The U.S. Open—And It’s Pronounced “BOW-GEE” Not “BOOGIE”

News from Our NY Editor at Large

Hi dolls, I have been practicing my golf clap since the last time we spoke, and I’m convinced there is nothing more elegant than the game of golf. To be honest, I have never shown any interest in the game. In fact, when my dad suggested I join the golf team in high school, I looked at him with horror, but leave it to my mom to suggest that a golf tournament could be a nice way to meet a boy. Enter the U.S. Open. Held in Bethpage, New York, a mere train ride away from Manhattan, I put on my khaki shorts (don’t worry, they were studded), left my cell phone at home (to our dismay they were not allowed), and headed to the greens with Marsha Welcher, the talented and adventurous designer of Thayer.

We had been planning our outfits weeks in advance, but our ideas quickly became bigger than the event—long, flowing white dress, denim romper, harem pants and backless tank. We were politely reminded that maybe, just maybe, we should tone it down—this is a sporting event after all, not a runway show. We were escorted by my parents and spent the entire train ride becoming quick studies in the language and players (the young, good-looking ones, to be exact). I got a big laugh from the man behind me when I asked innocently, “What is a Bogey?” It’s pronounced “BOW-GEE” and I said “BOOGIE.” Oops. Marsha, the consummate researcher, made us a study guide of the top ten players to know, and according to the rest of the travelers on our train she got an A-plus for effort!

Unfortunately, Mother Nature was not on our side and the usually beautiful course was quite muddy from the London-like weather New York had been experiencing. My mom, always dutifully prepared, brought everyone plastic ponchos. I told her I would rather get wet than run around in a trash bag, but they did come in handy for sneaking in my disposable camera (I risked it all just for you!) and avoiding mud-butt when I wanted to sit down. Marsha was smart to have worn mud-friendly riding boots, but I chose Chuck Taylors that have zero traction and quickly became a dirty mess. We entered the tournament and literally were surrounded by a sea of khaki shorts, polos, and baseball hats. Everyone looked EXACTLY alike—I’m not kidding. Marsha and I were focused on two things: seeing Tiger Woods and seeing the hot Australian, Adam Scott. We planted ourselves at a par 3 so we could watch the drive and the putt, and waited as the groups cycled through. The sun eventually peeked through the clouds, and the breeze was just right.

Add hamburgers, Cokes, and ice cream for a perfectly relaxing picture.

After we saw the hot trio of Sergio, Adam, and Camilo come through, we checked out some of the other holes. We were meandering around hole 17, chatting and enjoying each other, when all of a sudden a tournament worker yelled, “Hey, ladies, get OFF the course!” We looked around and not only were we smack in the middle of the course, but the players were waiting for us to move so they could start! We ran to the sidelines, giggling and thoroughly enjoying our fifteen minutes of U.S. Open fame—I mean shame! My dad was relieved he had not been present to claim us when we regaled him with our drama queen antics.

We headed home exhausted after walking the miles-long course in the heat, covered in mud, and excited about our newfound sporting pastime (we made plans to hit golf balls at Chelsea Piers the very next day). All in all, a birdie of a day.

--Joyann

Comments

[KAY]

I went to the US Open too with my daddy! My burberry rain boots certainly came in handy with all that mud!

[Tamara]

Your big day = MY LIFE! :) After majoring in fashion merchandising, I often wonder how I ended up in the merch department of the PGA when I myself called it a boo-gee when I was little... but now I love it and your blog made me smile! :)