Vanderbilt’s lost to Ohio State in the quarterfinals of the NCAA men’s golf championship, 3-1-1 at the La Costa resort in Carlsbad, CA today.

This is a sports story. i feel obligated to write the first sentence as i was taught by JB Leftwich at Castle Heights Military Academy long, long ago. The gospel was “Why, What, When, Where, and How in twenty-five words or less. All that followed was to explain or complement that first sentence. The same dictate ruled all “news” stories in good newspapers. Alas, no longer.

This law of the sports pages land of long ago faded into oblivion amidst the new journalism that wishes to prick your interest, show off writing skills, dazzle you with cute ideas that only vaguely relate to what happened, report something bad outside the field of play, and sometimes, rarely in comparison to the bad, report something good about a player or coach. i’ve actually read sports articles on sporting events that didn’t give the score until the fifth or sixth paragraph.

Even though this is more a sports editorial than a news story, i thought it appropriate to begin with the old timey way, the good ole days in the golden age of sports, which has morphed into the dollar, dollar, dollar age of sport.

But not for the past five days.

When i learned Vanderbilt had run away with the Indiana regional and would be playing at La Costa. i bought a six-day pass. i am not embarrassed to report i am a Vandy fan, regardless of the sport. The reason is i have always rooted for Vandy, growing up in Lebanon, about 30 miles from campus. i was equally a fan of Tennessee back in those days until at a Vandy-UT game in Knoxville, Vol fans pelted me and my Vanderbilt friends with paper cups, coke cans and sprayed us with beer and liquor. They did this while i wore my Navy service dress blue Lieutenant Junior Grade uniform. i would still root for the Vols as i have many friends who are ardent Orange fans, but i can never quite put that incident behind. Nowadays, i root for Vandy in all sports because i was acquainted with the late David Williams, former Vice-Chancellor of Athletics and his successor, the marvelous Candice Lee, and i know, without a doubt this private university is facing an uphill battle in the SEC but keep trying and always focus on, as David coined, “Doing it the right way, the Vandy way.”

To be honest, i don’t follow anywhere near as much sports as i did a score of years (that’s sort of a bad pun) ago. i watch teams i root for when possible. Pro basketball looks more like a street pick-up game in Chicago than the game i knew. College is getting close to as bad. Pro football games are interminable and technicalities and officiating (bad descriptive term), good and bad, determine the outcomes. College games are just as bad already. Scheduling, commercials, and coaches have become more important than the teams or the players. i love Vanderbilt baseball, but college baseball is also now trying to emulate the major leagues.

Money, money, money everywhere.

Three of the past five days, i have been in a sports world that felt right. i was planning to go all six days. When i approached La Costa on Friday, it began to rain against the weather guessers’ predictions, and i had not taken my rain gear. i may be stupid but i ‘m not that stupid. An eighty-year old does not need to be wandering around in the rain for six or seven hours soaked. Not good. i turned around and took the hour drive back home in the Southwest corner.

i would have attended Monday, but i had a better offer. Maureen and i played 18 at the Bonita Golf Club, one of my favorite places. Today, i was back in a land of sports reverie. That’s “sports,” not fanatic, money chasing.

My three days at the tournament were, in today’s term, awesome. It was sports. The weather, not what folks who visit here expect, was perfect: cool, marine layer cloudiness, perfect for walking. The crazies haven’t caught on yet, so the crowds were not crowds. Few enough people to see all of the action on the course. During my three days, i heard school supporters yell (politely congratulating their team) when they won. Nearly all of the recognition was applause, quiet, controlled, appreciative applause. And thank goodness, there was not one idiot the entire time show off by insanely yelling “in the hole,” thinking he was cool.

Fans of the teams talked to each other, no animosity. As the players walked the fairways, they talked to each other with conviviality. It was appreciating the game, the players, and respecting the game, and the event. i was lucky to have met a bunch of good folks. i met Ms Tuttle (i apologize for forgetting her first name) and then her husband Tom and their daughter-in-law (again apologies). The Tuttles live in Naples, Florida. Their grandson, Cole Sherwood, just graduated from Vanderbilt, and was one of the keystone players on this team, as well as a nice young man

My claim to fame this week was on the 18th Saturday, when Cole’s tee shot went into the hazard. With a marshal assisting, he took his drop. The North Carolina coach had parked his cart on the cart path and walked across the fairway to coach his player. The cart was in Cole’s line for his shot. i went to the cart and moved it out of the way, now claiming i had helped (legally) Cole.

It was sport. It captured the essence of what college sports should be. Friendly competition, emphasis on competition, as it should be. i’m sure, somewhere, money is involved, especially in the big, bad sports nutty universities where fans throw their money at athletes, thinking somehow it makes their school and themselves the best (and now the NIL and recent NCAA rulings have made an awful mess of college sports even worse). But for three days, i saw true college-athletes playing a sport.

Now it took an effort. i covered 300-plus miles in four round trips, an hour each way four times. i walked about 26 miles. i loved every minute of it, except for this morning’s drive in the San Diego commute.

Now, for all of my Vanderbilt friends: the NCAA men and women’s golf championships will be held at La Costa in the Southwest corner for the next two years and possibly two more years. i’m pretty sure Vandy will be here for several, if not all of those. i would like to experience this again with you.

Go Vandy…You are doing it the right way, the Vandy way.

i was going to reluctantly diss (whatever the hell that means) California today, even though this state gets all sorts of dissing (?) from people who really don’t have a clue but think they do, but then i recalled something similar elsewhere.

A couple of days ago, i bought an all-tournament pass for the NCAA men’s golf championship at La Costa. The daily passes were $8, the final day was $12, and my all-tournament tickets were $36.

Now the first strange thing was when i acquired the tickets. The single day tickets are available through the NCAA, and, i assume, at the gate. But the all-tournament ticket package can only be acquired through the University of Texas athletic site. My contact with Vanderbilt athletics, Andrew Maraniss who has written several great books about athletes, including Strong Inside: Perry Wallace and the Collision of Race and Sports in the South. Andrew told me the University of Texas was the “sponsor” of the tournament being held in California. Go figure.

But i am excited. i will be going to watch men’s college golf for most of the day. Vanderbilt, who won the Indiana regional in a cake walk, is one of the favored teams, and a number of their team members are competing for the individual championship. Pumped. i’m pumped. In addition, i will get to see Candice Lee, the Vanderbilt Vice-Chancellor of Athletics, the incredible woman who was a force in Vandy honoring my mother for her basketball feats (in 1935). i also will get to meet Mark Carter, Candice’s Senior Associate Athletic Director.

i’m ready to go. i will leave after the commuter traffic dies down tomorrow morning (it’s about an hour to the course from out in the Southwest corner).

Now for the kicker: my ticket for five days of golf was $36. For the first four days, i’ve been given locations to park and take a shuttle to the course. Fine. But on the championship day, the only parking apparently is at the course. Parking will cost $40, or $48 for valet parking. What?

i was thinking, yeah, yeah, California. But then, i remembered going to Nashville about a dozen years ago and the Marriott at Vanderbilt charging $40 to park in their garage. Stupid.

i don’t care. It’s stupid. The world is chasing money. But tomorrow, i’m on an experience that i could never imagine would happen.

Go ‘Dores.

I have written and spoken often of the gremlins that inhabited the evaps (distilling plants) when i was the CHENG (Chief Engineer) of the USS Hollister (DD 788). i fervently believe they leapt onto my shoulders when i was relieved and been with me ever since 1975.

These past few days, they were in the mood for financial pranks. Several weeks ago, my debit card for our primary financial instrument, a credit union, mysteriously turned up missing. i have no idea of how it got out of my wallet. i think the gremlins might have had something to do with it.

So i ordered a new debit card. It came about a week ago. i used it at the ATM when i chose to withdraw some cash, choosing one of two of our checking accounts. Then, i went through the same drill this weekend, only to have no option on which checking account to effect the transaction. Puzzled, i went to the institution’s office today to inquire.

Two of the four stations were manned by very pretty young women dressed to the nines. The one who invited me to her station, smiled and was very efficient. i explained the option of choosing the check account for the withdrawal had not been available. She smiled and explained that was not an option, that each card was for one checking and one savings account. When i pointed out i had been given the option to choose between accounts for, oh since i got a debit account over 15 years ago, she politely insisted that wasn’t possible, she consulted the other teller who agreed with her: one checking account, one savings account for each card.

i then wondered how i had that option since forever and said it must be because i’m old (i’ve been a member since 1968). She laughingly agreed that might be the reason. I told her she didn’t have to agree. She said, “The customer is always right.” We laughed.

Then she told me she could give me a debit card for the account i normally use for withdrawals. i agreed. She created the card, effected it, and instructed me to go outside and withdraw some money from the ATM, adding to come back and let her know if it didn’t work.

i went outside, started the process. The ATM asked me which account i wanted to use. i laughed, withdrew the money. i went back inside around the waiting lines and motioned to the young woman. When she acknowledged, i told her i just wanted her to know the ATM gave me both accounts for options. We both laughed. As i left, i told her that i think it’s because i’m old.

Those damn gremlins are laughing.

i am alone.

Maureen is not here. Yeah, yeah, i know, it’s only five days. But the last couple of nights i felt alone.

i cooked my own meals, i did that for about six years a long time and am…er, capable, but i can’t find anything in the kitchen. The kitchen is hers now. i am a stranger.

i took care of her cats. They like me when she’s not here. After all, i feed them. They like me to give them a little attention, but it pales to their affection for Maureen.

Last night, i was sitting in the family room with only my reading light on. i put down the computer and just sat there thinking, reflecting, something i am not accustomed to doing although it has become more frequent in short moments as i age. As i reflected on life, i caught a movement across the room. It was likely just a reflection from outside. i started to talk to her. She was not there.

i make the bed in the morning, something she does as i am always up much earlier. The first morning, i started making her coffee before realizing she wasn’t there. We talk and text several times each day. i’m glad she’s having fun but it’s not the same here.

Finally, i fixed the hiccup in my get-a-long. She’s coming back Sunday. i conjured up a memory, when i was single again in College Station, Texas. As my former wife and i were struggling to cut the ties while minimizing the negatives for our young daughter. i had bought a small home. After my day at the NROTC unit at Texas A&M, i would change into my running gear, put the potatoes to bake in the oven, and then go on a five-mile run. When complete, i would feed the three-legged cat and the Old English Sheepdog. Then, i would pull out the cast iron hibachi, prep it with charcoal, light it, and close it for the funnel effect to get the coals roaring. i would take a shower, clean up, put the steak on the hibachi and make a salad. Toast with butter and a glass of wine completed the meal. i was in a good place and didn’t know it.

So tonight, i did some modifications from about seven years of bachelorhood before Maureen and i were wed. i cut corners by buying a grocery deli potato salad rather than baking a potato. i was tired of beef, so i grilled a pork chop, with the jim jewell marinade, which will never be duplicated since i won’t remember what sounded good to me tonight. A salad, sautéed mushrooms and onions for the pork chops, Maureen’s incredible bread, toasted with butter completed the serving with a delightful zinfandel.

i still got it.

But i still miss her.

There aren’t many around today. Phones with cameras and the almighty web and cloud have. pretty much wiped them out except for marketing.

My paternal grandmother, Carrie Myrtle Orrand Jewell, had book of postcards, which surprisingly contained mostly postcards. Somehow, i ended up with it. Several years after my grandfather passed away, Mama Jewell moved out of the family on on East Spring Street and moved into my aunt and her family’s home across the street from our home on Castle Heights Avenue. After my grandmother had passed and my Aunt Naomi Martin was in her nineties, the latter gave Mama Jewell’s boxes of memorabilia to her son, Maxwell Martin, my cousin. Maxwell, in turn, gave the boxes to my father, who in his mid-nineties gave the boxes to me.

The album itself has a spot on family room table. It has a padded cloth cover and is about 14 inches tall, 10 inches wide, and over two inches thick with thick, black pages holding the post cards. There a couple of pressed flowers inside. It looks like an antique. It is.

Scuffling around, i found four postcards that had fallen out of the album and ended up in one of my office piles. Unlike most of the postcards, these were not sent Mama by someone else. She apparently acquired them because she liked how they represented her home town, my home town.

Ahh, memories:

There were a lot of good things about those old days.