Understanding the golfer's internal alarm clock - narrative - golf courses with unusual names

A week before this year's Masters, Ernie Els and Sergio Garcia dropped by Augusta National to play a practice round together. They were joined by a member of the club and by a friend of Els', and I tagged along as an observer. On the ninth fairway, Els' friend told me he had been so excited about getting to play at Augusta that he had woken up at 4 that morning and been unable to fall back asleep. He added, "I told Ernie about it later, and he said that he was awake then, too."

Imagine loving your job so much that thinking about it gives you insomnia. Actually, I can easily imagine that, at least as far as golf is concerned. The night before my brother and I played in our first member guest, I began checking my watch a little after 2 a.m. I lay still with my eyes shut tight for what seemed like an eon, then opened them and pressed the button again: 2:47. Our tee time was 1 p.m. With nothing to do at home, we went to his club at 8 and spent the next five hours at the range.

Even now, a dozen years after I took up the game, waiting for golf feels like waiting for Santa Claus. During the season, I set my alarm for 6 o'clock Sunday mornings--unnecessarily, because I'm usually awake and squinting at the dial by 5 or 5:30. I click off the clock minutes before it is supposed to buzz and tiptoe downstairs without waking my wife. I turn on the coffeepot and, if I don't hear thunder or see frost, I achieve a state of transcendental contentment. And no matter how early I get to the club, I inevitably find at least a couple of guys already loitering on the putting green, waiting for the hands on the clubhouse clock to crawl around to 7:30.

Tuesdays and Fridays are the hardest. My friends and I have a standing game at 5 on Tuesday evenings, and another at 1:30 Friday afternoons. As I sit at my desk trying to pay attention to my work, my eyes keep being drawn to the time display on my computer screen. The hours between now and golf dissolve at a geological pace, and my yearning for the first tee begins to feel like a smoker's yearning for a cigarette. I like having big, non-negotiable deadlines on those days, because I know for a fact I'll get the work done on time. How could I not? If I didn't, I wouldn't be able to play.

To comment, send e-mails to: owen@golfdigest.com

RELATED ARTICLE: What's in a name?

Tired of playing courses named Pine This or Lake That? Here are 10 course names with a tad more creativity.

The Fortress

(Frankenmuth, Mich.)

It just sounds good saying "I parred in at The Fortress."

Man O' War Golf

(Myrtle Beach, S.C.)

Named after the famous thoroughbred but stings like a jellyfish. Water is in play on 16 of 18 holes.

Minne Monesse Golf Club

(Grant Park, Ill.)

Better duck, Monesse used to hold the major-league record for most times hit by a pitch.

The Creek at Hard Labor

(Rutledge, Ga.)

Hard Labor gives new meaning to playing a six-hour round and carding a 103.

Purgatory Golf Club

(Noblesville, Ind.)

The owner's uncle is a priest who came out and blessed the course.

Bayonet at Puppy Creek

(Raeford, N.C.)

Admit it, you cried when Old Yeller died. Who doesn't love a puppy?

Inn of the Mountain Gods Golf Course

(Mescalero, N.M.)

Tribal spokesman said he would consult a medicine woman for the origin of the name. That's not something you hear every day.

Elephant Rocks Golf Club

(Williams, Ariz.)

Named after a nearby national park. But feel free to insert joke here.

The Sportsman of Perdido Golf Resort

(Pensacola, Fla.)

Sounds like a chapter in Don Quixote. It was sold and is now called Perdido Bay Golf Club. Too bad.

Mad Russian Golf Course

(Milliken, Colo.)

Former owner was of Russian descent and friends say he is a little loopy. Hence ... (See page 62)

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