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Rain at the Golf Course

Chick Hernandez, his Comcast SportsyNet crew and I were waiting outside the scorer's shack to interview Bubba Watson. Chick was going to interview him about the rough, or his drives, or something, and I was going to ask him about his pink head covers. Then Armageddon arrived, in the form of a heavy rain. Chick and friends commandeered a golf cart, and then hailed me one as well, which led to my tape recorder (bearing interviews about the best hair cuts on tour) falling out of my pocket and exploding on the ground. Golf fans clustered under trees.

Then I ran into The Post's sports editor and famous columnist Tom Boswell, making haste back to the media center, where the air conditioning is set to "freeze." En route, Boz told fun stories about people being hit by lightning. There are 16 or 47 Washington Post employees out here, but I'm feeling understaffed. Like, I'd like an assistant to fetch me some coffee.

Did you know you're not allowed to make cell phone calls on the course? Well, it's true. In fact, you're not even supposed to have a cell phone. I attempted to discreetly send text messages from my pocket, and failed. But there are some AT&T tents that allow you to make all the calls you'd like, provided you have several corporate logos tattooed on your thighs.

Play has already been resumed. Sources indicate that Tiger is being followed by a mob seven-deep, including about five Washington Post employees. Instead of joining them, I chose to ask obscure golfers coming off 18 where they eat in Washington. Charley Hoffman is obsessed with Rio Grande. Craig Barlow is having dinner at Morton's.

My colleagues won't stop talking. I need some of those marshalls to hold their hands in the air so I can concentrate. I saw one marshall holding his hands in the air for silence on No. 10, but then there was the noise of duct taping from some undisclosed location. He held his hands higher. The duct taping continued. He went yet higher. If the duct tape came back out, the poor marshall would have somersaulted down the hill.

Official Caps Beat Writer Tarik El-Bashir reports that the biggest house he's ever seen is located near the front gate of Congressional. He thinks the house is worth $5 million or so. He says they're charging $50 to park in their yard. He says every space was filled. But he keeps making phone calls about the Capitals. This is a golf course, not a hockey rink. But he insists that some players will file for "arb" today.

Speaking of Barlow, he's playing for the first time in four months. He shot even par, which was a pretty good accomplishment. When I don't play for four months, I go from a 30 handicap to a 50 or so. Barlow said his obstacles are more mental.

"You take your nerves for granted," he told me. "When you're playing a lot, every week, you learn how to deal with your nerves. Today I felt a little uneasy."

This surprised me; I figured after a decade on Tour, nerves weren't really an issue.

"I mean, I don't feel like I'm going to throw up or anything," he clarified.

I've been here for two days, and both times, a PGA pro has talked to me about vomiting. Who says golfers are boring?

By Dan Steinberg  |  July 5, 2007; 2:11 PM ET
Categories:  Golf  
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