Unbeknownst to me at the time, when Sir Connery landed at the airport the day before, he held a press conference to extend his greetings to the great city of Prague and announced he would be playing golf the following morning at Karlstejn. This press conference became abundantly apparent to me when I arrived at the course to find hundreds of press corps from around the country (and neighboring countries), to witness one of the most famous actors on planet play golf (and no, I’m not talking about Tiger Woods). There was so much interest in watching Sir Connery play, that when we arrived on the seventh green the flag had been replaced with 007—but, I’m getting ahead of myself…
And so there we were, Sir Connery and me. He sized me up, a whopping 6’2” from USA, probably 200 pounds with all of the rain gear on (and soaking wet)—vs this larger than life 72 year old (at the time) standing at 6’4” 220 pounds (not even soaking wet)—even having me by 33 years in age, he still could have kicked my tail with his good arm tied behind his back. But, instead of being called out to put my dukes up, he challenged me with much stronger language—“Danny-boy, swing away.”
Being asked to put up my dukes would have actually been an easier challenge for me. Here I am with one of the most famous personalities in the world, and I am being ordered to tee off first. I’m thinking to myself, “No problem… if it was 80 degrees and sunny! No problem, if I wasn’t standing here with 20 pounds of rain gear on in miserable golfing conditions! No problem, if I had just one minute to warm up! No problem, if there weren’t hundreds of press corps surrounding the tee box pointing their cameras at me (like I’m Tiger Woods on the 18th green at Augusta on the final day with a one stroke lead!) – C’mon man!
So, I man-up, take out my golf ball and decide to tee the ball higher than usual just to make certain I don’t top the ball. I had my best poker face going, and thankfully, so much rain gear on that you could not see me shaking in my golf shoes. I took a few ceremonial practice swings, made sure my form looked as though I really was a golfer… then took my place behind that no-good, mood spoiling, despicable little golf ball. I addressed it, making everyone think I actually had control over where this golf ball was actually going to go. Then, I fixed my stance and locked my sights on the ball. I slowly took back the club… so far so good… I reminded myself to keep my head down and eye on the ball… so far so good… to follow all the way through… mmm-hmmm… breathe—no! forget breathing, there’s no need to breath during a golf swing… then I let ‘er rip. And let me tell you something, I swung this club like a Paul Bunyan swings an ax—like a man (or maybe more like a lumber jack). Nonetheless, we’re talking club head SPEED. I always say, don’t hate the game, hate that miserable little golf ball—and I did, so much so that I was going to knock the cover right off of it.
Thinking back, I don’t know if it was because of all the rain gear I was wearing at the time, or because of the cold and rain or maybe it was because of the sound of hundreds of cameras going off as I connected with the ball… (And why they were taking photos of me, I’ll never really understand), but the fact is I never heard my club head make contact with the ball. One thing I knew for sure, and I am proud to say, is that I did something I rarely do under pressure golf; I kept my head down and eye on the ball all the way through impact. So, by virtue of seeing the grass in front of me where a golf ball once stood; meant that I did in fact hit the ball off the tee. Now it was time to look up and see exactly where I hit the ball. Hmmm… not seeing anything… one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two (still looking), one-thousand-three… hmmm—should have landed by now… and then there it was, clear as a grey, rainy day…
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