Kenny Perry, arguably the best player on the PGA Tour right now, could be doing what I’m doing today: schlepping to the airport, shuffling through the Space Mountain-long security lines, getting wedged into a plane, flying 7 hours and 35 minutes to Manchester, England, renting a car the size of a watermelon slice, driving 48½ terrifying miles to Royal Birkdale on the left side of the road and doing it from our passenger’s side, and then checking in to my non-air-conditioned hotel.
At least there’s the lukewarm beer and the cucumber sandwiches.
Love makes you do funny things, and I’ve always had a crush on the British Open, the Claret Jug and the moonscape. In fact, I’d marry any one of the four majors. Not Perry — he and the majors are barely speaking to each other.
Proof? The very nice people at the John Deere Classic, where Perry won Sunday for his third victory in his last five starts, offered him a leather-upholstered, first-class seat on a nonstop Sunday night flight to Manchester. He’d drive his courtesy car to the Quad City International Airport, have his luggage and clubs loaded directly on the same 767 charter jet used by the Dallas Mavericks, be whisked through prearranged security and customs screening, get tucked into his comfy seat with the individual DVD player, eat two full meals, recline and sleep. Once in England, he’d be escorted to a private customs area, where he’d be greeted shortly thereafter by a driver who would take him directly to Royal Birkdale.