![]() ![]() ![]() Noga drinks Crown on ice, but never partakes of a Crown Manhattan because he says the vermouth leaves him in a state of overserveditude. His first name is Tom, but my father had a habit of referring to any friend of our family by only their last name. My brother Tim’s longtime pal Noga is a Crown Royal man. Before everything in golf became fancified, the Crown Royal sack was a nearly ubiquitous piece of gear that served as a repository for things a player really did not want to lose - car keys, cash, wedding rings, although many would have rather lost the latter than lose an automatic two-down press.Īs with boat ownership, if you weren’t a Crown Royal drinker, it was good to be friends with someone who was. One item those bag searches frequently turned up was a familiar blue drawstring pouch the former home to a bottle of Crown Royal. “Do you think we’re going to need these today?” he asked the already shod member. I was in the same group with Whitey one day when, at the first tee, he unzipped the long side pocket of one member’s bag and pulled out two pair of sturdy, leather spiked shoes. For example, because the bags had several sizable and deep pockets, it was not uncommon for many dozens of balls to accumulate. Caddies of a certain stature would sometimes vet their man’s bag, searching for unnecessary weight to remove. I know not why it popped to mind, as I never can tell what’s next on the Corcoran Channel, but it did prompt another thought about how exceedingly heavy golf bags were back in the day. I was thinking about that moment on my weekday morning walk to the train station. Slowly he raised his head, and sputtered to his caddie, “Diiii diiii diiiiid you see that?” “Yes,” said my brother Whitey, who was on the bag for Triple X that day. The ball exploded into many hundreds if not thousands of white bits, rendering Triple X dumbstruck. ![]() One day Triple X addressed a ball in the rough, and verily he did smite it to smithereens. Jules’ affinity for that particular beer and its distinctive XXX branding earned him the nickname “Triple X.” He was a professional, and 40 years or more on I can recall him trundling the fairways sipping from a can of Ballantine. Jules was a lawyer by trade, a quiet, bespectacled fellow with an ale belly. ![]()
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