Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Seen in Lake Tahoe

Posted: July 21, 2010 in Uncategorized

If I was born in Lake Tahoe in 1897, this is what it might say.

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RIP Reggie Dunlop (AKA Paul Newman)

Posted: September 27, 2008 in Uncategorized
Reggie Dunlop, R.I.P. 1925-2008

The Other Saint Andrew’s

Posted: September 9, 2008 in Uncategorized
The OTHER Saint Andrew’s (New York)

E, Red, and I played Saint Andrew’s Golf Club. Oldest golf “club” in America. This was one of two birdies on the day. A great course and a fun day.
We are fairly positive that Erik is the only person in history to ever play back-to-back rounds at Pine Valley (in China) and Saint Andrew’s (in New York). An impressive double-header regardless if it wasn’t the “real” Pine Valley and St Andrew’s.

Royal Birkdale 2008

Posted: September 8, 2008 in Uncategorized

2008 British Open


“I’m such an idiot!”

U.S. Open:

It has been awhile since my last post, and a lot has been going on.

(PHOTO: Mason Levinson/Bloomberg News)

Kyle turned 6, Alicia potty-trained herself, Emily still lets me live at our house, and I have played lots of golf. (thus, the mention of Emily’s kindness.)

The biggest event during the last couple months was easily Phil’s “I’m such an idiot” moment at the U.S. Open at Winged Foot!

The trip to the Open was a hectic one. We all went to New York as a family, and Emily spent the week visiting friends and family with the kids while I watched Tiger miss the cut in a major for the first time as a pro, and then witnessed Phil’s 18th-hole collapse. Truly unbelievable.

First, we flew to Newark, then drove to Times Square and spent the night with the kids at the Marriott Marquis. They had a blast!

After dropping them off with Aunt Melanie in Park Slope, Brooklyn the following morning, Em and I made our way out to Long Island for Fatass’s wedding.

Mr. and Mrs. Fatass spent big coin on a kick-ass band and a good time was had by all… Needless to say, some had more fun than others!

We wake up the next morning, make our way back to Brooklyn, drive around for an hour looking for a parking spot, and then finally pick up our kids. (BIG THANKS GO OUT TO AUNT MELLIE!)

Next on the list was a trip down to South Jersey for the Baptism of Kaylee and Rylee, Stefanie’s twins.

After the baptism, we all head back to Stefanie and Uncle Tim’s house for a Bar-b-Que, where we get to spend some quality family time, complete with flying leaps off the diving board and whiffle ball with the kids.

Alicia wrecklessly swings from the jungle gym as Kyle and Jeremy’s boy, Sam, take turns blasting home runs over the trees!

Kyle swings for the fences! Sam chipping! Nathan and Alicia play house!

As the party winds down, Emily and the kids stay behind while Uncle Tim drives me to the train station. I catch a ride to the Newark/Penn Station stop.

Mason picks me, my luggage, and my golf clubs up, in his new BMW station wagon… His own little version of Chevy Chase’s “Family Truckster!”

Now the real fun starts!

Mason — a Bloomberg colleague who works as a photographer, cameraman, and radio reporter — and I get up early the next morning a make our way over the Liberty National Golf Club in Jersey City for the Champions Tour’s Annual Business and Golf Conference.

After taping an interview with Tom Kite on the balcony of a Jersey City hotel that looks across the river on Lower Manhattan’s Financial District… (what a view it would have been when the Twin Towers stood there!) Mason makes his way over to the golf course.

Because the course, which is being developed by former Reebok CEO Paul Fireman at the bargain basement price of $130 million, has yet to officially open, he gets his very own police escort. Unfortunately, not even the cops knew where they were going… next thing ya know, the cops drive through a back entrance and start driving through the club on its golf cart paths! Finally, they are stopped and directed where to go.

I arrive with a gaggle of other reporters. We all got a police escort. We figure the escort was necessary to keep us from getting lost in Jersey City. The police chief even gave all of us his personal cell phone number in case we got separated from the group and found ourselves in the not-so-nice sections of town!

What a course. You can see the Statue of Liberty from about 15 holes. On the 17th, the mounds on the left side of the fairway cover up the Statue’s pedestal, making it appear that Lady Liberty is walking along in the rough! I par the hole, one of the few decent holes I would play all day. But that’s hardly the point.

After the round of golf, Mason and I enjoy some post-round drinks and cigars and then make our way up to White Plains, NY. The next day, Phil’s big adventure begins…

TO BE CONTINUED….

2006 Masters

Posted: April 1, 2006 in Uncategorized


The Masters

I head to Augusta, Ga. on Monday for the Masters — A Tradition Unlike Any Other.

I’m sad to say that Adam will not be attending.

I write this Blog in his memory. What-EVER! … He’s too busy trying to figure out how his silly-looking Bluetooth earpiece works… If he EVER starts to wear that thing on a regular basis, I certainly hope he leapfrogs any misguided reputation I have as a cell phone/blackberry “belt clipper!”

In case anybody was curious… a little known fact, if CBS turned the camera around on Magnolia Lane, and pointed it out to Washington Road, the public would see the truth about Augusta. There’s an IHOP right outside the gates, and less than 1/4 of a mile to the left of the main entrance is a Hooters (John Daly now parks his RV there. He signs autographs and sells merchandise out of it.)

I have a hard time deciding which would be better… Ordering a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast

while wearing the green jacket, or ordering wings and a bucket of beers from a Hooters waitress while wearing the green jacket… both moves would be absolute classics!

James Brown is from Augusta and has a GREAT bar in town. I frequent it every year and plan to do to so again this year!

On my way to Augusta, I will be stopping at Reynolds Plantation resort to play a quick nine holes. I love that place. Great golf courses, great food and a great Ritz Carlton.

That’s all for now.
Hit em long and straight and not too often!

– Boon

Saturday Night in Kerikeri

Posted: February 27, 2006 in Uncategorized

Update:  After my trip to New Zealand, I wrote this article for Bloomberg Markets magazine:  Julian Robertson’s New Course

… and here’s a brief synopsis of the trip.

Saturday night is a night out on the town of Kerikeri, a sleepy little village that Julian says reminds him of growing up N.C. as a kid 60 years ago. “People are very casual and little kids run around barefoot all over the place. I just love it,” he says.

Me, Julian, Josie, their son Julian III, Jason (the club’s Kiwi-born pro) and his leggy, blonde wife Diana head to Re-Co, a local Tapas Bar. (As predicted, barefoot children are wandering about the property.) As we enter, many local stare in Julian’s direction, but I suspect they are more interested in Diana, who is wearing 4-inch heels that make her over 6-feet-tall. Julian mingles with friends, as we find a table under a Ponga tree. “I need a beer,” Julian says. Gotta love the guy!

The man dubbed in the local papers simply as the “Rich American” marvels at the fact that we all can eat a hearty dinner for less than $100 U.S. Yes, he’s truly a value investor.

After dinner, during which Julian comments about the “fantastic figure” of our waitress, we head to the new Centre at Kerikeri (Which was built with the help of about $2 million of Julian’s cash) to see Mass Ensemble, a Malibu, California-based performance troupe that was on the second night of a two-day gig.

The two-hour show, which featured an earth harp (whatever that is), yoga dancers, a three-armed guitar, and drums mounted on the wall made to resemble clouds, was one of the more interesting performances I’ve ever seen. Julian seems to enjoy it and comments on the “incredible flexibility” of the tattooed, blonde yoga dancer. Gotta love the guy!

Sunday, I wake to a stunning sunrise coming up over the 10th fairway.

Cows moo in the pasture below my porch, as I grab a fresh mango from the fruit bowl. (Note to self, tell Debra to ask for more mango in the weekly office food orders. I think we can all agree on that!)

At 8:30 a.m., I have the practice range to myself as Julian and family attend mass at the VERY quaint St. James Anglican Church in Kerikeri (one of the oldest churches in NZ, I’m told by Diana, who said “I do” to Jason in the church.)

I play 18 holes in 2 1/2 hours by myself, carding my third 91 of the trip, but this time I played from the 7,100 yard blue tees just for “fun.” I’m loving the new grip Jason has me using! What a guy.

Oddly, It’s Sunday morning, sun is shining, wind is calm, the course is one of the world’s best, and I note the fact that me and another single are the only one’s on the course. (I was informed of this by the pro shop staff when I stop to leak after 9 holes, and I have to take their word for it because I never physically see the alleged chap.) Clearly Julian isn’t making money off the course.

My new mate “Photographer John” and I corral Julian after he returns from church and usher him to the 17th green where we have scouted out a spot for his cover portrait. It’s a lovely location, with the Cavalli Islands in the background. Stunning, really.

Julian is a good sport, as the shoot takes about 30 minutes due to the constantly changing light. While John’s trigger finger fires away — “Julian, you look magnificent,” he says. “Oh, you’re a natural! Brilliant mate!” — Julian casually greets the stunned guests as they arrive on the green.

“I’m so glad y’all like it,” the owner says in a southern drawl before I usher him back to his mark (two tees stuck into the green) for a few more pictures.

After helping packing up his gear, John and I tag along with Julian and Josie for another nine holes. This is when the big man is at his finest. He loves to compliment himself on well-struck shots, while loudly wishing against his wife’s efforts. The bogey-filled banter is classic stuff.

As Julian hits a pitch from a drastic sidehill lie, over a ridge onto sloping green, I tell him that is was a “great shot.” He grins, quickly turns to me and replies “It was WONDERFUL shot, just a fantastic golf shot!”

Wiped out after a long day, Julian goes to bed at 7 p.m. John, Jason, Diana and I go into town for some grub at Café Jerusalem. Very tasty, actually. After, we then head to a nearby Island to go Kiwi spotting. Kiwis, the flightless treasure of all of NZ, are an endangered species mostly due to the 80,000 possums that hunt and kill the helpless nocturnal birds.

About 90 percent of all NZ natives have never seen a Kiwi in the wild, Jason tells me. If so, how can it be that I might actually see one? We wander through the bush for about 90 minutes with our guide, flashlights at the ready.

We all stop, flashlights go dark. Our guide hears one in the bush about 5 meters away. We stand still waiting for the little bugger to pop onto the path. Alas, he never appears. I’m beginning to feel like the dumb American tourist, only to be reassured by Photographer John that, as a NZ native himself, he though it was “cool mate.”

At least we get to see the Southern Cross and the Milky Way in the clear New Zealand sky.

We drive back, and with thoughts of the long-billed Kiwi dancing in my head, I doze off to bed.

Morning light brings about a helicopter ride with John in Julian’s personal helicopter for some aerial shots. We cruise up the coast with the door of the chopper removed. It’s “Apocalypse Now” in Kiwi-land!

“I love the smell of golf course fertilizer in the morning, it smells like birdies.”

As we hover 300 feet above the 8th tee, the pilot steadies the stick, John works his wide-angle lens, and I just chill in my front seat uttering “Roger, That” into the headset at random times.

We set the bird back down. I take Julian into the lodge’s Tiger Room for a 20-minute sit down interview. After that, John takes the Robertsons onto the course for a few last candid shots.

Sure that we have everything we need, John and I take yet another helicopter ride (at Julian’s insistence) with a French-Canadian waitress from the lodge, her boyfriend and
Landon Nordeman – a photog in town from NYC that went to Duke with Julian’s son.

After a 45-minute flight, Andrew (the pilot) gently sets the bird down on a beech in a remote bay. “Roger that,” I proclaim.

Joe, a local Maori who will be taking us via bus through a forest to see Tane Mahuta, the world’s largest Kauri tree, greets us. The 2,100-year-old behemoth is so big they’ve given it a name. The English translation for the Maori name of Tane Mahuta is “BIG ASS TREE!”


At 169 feet high and about 45 feet around, it’s an unbelievable site, but not nearly as fascinating as Landon’s insistence of taking pictures of complete strangers eating ice cream in front of the tree. “It’s just classic,” he says. “This tree is HUGE, I’m halfway around the world, and these people are just eating vanilla ice cream. Classic!”

At this point, I realize that I admire Landon’s outlook. Funny what happens when you stare at the world all day through a camera lens, I figure.

The tree, legend has it, was discovered in the 1930s by some local road builders who had wandered into the bush to take a leak. True story, sadly.

The trip back to the lodge features some low-level flying at 125 knots over the crashing waves of 90-mile beach. We also scale some mountaintops and dive down the other side, giving me a taste of how B.A. felt on the A-Team!

Home beckons. John and I make our way to Kerikeri airport.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s even SMALLER than the Hawke’s Bay airport. On the way, we stop for some fish and chips and a few Speight’s beers.

A two-minute drive to the airport, five minutes to check my bags and return the car, a 30-minute wait for my delayed flight and I’m off. When I land in Auckland, I have 40 minutes to get over to the International terminal and make my connection. I get there just as they are boarding. “Roger that!”

After I reach LAX and wait an hour for my bags, I become aware that they didn’t make the flight. Then I discover that my flight to The ATL is delayed for an hour, at the least. And there’s no Hot Spots in the Delta terminal! Heck, I might as well be in NZ with the lack of technology here. Oh well. I still manage to post this using my cell card.

Another 5 hours or so, and I’m home. Roger that!