Golf Guy Road Trip to Kiawah Island

The following is a timeline by the Golf Guy and his buddies from a recent road trip to Kiawah Island Resort for a wild Fantasy Football Draft weekend and golf extravaganza.

Under auspicious Orlando skies, and armed only with a bag of chips, a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a luke warm orange Fanta, I point my car north and start my way up I-95 to Kiawah Island for this year’s fantasy football draft. Kiawah Island? Not Vegas? Not Myrtle Beach? Nope, Kiawah. That is what last year’s champion decided on. Win the league and you pick the spot for the following year’s draft extravaganza.

We have a big house secured for seven of the 12-man league who will be attending this year’s festivities. Excuses for five of those not attending range from "adopting a kid in Russia" (best, most legit excuse ever?), to "promised my wife five years ago that I wouldn’t attend fantasy draft on her 40th birthday" (worst, most pathetic excuse ever?).

12:07 a.m. – Pull over just past Savannah, Ga. into a Days Inn in the middle of nowhere. Tall sign from the highway says, "$36.95 a night." He instead charges me $42. I try to muster up an argument about what the sign says but to no avail. He gives me a look that says, "I know you’re tired and I know you are not going to get back in your car, get back out onto the highway just to save a few bucks." He’s got me. And I hate him for it.

Wednesday

10:30 a.m. – Making my way toward Kiawah as I am getting in a day early to check out the island and give a ‘scouting report’ to everyone that’s coming in the following day. A contact has offered the Golf Guy a sweet ocean view suite at the Sanctuary, Kiawah Island Resort's exclusive hotel. Golf Guy and exclusive are rarely mentioned in the same sentence.

Seeing this sign makes the Golf Guy giddy with excitement

12:40 p.m. – Check into room. The lady at the desk asks if I would like for her to "make arrangements" for dinner later that evening. Awkward silence. I look behind me figuring she’s now talking to someone else. Go up to room and check out ocean view, gift basket (surprisingly didn’t get a gift basket at the Days Inn, come to think of it), king-sized bed, awesome shower, ect. Feel overwhelmed and start thinking I might end up sleeping in the tub, as to not mess up this glorious, majestic bed. I don’t deserve this but am very appreciative of my contact.

1:30 p.m. – Begin my ‘scouting report’ as I start driving around the island taking pictures, talking to locals and checking out the house we will be staying in. Quickly realize that if I wasn’t the ‘Golf Guy’ and instead were, maybe, the ‘Stock Market Hedge Fund Guy’ I would come here every year for vacation. The place is awesome. Beautiful. Serene.

6:15 p.m.– With cocktail in hand, walk over to one of the island’s five courses to spend some time on the putting green. Not to practice per say, but just to spend some quality alone time doing what I love more than anything – hitting putt after putt after putt. Long putts, mid-range putts, shorts putts. Watching a golf ball roll on a well-manicured green literally warms my soul. Too deep? Maybe, but the truth.

Thursday

12:45 p.m. – Check into house and spend an anxiety-filled couple of hours unpacking (I gangstered the Master bedroom – more on that later) and making a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies (who doesn’t like the smell of fresh baked cookies to start off a weekend?).

3:35 p.m. – First wave of arrivals filter in the front door. Handshakes and fist bumps are offered and a few comments about my thoughtfulness to make cookies. I’m already gunning for Draft Weekend MVP.

3:55 p.m. – Four us make our way to Osprey Point Golf Course for a quick nine holes to get the weekend rolling. Two-on-two, scramble format. It takes just a few holes before a major argument breaks out – rules question over OB stakes. If I had a telestrator I would show how stupid this argument was – a first-grader who had never played golf could have figured it out within five seconds. But this is not how things work with this group. Even the most levelheaded member of our group gets into the fray.

7:05 p.m. – Standing on the ninth tee the match is over, which gives us a chance to soak in the beauty of the golf course. The topography is pure southeastern United States – mostly flat with gnarly trees and devilish marshes at every turn. The front nine is a nice blend of long and short, left and right, wet and dry. The Golf Guy is most impressed, however, with the condition of the course. The bunkers are perfect and the greens putt like linoleum. Not a bad complement to the Ocean Course. Not bad at all.

7:30 p.m. – Finish up the round with my partner and I winning the skins format. In a rout. Interesting development – worst athlete in the group shows signs of semi-decent golf game. He also happens to have the biggest head west – or east – of the Mississippi. I reckon it's close in size to that of a Volkswagen. Or an elephant. He also takes this good-ribbing nature in stride.

 Replace "Alligators" with "Golf Guy." Same rules apply.

8:30 p.m. – Back at the house and all seven of us easily get into our groove of drinking and babbling on topics such as…well, I don’t remember. If babbling was a sport we would be the Dream Team. Lots of red meat is quickly thrown onto the grill, with grilling duties being handled by none other than the aptly self-named ‘Silverback.’ As in gorilla. As in, seriously, a gorilla. Pretty sure he had a cameo in Sigourney Weaver’s "Gorillas in the Mist.”

11:39 p.m. – Make our way into the garage and…wait for it…the ping-pong table. Next to rolling putts on the practice green, nothing pleasures me more than playing ping-pong. Well, OK, it’s top-5 no doubt. We draw up our own version of September Madness, minus 58 teams that the March version begins with. Long story short – I win the championship and earn the title of ‘Greatest Ping-Pong Player in Kiawah Island History.’ (Side note: No one watches the championship match, which sends me into a crazed frenzy, screaming and calling everyone names)

12:01 a.m. – Call it a night as the rest of them play poker.

3:16 a.m. – Awakened by the biggest idiot of the bunch – he will remain nameless, but it is what you do for apples at a State Fair. The brochure said the house had four bathrooms – sadly, it now had five. I’ll leave it at that.

Friday

9:01 a.m. – Rise and shine. Tee time for all seven of us at high noon. Plenty of time to awake, run to the beach, have breakfast and…get into a major argument? Yes, and it is a big one. I can’t go into what it involves, but it does involve the gorilla, ‘Silverback,’ and ‘Mr. Levelheaded.’ That’s already two heated dust ups involving ‘Mr. Levelheaded.’ And I love him for it. It also leads to ‘Silverback’ leaving the house for what he says is ‘Me Time.’ And we laugh. And then we eat homemade sausage and biscuits with gravy.

11:30 a.m. – Arrive at course early, probably the first time we have ever pulled this off. Pose for group photo and head to the first tee of Cougar Point, the course our house is located on (off the ninth fairway). Again, scramble format is in play as to keep people from shooting well into the 100s and hating golf. Three-man team off first, followed by two two-man teams.

4:31 p.m. – Sitting on the right side of the fairway on the par-5 16th hole, needing to make something happen, I unleash what is arguably one of the greatest shots in golf history (non-major championship golf division). I cut a 3-wood on our second shot – water lurking all the way to the green. Desperate times call for desperate measures. We watch in delight as the ball clears the water and lands softly on the green. As we walk onto the putting surface, we see that it has come to rest a mere 3 feet from the hole. Knock down the eagle putt, and in the process crush the spirit of our playing partners as well as tie for the lead at 1 over.

5:17 p.m. – Add another birdie and close out the round at even par, good for a share of the title with the other threesome playing ahead of us (we assume they cheated, as there was no opponent in their group to keep them honest).

6:36 p.m. – Back at house and after a great round of golf on another beautiful course, we all agree that Kiawah Island as the draft destination was a move of sheer genius.

6:58 p.m. – Most of the group decides to go out for dinner, but my closest friend in the group – we’ll call him ‘Drunken Fool Who Knows No Bounds’ – and I choose to stay at the house and go play an epic game of bocce ball in the fairway behind our house (I am victorious in a closely contested battle).

9:31 p.m. – Despite cursing them as they left earlier, I now welcome back the ‘Restaurant Crowd’ with open arms. I missed them. They again start playing poker. I again refrain from poker, which is strange, as I love gambling more than all of them – combined. Times two.

Sometime around midnight – Go to bed early again. World-record for back-to-back nights for me. I decide to sleep in one of the closets in a back bedroom – no joke – to avoid any late night shenanigans that may come my way. It was a foolproof idea, or so I thought. That is, until I awoke in the middle of the night and didn’t know where I was. Or who I was for that matter. It was actually a very scary 45 seconds.

Saturday

8:49 a.m. – Draft day. Celebrate with an early morning rum and Coke (yes, that is my drink – the only drink I ever drink). The others start out with what can best be described as a Russian Pomegranate Mimosa. Not sure if I’m making that up at this point, but it’s close.

9:49 a.m. – Eleven minutes away from the start of the draft. I look around the room and see way too many serious faces staring intently at their laptops. I decided to ‘wing it’ and not bring my laptop.

10:01 a.m. – Did I already mention that I secured the No. 1 selection during the ‘pick the names out of the hat ceremony’ on Thursday night? Well, I did. And I quickly proclaim Adrian Peterson, RB Minnesota, as the top pick in the draft. I then strut around the room for good measure.

2:18 p.m. – Finish up my drafting order by adding Zach Efron and David Letterman to my team in the last two rounds (I chose Barry Manilow in the last round in 2008). The others don’t even find this mildly entertaining, the mood waaaaaaay too serious. Contemplate making a giant pitcher of Russian Pomegranate Mimosas and pouring it over each of their heads.

4:17p.m. – Somehow manage to take a nap – again, in the closet to avoid harassment.

6:58 p.m. – Out to dinner. Watch sunset and dolphins frolicking deck side. Embarrass ourselves by talking about waaaaay too adult themes at dinner table, earshot of actual normal folks that are just trying to enjoy a simple night out together.

9:49 p.m. – Back at the house, we gather again at the poker table. Shortly thereafter, something peculiar happens: all seven of us erupt into a self-imposed standing ovation, glorifying ourselves with an honor normally reserved for the likes of Chris Rock, U2 and Tiger Woods. We bask in our own glow. It is without a doubt the singular moment of the weekend.

10:30 p.m. – Make our way into the garage for one last ping-pong death match. We somehow decide to play doubles. Bets are being made left and right and cash is being tossed about like its Monopoly money. Deciding to leave it ‘all on the field’ I begin throwing my body at every ball (I will find out later, when I arrive home from this trip, that I am in need of a hip replacement and sporting large, grotesque bruises that I haven’t seen on my body since high school). This all-or-nothing performance locks up the Draft Weekend MVP Award.

Sunday

9:09 a.m. – Arise as most of the crew makes its way to the airport. There is but one thing on the to-do-list on this day: play the Ocean Course. I’m excited and scared. One problem: perhaps the most physically and mentally spent as I have ever been.

12:35 p.m. – Arrive at the Ocean Course, host of the 1991 Ryder Cup and the 2012 PGA Championship. Just walking into the clubhouse is a jaw-dropping experience – a giant (and I mean giant) bay window framing the Atlantic Ocean.

1:00 p.m. – Running on fumes, we make our way to the first tee box. I stripe one down the middle, knock my approach 20 feet from the pin and have an easy two-putt for par. I have surprisingly brought this beauty-and-the-beast to its knees. Turns out, it is my lone highlight of the day. Make that, it is the last actual golf I play for the day, as the rest of my front nine plays out like this: double bogey, quad, quintuple, double, double, triple, double, quad. For the love of God, somebody needs to escort us off this course. One problem, I can’t leave – no matter what. This is one of the most beautiful courses I have – or ever will – play.

3:30 p.m. – Just after making the turn, my buddy, ‘Drunken Fool Who Knows No Bounds’ cries ‘uncle.’ He refuses me from continuing to keep his score. I, at about the same time, settle on leaving the driver in the bag and proceed to hit a 6-iron off every tee. It must be noted that we are both sober, the longest such stretch in four days. It also must be noted that we both feel like we’re completely fall-down drunk due to the continuous 40 mph winds that are beating us down like a rented step mule. Or something like that.

5:45 p.m. – The only thing that gets me through the round is the thought of the 2012 PGA Championship: How will the best players on earth be able to get around this course if it is howling like this? It brings a smirk to my face as I tap in for double on the final hole for a sublime 46-over 118. A new, personal course record at the Ocean Course at Kiawah. Instead of a handshake on the 18th green, my buddy and I embrace and quietly weep.

A couple of things that must – must – be mentioned: the greens on the Ocean Course are simply the greatest I’ve ever seen. Hard to put into words, but I liken it to eating your all-time favorite meal while sitting across the table from an intoxicated and, um, anxious Elle McPherson (or Megan Fox for the youngsters reading this). Also, there are no concrete or paved cart paths. You are encouraged to walk with caddies, but even if you do take a cart, sandy, dune-inspired trails run throughout the course, creating an incredible natural feel to the course. Simply put, add it to your bucket list of courses to play. And I implore you to do it at the beginning of your trip to Kiawah, when you are mentally fresh and ready to handle a massive beatdown.