“I love you whether you win or lose. But it would be nice if you won.”
— Laura Norman, to her husband Sunday.
TURNBERRY, Scotland — “Four, three . . .
Greg Norman was squaring off on his approach shot. He was in the middle of the 18th fairway, the final hole, and the massive British Open crowd was pushing at the ropes and counting down.
“Two . . .
Norman hunched slightly, bringing his club head to within a grass blade of the ball.
“One . . .
TURNBERRY, Scotland — The British Open ended here Saturday, a day earlier than expected. The cup and the check were handed over to the obvious winner — the Ailsa course.
“Thank you,” said the greens.
“A real thrill,” added the rough.
“Lovely,” chimed the wind and rain.
What a performance. Not one golfer under par. Not one golfer at par. How’s that for defending your honor? And don’t say, “Ah, it can rain anywhere.” The weather is as much a part of this 83-year-old Scottish temptress as her tees.
TURNBERRY, Scotland — Yes, I admit it. The very first thing I did, after driving two hours to this craggy coastal golf course, past the cliffs and the firth and the moist green countryside, and the cows and the sheep and the Scottish man in the plaid skirt — not that I think skirts are bad for men, necessarily, but why plaid? — the very first thing I did was get onto the fairways of this 115th British Open and see if I could find Jack Nicklaus.
I know, I know.
MOSCOW — So I wanted to jog around the Kremlin. What’s the big deal? I mean, you gotta jog somewhere, right?
“You’re insane,” a colleague said.
“Hope you like Siberia,” another said.
“Boys, boys,” I said, slipping on my running shoes, “the Kremlin is just a big building. Buildings are meant to be jogged around.”
They shook their heads.
“Nice working with you,” one said.
“Can I have your bags?” another said.
MOSCOW — So there I was, racing through downtown Moscow in an illegal car, with a frantic U.S. wrestler in the backseat, and a frantic Russian translator in the front, and visions of a quick death dancing in my head.
But let’s back up a minute. . . .
As some of you know, I do a morning sports radio bit on WLLZ (98.7-FM). And on Monday, I had this idea. Why not get Andre Metzger — a Grand Rapids native, and one of America’s best amateur wrestlers — to talk live from Moscow?
MOSCOW — See Ted run. See Ted run to Russia. See Ted shell out $35 million, put his arm around a Soviet official, and raise a vodka glass to their new sports festival.
“To Mr. Turner!” toasts the Russian.
“To my Commie buddy!” says Ted.
See Ted tour. See Ted tour Moscow. See Ted stop at Lenin’s tomb, go inside, view the embalmed body, and come back out.
“What do you think?” someone asks.
“He looks good,” Ted says. “A little pale, maybe. . . . “
MOSCOW — The flags came out. The cheer began. “U-S-A! U-S- A!” In hockey we had done it. On the track we had done it. In the ice rink we had done it. Now it was women’s basketball. The buzzer sounded and Teresa Weatherspoon threw the ball to the ceiling and jumped into a bouncing mob of teammates. The Goodwill Games final was history, and it wasn’t even close; 83-60.
We had done it again.
“Why does beating the Soviets mean so much?” someone asked Anne Donovan, the center on the U.S. team, as she waved an American flag.
MOSCOW — He was the only black man in Red Square, and he carried a backpack and the easy gait of an athlete. His bearded face and gap-toothed smile were quite recognizable, and had this been Disneyland or Rockefeller Center he would have been surrounded, flashbulbed and poked with pens.
The only newsletter dedicated to updates, exclusive content, and giveaways of Mitch's books!
