to do while you're in town.

And here's the video interview:

It's hard for me to find time to wash socks let alone tweet, but I figured I'd jump in this Twitter pool, or pond, and swim around for awhile.

For my parents, my immediate family and a few friends (the only ones who care) here's where you can further follow my life on the road: http://twitter.com/WheresMattyG

I'm also on Facebook and use it to promote blogs and articles I write for Golf Digest and Golf World. This is where I post pictures from trips and videos such as: fishing in Minnesota, Porsche Driving School, the walk to the 16th tee at Cypress Point and zip-lining at Kapalua. Search: Matt Ginella and I'll add you as a friend.

Golf Digest, Golf World, occasional spots on Golf Channel, golfdigest.com, Facebook and now Twitter. I know, I know . . . you're not alone. Even my Mom thinks I'm overexposed.

--Matty G.

Andy Samberg and Justin Timberlake, pictured above, performed the hysterical skit, "Mother Lover," on Saturday Night Live the week of Mother's Day.

I wonder if Lucas Glover's win at Bethpage might inspire a "Glover Lover." I think I did.

I've been flooded (more like a light rain) with comments. The common theme: Matt, you were rough on the U.S. Open winner.

Two blog posts ago, in the middle of my (edited) Amsterdam trip report, I used a paragraph to express frustration with Glover's inability to share emotion with the invested audience. I was mostly concerned about myself, which is another common theme. But after such a life-altering victory at Bethpage for Glover, I was disappointed with his lack of react. As a fan of the game, all that I ask is to break me off a slice of the experience regardless of the outcome. And I mean it in the simplest of terms: Thrill of victory or agony of defeat. If you show me no thrill of victory after winning a major championship and a mountain of money, I wish upon you an agonizing defeat.

I don't know Lucas Glover. From what I hear and read he's a good guy and a great stick. Fine. But no apology. I didn't attack him, I attacked his presentation. And he deserved it. Even he apologized for being boring.

What is the source of my venom? Why do I care enough to take time to banter about it?

In addition to my passion to grow the game I love (and get paid to follow), it must be my old photo instincts. As a photo editor for 11 years, I learned early on from Steve Fine, Director of Photography at Sports Illustrated (and countless members of his staff who I consider mentors) that the golfers who photo geeks should pull for wear solids not stripes. And the colors of their clothes are best in shades of red, yellow and blue (not white or black). I learned that critical putts or shots look much better in low sunlight (long shadows) and that it never hurt if players scrolled emotion across their chest as often as ESPN scrolls scores. Quite simply, that formula made for better images and thus, a better looking magazine.

Annika is the sweetest person on earth and I've always considered her cute in golf attire. She's one of only four or five players in the history of producing photo shoots to ever thank the entire crew. And she did it with hugs and hand-written letters. Classy and to be commended. But she has also had a long and distinguished career of boring pictures. She was down the middle of the fairway (no recovery from the rough or bunkers), then on the green, she'd make the putt, crack a smirk just below big sunglasses, she'd threw up a limp-wristed wave and then kissed shiny trophies. If you piled up all of her Golf World covers over the years of being the best, you'd have a healthy substitute to Tylenol PM. Great golfer who made for bad pictures due to lack of visible spirit. She got better as she got older and became more comfortable in front of big crowds. Dominating? Yes. But it was still a long way from entertaining.

There are other golfers who I never want to win again. A Vijay Singh, Henrik Stenson, Geoff Ogilvy, Retief Goosen milkshake of emotion would taste like dry ice. That's why I love Tiger, Sergio, Anthony Kim, Paula Creamer and . . . well . . . there's the rub: there aren't many more to choose from. I give credit to Phil for his lame leap after he sank his winning putt at the 2004 Masters. At least he tried.

I get that the U.S. Open, more than any other tournament, rewards the heartless plodders. But that's why I used to love the Masters (prior to the course changes) because it produced rabbits as winners, not turtles.

On behalf of the Glover lovers, I post this e-mail from one of my favorite readers (and writers)--Bill Cooper:

Holy Hatchet Job, Mattman! Your rabid diatribe against my fellow Clemson alum, Lucas Glover, was a little excessive, wasn't it? You don't have one of those dreaded khaki and white negativity fetishes, do you? Have you read Rick Reilly's sedate and objective viewpoint? Between the two of you, Lucas has been severely de-boned, cauterized, caramelized, skewered, and frickaseed.

Would you have preferred Ross Fischer, or perhaps David Duval? I don't know much about the Fischerman, but is there a more sullen, expressionless, reclusive, and uncommunicative golfer this side of Scott Hoch than Mr. Duval? He makes Lucas look like a Jack Russell terrier with A.D.D. on speed.

Of course, the entire civilized world and portions of New Jersey and Tennessee wanted Phil to win. I was pulling hard for him (and Lucas) too.  But we can't wait forever while Phil is being Phil and going wide left at Winged Foot and missing 3-5 footers at Pinehurst, Shinnecock, and Bethpage. Phil Mickelson usually is in serious contention playing the front nine of the Open's final round, but then turns it over to his evil twin, Mel Phickelson, to play the back. It's the U. S. Freaking Open, not the Beautiful People, G-5 Owners, and Charismatics Invitational.

Sometimes you get your Hogans and Arnies, your Jacks and your Tigers. But occasionally, you get your Jack Flecks, your Ed Furgols, your Michael Campbells, and yes, your Lucas Glovers. I too wish that Lucas would be more flamboyant, more demonstrative and ebullient, and would grin like a mule eating briers; and in a faux Boo channeling, would ride his Scotty Cameron around the 18th green in celebration. However comma we don't get to choose our Open winners; and they shouldn't be forced to apologize for having the temerity to insert themselves into our fantasy. 

Mattman, methinks mayhaps you should have cracked another Heineken (or 11) and biked a little slower through Amsterdam's red light district in an effort to rid yourself of Lucasitis. The forgoing jabs notwithstanding, I always look forward to reading your diatribes and docutribes. Anybody who takes a week off from their hectic travel schedule and goes to freakin' Amsterdam is most worthy individual and not one with whom to trifle. Welcome back, Bill.


Fair enough, Bill. But when Arnold Palmer, who turns 80 this year, threw his hat after he won the Open at Cherry Hills in 1960, he was still building his legendary army one fan at a time. He brought that army on his magical ride through his life as a competitive golfer. And to this day, even at 80, he makes more than most of the current tour pros make on and off the course--combined! It's because Palmer gave us what we wanted. And that goes well beyond just great golf. If sports is entertainment, I don't want tickets to Glover's show. But I'd still pay to see Palmer.

--Matty G.

Do you have a question or comment for me? If so, click here and send it in. I'll try to answer it via e-mail, on this blog or in the pages of the magazine.

Of all the Ambush entries I've received so far, the majority of the itineraries are headed to Myrtle Beach. Pinehurst, Bandon, Pebble, Orlando and the Pan Handle of Fla. are also popular destinations.

A few weeks ago Wayne Coffey, a writer for New York's Daily News, called me and we talked about the benefits of Myrtle Beach. "The Grand Strand" in South Carolina (stretches into North Carolina) has become a hive of four star (and above) affordable golf. Here's a link to Coffey's story which includes a few of my thoughts on why this is a destination to consider for your next trip.

Whatever you do, don't skip Caledonia when you're in town. For more on my recent visit, here's a link to the Away Game.

--Matty G.

We all survived. Six guys used five bikes to navigate the central nervous system of Amsterdam. We had a variety of foods, played soccer in a park, toured the Van Gogh Museum, implemented the buddy system as we wandered the red-light district, but mostly we avoided collisions with buses, trains, boats, trams, scooters and other bike riders. To summarize a few days of close calls: Mike (back right) lost his wedding ring in the park, his wallet and passport in the street, and a Van Gogh print in the airport. And he got it all back.

Collectively we gave Amsterdam high marks. Right from the start, my five friends and I on a bachelor party (J.D.'s--in the red shirt) flew into one of the best airports in the world. In fact, the Amsterdam airport was ranked eighth best airport in the 2009 World Airport Awards. My friend J.C. (back-middle) said he could live there. We were also fans of the train system and the electric trams. The flat topography is conducive to cycling and everyone was doing it. The bike lanes are like cart paths running along streets throughout the most remote sections of the city.

One might assume life in Amsterdam is like a college dorm: slow, filled with tie dyed shirts, smells of incense and that everyone is overweight from eating big bags of chips. And ice cream. And microwavable burritos in a bag. But that is not the case. Not even close. The locals seem to be in great shape. They’re quick on bikes, and quiet as they go about their business. And they won’t stop for the wandering tourist, so look both ways before every step.

While in Amsterdam we never had a bad meal and I believe it’s because it was really good food. The Van Gogh Museum was some much needed culture mixed into an otherwise debaucherous few days away from reality. (Vince was a strange cat, but he sure knew his way around a canvas.)

Amsterdam can be compared to Vegas only in that they’re both cities and any longer than three days in either place is a true test of your guardian angels. Besides that, I’d say Vegas is like practicing off mats at a driving range. Amsterdam is like practicing on grass. Or, say, real turf.

As I mentioned in a previous post, this was a personal journey. I left the clubs and empty notebooks at home. But I did have a brief brush with golf.

I’m not talking about a messy U.S. Open that I tried to follow by way of spotty Internet connections and even spottier TV coverage. Poor Lucas Glover. He deserves a kick in his khaki covered shins. It was ridiculously disappointing for me (and the game of golf) to crown yet another generic major champion dressed in a white hat, white shirt, who gave nothing more than a limp salute to the masses right after he stole the trophy from a pair of potential storybook endings.

Lucas, if I may, you just won a national championship and a pile of cash and you’ve accomplished a chunk of what you’ve been working for since the first day you picked up a club. It’s OK to show some emotion. Drop to your knees, man. Cry like you just watched “The Champ.” Rock back, lift your farmer-tanned arms to the sky and scream, “Any-thing-is-poss-ible.” Throw your headwear like you just don’t care. Run around and high-five a frustrated and muddy Monday gallery--all of them. Fist pump. Kiss kids. Do SOMETHING! Good shots and making putts are only part of your responsibility, and I respect that aspect of what you do. But in order to grow the game beyond Tiger, we need winners with charisma. I’m sure you’re a great guy, but with that new bag of loot, go buy some personality.

J.C.’s pink bike with a black basket that he rented for seven euros a day had more color than Glover. Which brings me back to a story involving golf while I was in Amsterdam.

The cast of assembled characters and I were having a late lunch, drinking tall pints of Heineken (brewed in Amsterdam, it’s much better than the U.S. version) when we noticed a stunning brunette standing on the street wearing tight pants, snappy golf shoes, lugging a bag of clubs over her shoulders. This woman didn’t wait long before an attractive friend on a scooter jumped the curb with an extra helmet.

They were on their way to hit balls and they invited me to get on and go for a ride to the range. They said they needed instruction and that they wanted to play golf in New York some day. In the spirit of male bonding and a commitment to the crew, I passed. And away they went. Gone, like spring.

You’ll notice by a quick glance at the images above that their invitation was safe. A third person on a two-person scooter wasn’t an option otherwise I would’ve ditched my motley posse for a grass range in Amsterdam. And I might still be there.

--Matty G.

My Dad (pictured) didn't give me my official introduction to the game of golf. It was my friend's dad--Al Cohen. One afternoon, when I was maybe ten years old, Mr. Cohen drove his son, the "other Matt" and I to the Sonoma County Fairgrounds for the first nine holes of my life. The other Matt and I were about ten years old and, combined, weighed maybe 100 pounds. We were built like the junior clubs we carried over our shoulders. I can remember teeing the ball up all over the course, and especially in the fairway. It was SO much easier to get the ball airborne with a two-inch headstart. To Mr. Cohen our score was well beyond insignificant. He only cared about the fun meter, and that was high.

I still use a tip Mr. Cohen gave me for chipping around a green. I was having a hard time not decelerating the wedge at impact causing the ball to do a variety of bad things. Mostly not go vary far. I know you're familiar with the results. So Al said, "Don't think about just chipping it to the flag. Think about a short backswing and chipping the ball to the other side of the green." Just the thought helped, and still helps me, control the dreaded decel.

As for the following rounds of young golf with my Dad, I remember a round at Oakmont Golf Club in Santa Rosa, Calif. when he taught me the proper way to tend the flag: step to the side and back and make sure my shadow didn't cover the hole. He also taught me how to rake a bunker and to always take my hat off after the round and before I shake the hands of my playing partners. I still like doing that today regardless of the state of my hat-head. A very underrated tradition of golf in my opinion and a tradition best passed from a father to a son.

And then there was the day my dad let me drive the cart. Mostly I remember learning the term, "ride the brakes."

From the top of a steep hill and headed to the bottom at a good clip, my dad shouted, "Ride the brakes!" I interpreted that to mean slam on the brakes as hard as my little limb could hold the slab of rubber to the floor without breaking a bone in my leg. It was after 1,480 degrees (or more) of rapid rotation as though we were a tea cup at a carnival, and two lives passing before four eyes, that I got the proper meaning of the term: ride the brakes. It means, simply, that the operator of the golf cart applies steady and only firm pressure to the brake pedal, allowing the cart to proceed to the bottom of the hill at a manageable pace. Was I supposed to know that at the tender age of 12? 

Which brings me to my first memory of beating my dad on the course. "Well, the little s___ finally did it," is what I think he said to my mom. My Dad has always carried about an 18 to 25 handicap. And thus the start of a lifetime negotiation of strokes. One that, within reason and respectfully, but not without a fair amount of resistance and ridicule, that I'm always willing to lose.

My dad was a civil engineer for his professional life and he's faster than a calculator on any and all things relating to numbers. But he's also a very good writer. So in honor of Father's Day I asked him to write something for my blog.

This, I thought would be appropriate, because my parents recently moved to San Diego, a few miles from one of my two older brothers (I'm the youngest of five). My dad and my mom (married 51 years) have a little private nine hole course off their backyard (they share it with the neighbors of a gated community. It's very nice. I've played it once. It's short, narrow, well-kept and ridiculously cheap. I think we dropped $2 per player in a box on the first tee. My Dad has been telling me tales of getting better, winning club championships even, and a guy he plays with who has a hard time seeing and yet he has over 40 aces. And that's just one of several characters he has made friends with in their first year in Southern California. My Dad even has my Mom playing a game she hasn't touched since they lived in Chile back in the '60s. So golf is helping keep both of them young and active. And it has given my Dad and I countless memories of life on fairways (no more tees) as spectacular as the short grass (and long grass) of Spyglass Hill and Pebble Beach. And there will be more. More rounds for $2 at the short course in his backyard. 

So this is what my dad turned in for his Father's Day assignment to write a guest column poem to post on my blog. It's his ode to golf by John Ginella:

Dear Matty G,

We all remember where we were when.....
    
     Our children were born
     JFK was killed
     On 9-11
     When we took up golf
     Joined a club
     & made our first eagle, or,
     Hole in one (same thing)
     We got to play with our wife (on the course, that is)
     Played golf with all our sons
     Played a Saturday "bandit" game with friends
     Watched Tiger roar through Augusta for his first Masters jacket
     Retired to a place where we could play daily
     Won a low net club championship, and,
     Got our name on a plaque, and,
     Know what it's like to be tagged a "sandbagger"
     Play now with the over 55 group (mostly over 75)
     'Set up' a 4some paired with an old (retired) pro vs two sons
     Laughed when sons discovered the 'set up'--retired pro can still play
     Play with 90+ year olds (with eye trouble) that have 43 Aces
     Host three guests for a round at a cost of $4 per guest, per 18, then,
     Take $1.40 each from two guests in side bets
     That's about it except to use the time on the course to brag a little
     (a lot actually) On our great group of Sons and Daughters.

Love, Pop


Here's a picture of the four Ginella boys last fall when my dad turned 75. His birthday is Nov. 11, 1933--that's 11/22/33. Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there . . . especially Papa John.

--Matty G.

. . . when I'm in the area?

It’s on the list of frequent questions. Along with: B) Where should we go next? C) What’s the best deal? D) Is Pebble worth the money? E) What’s your favorite course? And, F) Can I have your job?

Starting at the top: A) Pine Needles, Pasatiempo or Forest Dunes; B) Bandon Dunes; C) Northern Michigan in June; D) Not until it comes back down to $300; E) Bethpage Black for public and Cypress Point for private. F) Put the gun down and take two giant steps backward.

This question came in this week (I hope it’s not too late) from Shawn Van Gordon of Spokane, Wash.: My Dad and I are driving Friday night from Bandon Dunes, Ore., up the coast toward Tillamuck. We plan on driving a couple hours Friday evening after golf at Bandon and finding a place to stay and play golf again in the morning. Any suggestions for a good golf course and decent place to stay a couple hours drive north of Bandon Dunes, keeping us on the coastline? We’re hoping to stay and play for about $100 per person--max.

Shawn, I’ve been to Bandon and just got back from Central Oregon, but I’m not familiar with where you're headed. So I checked with some of most trusted Oregon contacts and here’s what they she said: “Plan on playing Sandpines. The course was awarded best new in 1993 (pictured above--next to the word, "Sandpines.") Very good pricing for being right along the coast. It’s in the town of Florence, which is about two hours north of Bandon Dunes. Another course in that same area they could play would be Ocean Dunes."

I went to their websites. Sandpines is $89 for a green fee from July-Sept. (Phone is: 800-917-4653.) Ocean Dunes is $42 for May-Oct. (Phone is: 541-997-3232.)

There appears to be a bunch of lodging options. Here's a link to details.

I hope this helps. Let me know how it goes.

--Matty G.
 

If I was on Twitter I'd tweet: Goneagain--NY;LONDON;VIENNA;AMSTERDAM+(bachelorparty)-(golfclubs)=personaltripImightnotsurvive.

I'll be checking in on the Open via some undisclosed bar where I'll struggle to communicate with the natives. I'll miss watching the big boys take on my favorite public course in the country, but this is a trip I couldn't miss (for obvious reasons).

I leave you with this--a hole-by-hole of a round at Bethpage in October.

--Matty G.

Here's a letter I received from P.J. Jankowicz of Hillsborough, N.J.: Hey Matt: Love your column! I noticed on your handicap that you played Bayonne Golf Club (I assume it's the one in New Jersey?)  How was the course?  Does it live up to the hype? Any thoughts/stories would be appreciated! Have you played Liberty National in Jersey City? I had a chance to play there in May and it was the best golf experience I have ever had. The course was in outstanding shape, our caddy was awesome, and I hit some great shots and played pretty good. I'm interested in seeing what the pros will do there at the Barclays--what do you think?  Again, any thoughts are greatly appreciated. Keep up the good work!

P.J., Thank you for the note. I did play Bayonne (in New Jersey) recently and I played it not too long ago with Davis Sezna and the owner/designer of Bayonne, Eric Bergstol. Here's the story I wrote about that day, which was appropriately posted on 9/11 of last year. If you take the time to read it, you'll see why.

Ever since Bergstol finished the clubhouse at Bayonne, I've loved the place. I still argue the waste area in the middle of the fourth hole doesn't make sense. I vote it should be eliminated so a big hitter can swing a driver there and potentially go for the green in two (assuming the tee shot is straight) but that's just me (and I don't get a vote). There are also a few bumps in some greens that I'd fix (most notably on the first green). But from the seventh hole on, it's a big league ballpark. My favorite holes are: 7 (first time you really hit driver), 8, 11, 12, 13, 14, love the short par 4-15th, 16, 17 and 18. See what I mean? There are a lot of good holes and it's in great shape. And the quality of food is a bonus to the day.

One observation: the American flag flying near the clubhouse looks bigger than Lady Liberty out there on the water. Being from California, I'm still baffled at how little she is. From angles of pictures you see as a kid and no sense of perspective, I always thought she was as tall as the Empire State Building. I had no idea the plastic statues you can buy from Manhattan street vendors are (almost) actual size.

You know more than I do about Liberty National. I haven't been there yet and passing on what I've heard, considering you've actually been there and give a brief report, seems pointless. I'm also eager to see if the pros like it.

The Barclays tournament dates are Aug. 25-30. Here's a link if you want to buy tickets.

--Matty G.

I’m rolling up on an unsuspecting buddies trip again in the next few weeks. It'll be the 16th Golf Digest Ambush and the concept continues to gain speed and strength in the form of attention and sponsors. In addition to drinks, food or free rounds of golf, I’m passing out TaylorMade balls, hats and Callaway uPro range finders. I’ve read through 6,000 entries, Ambushed over 400 golfers in 12 different states and seeing the reaction of each group (watching grown men cry) never gets old. In the halls of the office, I think we sometimes take for granted the impact a storied publication like Golf Digest (59 years and running) has on golfers and specifically, some of the ambushed. It seems everyone I meet is a "lifetime subscriber” and they can recite quotes from favorite writers such as Jenkins, Diaz, Kindred or Verdi.

The latest Ambush (#14) is out in this month’s magazine. Here’s a link to the story of Dave Walker, his family, some relentless friends and the Bristol Harbour Resort in Canandaigua, N.Y. Poor Glen Wilson. He sent in the itinerary but missed the actual Ambush. He was out buying beer. Here’s a link to the Ambush video:

As I’m reading through this month’s batch of entries, I pass on some of the names and clips from the itineraries I’m considering:

John Barry of Virgina Beach will be with 52 friends in Myrtle Beach for their annual golfathon. They’re playing Long Bay, Litchfield Plantation, Willbrook Plantation, Blackmoor Golf Club and the West Course at Myrtle Beach National. They have 12 people in their group of 100 members turning 40 this year.

Brian Wise of Montgomery, Ill. is leading 12 former Iowa Hawkeye football players on three nights at Lake Geneva in Wisc. “Four rounds of golf, one day on the pontoon boat and 20 cases of beer,” writes Wise. The cost is $564 per person. “Tax included.”

Tim Graves of Binghamton, N.Y., says that his trip got started because he kept complaining to his wife about how he and his friends had become so spread out across the country. “She couldn’t take it anymore,” says Graves. “So she worked out a trip as a surprise for my 30th birthday.” Ten years later the 24 players have a name (the GBO—the Graves Boys’ Outing) and they have a cost-effective trip. They get three rounds of golf, two nights of lodging at the Binghamton Regency, prizes and a “cash match” for $290 per player.

I may join up with Mark Madek from Oscoda, Mich. They have 88 guys meeting at Lakewood Shores for the Fellowship Invitational. “The best thing about the tournament is the friends you make through the years,” says Madek. “We have several generations playing together: dads with sons; grandfathers with grandsons. We experience life's lessons and memories that last a lifetime. On Friday morning we have a bagpiper escort the group to the first tee for the honorary first tee shot. Last year my two bothers and I hit simultaneously in honor of my father, who passed away in March.”

Tyler Trofholz of Schuyler, Neb. wrote in on behalf of his father, Dana. “The name of the tournament started as G.A.N.T.,” wrote Trofholz. “This meant, Golf Across Nebraska Tournament.” It started as four friends from the ’68 graduating class of Schuyler Central High School who would scramble in two-man teams for a trophy. This year is the 25th anniversary and the group has grown to include additional friends, significant others and kids. About 50 players will compete this year at Schuyler Municipal Golf Course in what is now called the Johnny Kriv GANT Memorial. “The tournament was renamed a few years ago when one of the original four members of the group passed away.”

And then there’s a group cashing in on one of the best deals in golf. Like the Big Texan Steak Ranch off Interstate 40 where the deal is: finish the “The Texas King” in an hour and the meal is free. The Texas King is: a 72-ounce steak; bread roll with butter; baked potato; ranch beans; shrimp cocktail and salad. Which is a similar offer to what they throw on your golf plate at Bandon Dunes. Play all three top 20 public courses in the country under the same sun and the third round is free. (All-in would be about $350, plus caddie fees.)

Later this month Byron Kolding’s foursome from Bristow, V.A. will tee off at the Bandon Dunes course at 6:00 a.m., followed by an 11:10 a.m. at Pacific Dunes and a 4:10 p.m. on Bandon Trails. “I’m sure we will feast after that,” says Kolding. (Four Texas Kings please . . .) Their average age is 60 and they figure they’ll walk 12 miles and hope to hit less than 300 shots each.

A lot of good trips to choose from this month. Thanks again for all of your interest in the Ambush.

Do you have a trip you want to submit for an upcoming Ambush? If so, click here and tell us about it. You never know, you and your group of buddies might be next.

--Matty G.