Memories of Birkdale
The Open Championship for 2026 is being held at Royal Birkdale this week in England. I always get up early (4 am) to watch this event and it’s my favorite of golf’s four majors to watch. It’s also one of my favorite courses of all the “Royals.”
I spent years obsessed with golf but, more specifically, obsessed with traveling to play all the great courses, first here in the U.S., the Dominican Republic, and Canada, but then on to the UK. With a like-minded group that grew larger every year, we called ourselves “Away We Golf”. My partner Marc Klein and I would come up with ideas, build an itinerary, and plan everything down to the most minute details, so that our friends only had to worry about getting to the airport. If you know me, you know I was right for that job. Word spread as our ambitions grew, ultimately leading us to the UK. We all loved the history of golf and dreamed of playing all the great historic courses “across the pond,” and we eventually made it to the Home of Golf, St. Andrews.
As time went on, I became obsessed with playing all the “Royals” before settling down. And my friends were on board. A few of us would do excursions from the trips, as it was hard to move the large groups to explore a couple more on a whim. Those who participated became called the “crazies.” We played 36 per day, walking (no carts over there), and sometimes flew in small planes, took trains, and even took small boats over high seas to remote but historic courses, sharing the game (the Dramamine), the camaraderie, and our stories. We all became as close as my musician friends do while traveling in vans all over playing club after club, and as they grow closer, playing bigger and better venues.
On one of these excursions, we played Royal Birkdale, our first Royal in England, and another notch in my belt. I had goosebumps and strong memories as I watched today on tv while everyone was still sleeping here. I immediately got on the phone reminiscing with my fellow “crazy” golfer Bill Dagistino. It’s always good to talk to Bill, who can remember every course, every hole, and every shot hit on all the golf courses we wandered all over the UK to play. While my memory sometimes needs help, Bill’s is still sharp as a tack.
Our first time there was special. I can remember the feeling of driving up through the entrance, the first look at the clubhouse, and the storied pictures and memorabilia of historic winners of the Opens played there adorning the walls. Then the first shot on the first tee, taking in the atmosphere both beautiful and surreal, taking it all in, the smell of the ocean, the feeling that I was walking where giants had walked. This feeling is similar to being at a music venue on a special night where a music legend hits the stage and the audience, the band and the venue are all “one”, that communal feeling that only you and your group have at that moment. I chased it for years at the Fillmore East, Woodstock, Watkins Glen, and at The Funky Biscuit where Gregg Allman took us to another world with an impromptu concert. Music and Golf gave me those similar feelings and I chased them both.
Often, it’s not the specific memories of hitting shots or playing particulars; it’s the whole experience. The caddies, the walk, the things that happen to test your resolve that make all the memories. On this day I will always remember the eagle I made on one of the par 5s. Which one? I will leave it to Bill if he remembers. The usual banter with the caddies, whose accents were thick but not as hard to understand as the Scottish ones up in the Highlands, was entertaining as well. As usual the day turned nasty and the rain came. The wind had it coming at us sideways. Hats were flying off; balls were flying all over the place. Veterans as we were, we put on our rainsuits and our special rain gloves that allowed us to play without our clubs flying out and killing a caddie. We were prepared and soldiered on. Our caddies were in their bibbs and NO raingear. They were used to Americans quitting as soon as the heavy stuff came down and figured it was an easy pay day. They were betting which hole we would finally quit on with a smugness that belied why they themselves hadn’t prepared for bad weather.
David Portal, in an amateur moment, pulled out his umbrella. We long ago realized how fruitless an umbrella was in those conditions and ditched ours on links courses where the wind and the rain are part of almost every round. David opened his umbrella during a gust, and with amazing force, it went inside out and hit him in the face almost knocking him out. Bleeding all over the place while struggling to keep it from engulfing him totally, he kept holding it open, which was a mistake. It knocked him over, off the tee box, and then it dragged him down the walking path for a while as we all doubled over hysterically laughing, caddies and all. Very reminiscent of the newscaster covering one of the hurricanes in South Florida being dragged down the street on live tv (if you know, you know – you were concerned but still you laughed and played it back on your tv and laughed at it again). We only saw it once or maybe twice with David, who took a while to finally ditch the umbrella.
We were all one now, like my friends on the hill at Woodstock embracing the unrelenting rain and the wind during Joe Cocker’s famous version of “With a Little Help from My Friends”. How appropriate. The thrill of a lifetime for half a million all one in that moment back in 1969 was the same thrill I felt on this course.
We soldiered on for more holes. Now it wasn’t just about golf; it was about survival and NOT Quitting. We never quit: One year we played a course called Sunningdale during the “heat wave of the century” in England. Temps over 100, we played the morning round and then went off at the hottest time of the day to play 18 more. The pro warned us to take plenty of water and to not “push it”. After the morning round, he warned, “you were probably exhausted from walking up and down those hills all morning in the heat”. We laughed. Somewhere during that second round the seasoned experienced caddies begged us to quit and we paid them and bid them farewell. We carried our own bags and gear and didn’t quit. And thankfully we all made it.
At Birkdale (veterans can just call it Birkdale lol), we again had caddies asking, “Gents, would you all like to quit now and get a warm drink and hot soup in the club lounge?” We looked at them (after thinking about that hot soup and the fire) and said, “No, we don’t quit. Sunningdale!!!!!!” They said, “Gents we thought you were going to quit seven holes ago!” And so, with a newfound respect, all of us on a different plane that day, we cheered each other on like the last remaining people at Woodstock seeing Hendrix play the Star-Spangled banner on Monday morning after the show was officially over, with only a few “crazies” left. Our own band of gypsies finished the round of golf at Royal Birkdale like champions.
Our waterlogged group then drenched every piece of furniture in the gentleman’s lounge in the storied Royal Birkdale clubhouse. The fire never felt so good, the caddies were right. A stiff drink and some hot Tomato soup, maybe the best I’ve had, were in order. Our rain gear sat in a puddle on the floors with half the rest of our clothes, and then in an act of defiance to protocol, Tom rung his socks out and hung them by the fire and walked around barefoot. Of course, we were the only ones there, as everyone, even the locals, quit before us. If not, we surely would have been thrown out. These are the kinds of places where they walk around in jackets and ties inside. We all soon joined rulebreaker Tom and did likewise. As we warmed up and drank, we laughed about our communal experience, which was all that mattered, not whether we played well, but how we all experienced that one epic moment together. David forgave us for laughing at him instead of rushing to his aid. And they kept the place open for us until we were sufficiently warmed up, and full. True hospitality.
As I watch the tournament this week, I can’t help but wish for epic rain to see the pros grapple with what we did. And if so maybe one poor soul will pull out an umbrella!
I cherished those moments and for several years I would earnestly chase them through music experiences and Golf. I remember an interview with Alice Cooper where he explained how golf (he’s an excellent golfer) helped him overcome his addictions and why so many musicians recently have saved themselves and become golfers. I understand it well. It did it for me too, but that’s another story.
Jay Skolnick
