A dozen impressions of the Challenge

6. The other guys. Our four semi-finalists play the course the day before. It takes them seven hours! Ross Troike, the FedEx pilot from Memphis, shoots 95; Erik Norton, the MIT grad, shoots 99; Matt Rice, the LA cop, barely misses breaking 100-he shoots 101; Philip Dembure has 106 (See photo below). They all walk every step of Atkinson's round. Norton keeps count of shots on a home-made scorecard. "They've got Lauer wrong," he says to me on the 9th. "He should be one more over par." Sure enough, two holes later, Lauer's score is adjusted. That one shot will be important. Norton bet his buddies in Cambridge and New York that he could break 100, with proceeds going to the Dystonia charity of contestant Rick Staab, one of 11 semi-finalists, and his 10-year-old son, Tyler, who has the Parkinson-like disease. Norton's round will send some $25,000 to Tyler's cause. Watching John, Norton is concerned for his stamina. "I was kicking myself for not telling him to walk on the path they cut from the tee to the fairway," he says. As Erik learned the day before, even walking in the kikuyu rough is exhausting.

From left: Ross Troike, the FedEx pilot from Memphis; Erik Norton, the MIT grad; Matt Rice, the LA cop; and Philip Dembure.
Photo By Robert Benson.

Troike, the finalist fighter pilot who like all of the finalists walked the course with John, meeting the USGA starter Read near the 16th tee. Read asks Troike to recite the essay that got him into the finals, arguably the best of the 56,374 submitted. "Tiger doesn't know real pressure. He's the most talented golfer the world has ever seen, but ... pressure is staring at the back of an aircraft carrier on a pitch-black night after flying for two hours over Iraq knowing there's only enough fuel for one attempt to land or you're swimming in the Persian Gulf. Men who choke on the course are still breathing afterward. I can break 100." When Troike is done, Read is wet-eyed. Troike's son, Wyatt, wearing an autograph-covered Open hat, and daughter Marin, a golfer herself, beam. Dad's all right

7. The parents. Romo's, Timberlake's and Atkinsons's parents follow along like it was a junior club championship. Given the limelight John finds himself in today, his Dad's recollection of his son's early television (and then sales) career is funny. "John used to sweat heavily when he was nervous, you know, like the anchor in that movie (Broadcast News)," he says. When John learned of an operation that could curtail the problem, he had it. "He just took off from there. It changed everything." Today, there's not a sign of sweat on John's light blue shirt. Romo's parents tell of the Christmas day when Tony got his first set of golf clubs. There was snow that day, but Tony took clubs and ball outside and tried them out, putting one ball through a neighbor's window. These were kids once. And like most golfers, they still are.

8. The gallery. Among the couple thousand people watching are two executives from major golf companies. They do a Darrell-survey-like count on the amateurs' equipment. It was a clean sweep for both the club and ball companies involved; each went four-for-four. (You can guess). One exec thinks it might be worth promoting. One thinks it might be counter-productive, given that these are only amateurs, not such great ones at that. But today who really cares?

9. The "photographer". Atkinson on the 14th tee, having just made triple at the endless par-5 13th, freezes mid-swing before hitting his ball, pointing suddenly to a photographer, Tiger-like, and saying, "not during my swing!" It's a spoof, of course. Atkinson high-fives caddy Bob Rotella, and Butch Harmon nearly falls down laughing.

10. The rules. Dick Rugge, the USGA's equipment guru walks along the uphill 12th hole, I wonder if Rugge thinks this might be the final argument for "bifurcation", that is, having two sets of equipment regulations, one for recreational play and one for high-level competition. After 12, Atkinson, Lauer, Romo and Timberlake were 31, 19, 8 and 20 over par respectively. Rugge is said to be open to bifurcation in the past, though the USGA executive committee has not been. Somehow, paradoxically, the round proves both sides: Clearly we amateurs don't play the same game as the professionals do. And just as clearly we love the game exactly as they do, sometimes more so. How do you bifurcate a heart?