The story I am about to tell, I can’t explain. I can simply tell you that it happened, and it scared the shit out of me.
—
For the better part of a year, I’ve had a strained-ish muscle in my right middle back. It doesn’t hurt, but it does affect things. It’s probably why my competitive golf playing over the last year has been so poor.
For the past few months, it hasn’t bothered me enough to shut it down, but maybe in hindsight, I should have.
—
On my most recent trip to The Bay Area six weeks ago, something happened. On one of the plane rides, I tried to take a deep breath, and I couldn’t. It scared me, and it rattled open my body, soul, and mind. Remarkably, I still had a great trip (plane rides notwithstanding), but when I got home, I knew something wasn’t right and something needed to change.
So in the beautiful abk spirit, that’s what I did, and that’s what I have been focused on for the last six weeks. (Sorry I haven’t written, but I couldn’t.)
—
When I started abk, so much of the early years was about self-exploration and self-mastery. For better or worse, I chose to do much of this introspection alone, and I learned so much. I worked on self care and personal health and fulfillment, and I felt headed down the right path. But over the last year or two, I found myself in no man’s land: not eating right, not actively taking care of my mind or body, not spending enough focused time with people I love, on and on. Nothing overly egregious…just no man’s land.
I feel like this strained muscle turned can’t get a deep breath turned shakeup to my system was the wake up call I needed. So if you know me, I got right to work.
—
I gave up drinking sodas. I gave up crap foods for breakfast. I drink a vitamin and vegetable shake every morning now. I do active mind workouts three times a day. I stretch/do yoga two to three times a day. I lift weights with a personal trainer twice a week. I do core and shoulder exercises multiple times a week at home. I live outside in nature. I limit screen time. And I take a little medicine to calm my wild imagination down.
In six weeks, I’ve settled myself down. I’ve lost almost fifteen pounds. At 42, my body feels great. I have energy for everyone in my life. My golf game is showing glimmers of hope. I am most thrilled about having a quiet (ish) mind for the first time in my life.
—
I’ve built a boring old healthy morning routine, and I’ve never been more excited. There’s something I thought I’d never say.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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My patience for rental car experiences, specifically California rental car experiences, is wearing thin. Last year in Los Angeles was a nightmare. This year in San Francisco was less nightmare, more nuisance. I really don’t understand the riff raff. Have the reservation, accept or decline insurance, fill the tank up with gas when you are done. But for whatever reason, it’s more difficult than Calculus 3.
As such, the trip doesn’t officially start anymore until we are in possession of the car. And luckily, after all the nonsense, we keep getting a pretty sweet ride.
—
The decision to choose The Bay Area for the 3rd Annual Opening College Football Weekend Father/Son Extravaganza was pretty much a slam dunk. The Giants were home, the A’s were home, the Earthquakes (MLS) were home, and Stanford was hosting TCU for the ESPN Friday night football game. As a schedule of games over four days in a one hour radius, it couldn’t have been laid out more perfectly. Then the extra details started trickling in, and my pulse really got racing.
A lot of improbable things happen in my life, but what I am about to tell you ranks right up there. Someone told me since I was in the area, I should go to Pebble Beach, the famous golf resort on The Monterey Peninsula that is second to none. I said ok (you don’t have to twist my arm) and decided to make a tee time on Saturday afternoon on the nine hole short course for me and my son. Done. Wow, what a day that is going to be. Then, one day I was sitting in my office at Shell Landing talking to the best golfer at our club, who happens to be a young lady currently at Mississippi State University, and she is a superstar. I wished her luck on the upcoming season and asked her when and where their first tournament was going to be held. Obviously, the answer was Pebble Beach on the day we were going to be there. (I can’t make this stuff up.) I let out a gasp and a huge smile and told her I’d see her there. She thought I was joking at first, but then realized I wasn’t playing. Sure enough, Banks and I would see her there.
Not to be outdone, my parents rang me, and we discussed at length about the couple of years they spent living in San Francisco before moving to small town North Carolina to start a family and new career. As blunt as I could be, I asked for their previous address, and without a breath my mother blurted it out. 23 Platt Court. After looking on Google Maps, I was blown away. In my mind I had always thought they lived in some ho hum suburb of San Francisco. Rest assured, this was no ho hum suburb.
Okay, we had a lot to see and do. I had a sneaking suspicion that the games might play second fiddle to the new details that had emerged. Except for visiting The Oakland Coliseum, of course. With all of its gritty history, I couldn’t wait.
—
Stanford versus TCU was a snooze fest as anticipated, but Friday night in Palo Alto was a super cool vibe. The two teams/states argued about whether Whataburger or In N Out Burger was better, and I listened to some rich kid talk about the next two months he was going to spend in France.
Pebble Beach was spectacular. I repeat, Pebble Beach was spectacular. Young or old, male or female, golfer or non golfer, you would enjoy the resort. It was that good. We walked around the big course, watched the young lady from Shell Landing play, and then played the short course ourselves. Afterwards, we ate lunch overlooking the famous 18th green, and I had some Korean brisket that literally burnt my tongue off. After spending the better part of the day there, we departed down 17 Mile Drive, quite possibly the most insanely gorgeous road on Planet Earth.
We left the Monterey Peninsula and headed straight to Silicon Valley, the site for that night’s San Jose Earthquakes vs. Minnesota United FC game. The first half was awesome. The second half was a little less awesome. Banks got to see his first lowrider cars do their thing. With my son asleep in the back of the car, I grabbed In N Out Burger (double double spread and pickle only) for the second time, scarfed it down to celebrate an insanely cool day, then crashed.
For our first foray into downtown San Francisco, we took in a Sunday matinee at Oracle Park. (I usually like to stay in unique hotels in downtown areas, but I’m not going to pay $100 per night to park. That’s ludicrous.) As we got closer to the stadium for Giants versus Marlins, I thought to myself, it is going to cost $100 to park. We found a place right underneath The Bay Bridge that was a mere $41, and as soon as we got out of the car we revelled in the views. The ballpark was here. The Bay Bridge was there. Oakland was literally just right there. The geography was fascinating. The view during the game was almost distracting. I mean, do you want to watch mediocre baseball or the boats in the bay on a sunny Sunday afternoon? When we left, I drove through the streets of downtown, and we were passed by a driverless car. Son, we aren’t in Mississippi anymore.
The following day, we had to go see where my parents used to live, which meant driving over the Golden Gate Bridge into this beautiful little community. The apartment complex still existed similar to what I imagined my parents experienced, but I bet it cost at least ten times the monthly rent. For a brief moment, I imagined myself growing up here instead of small town North Carolina, but that thought was fleeting. The two worlds were so far apart, not even my vivid imagination could paint that picture.
Later that afternoon, we popped over to the Oakland Coliseum, an arena with oodles of history and nostalgia that is closing for good in about fifteen days. The Raiders have already left, and the A’s are half a month from following suit. As a child, I found Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco fascinating, but it was really those green and gold colors that grabbed my attention. With only ten or eleven thousand people in attendance, we enjoyed the leisurely afternoon, but in true shut it down fashion, the A’s catcher hit a home run with the game tied in the ninth inning to put a cap on the game, the day, our trip, and the Oakland Coliseum.
—
Since we saved almost $500 in parking costs by not staying downtown, we had a little extra cash to visit three local card shops. They were cool, and each of us picked up a few things that interested us.
The highlight was a card that I pulled from a random box that I bought. I paid for the box, and then we went outside into the car and opened it up, as is now our custom. I spotted some unique shiny colors in the second pack, and sure enough it was a Patrick Mahomes prizm, and only 25 of them were made in the world. I was hyped, Banks was hyped, and we immediately decided that we needed to go back inside to get a hard plastic case to protect this $100 card during travel. Not thinking that the 49ers hate the Chiefs, we bounced back inside. The shop clerk assumed that we had gotten a good card, so he became excited with us.
… until he saw who it was. Oh. Here’s the case. Nice card. But we don’t care for him around here.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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At the conclusion of our Club Championship every year, I typically grab my clubs, head out, and play the course. As the golf professional at the course in charge of every detail of the weekend, I like to know how I did. Not based on the comments of the players. No, based on my actual experience. But not this year. My brain and body were fried. So I grabbed a box of leftover food from the dinner that our staff had prepared, jumped in the car, and drove home to see my family. They had been at the beach all weekend, and my weary self was thrilled to see them.
—
Two Thursdays ago, professionally, I realized that I needed to be in three places at once. My new career, while maybe not the most outwardly unique career on the planet, definitely has its quirks. As a modern, active golf professional not specialized in any one particular thing, on any given day, I am expected to run a bustling golf operation, teach my overflowing slate of adult lessons, coach my junior program, practice my own game, and compete periodically at a reasonably high level.
As long as I have the appropriate staff, volunteers, family, and friends to help, I love this level of busy-ness. It means something is building. Something is brewing. It’s what I want. It’s what I like.
But over the past ten days, I literally needed three of me. (Just ask my left hip.) Lead. Manage. Teach. Coach. Play.Rinse. Repeat.
—
Last Thursday-Gautier, MS
I won’t spend too much time on the obvious: working at the golf course on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. I need to be there. We have a lot going on. Events to run. Events to plan. The daily grind. Regular play. We are a well oiled machine and getting better every day, but I still need to be there.
Last Thursday we hosted a corporate event, which we have done a bazillion times. It had a lot of moving parts, but the staff did a wonderful job in making it a huge success. What made Thursday a little bit different than most Thursdays was that I knew I had a few special events right around the corner, and I needed some real help.
—
Last Friday/Saturday- Houma, LA (absent)
My PGA Jr. League that I have been coaching for three years now grew to 34 kids last season. As it has grown and the kids have become more mature and better players, we were awarded an eight person all star team this year and an opportunity to play against other all star teams in Houma, Louisiana on Saturday, August 11th. I have known about this day for months, and from the jump I knew there was a conflict for me, so I asked a respected PGA Professional months ago to take the kids on this day, and he happily obliged. We, however, did not expect him to have a heart attack three weeks before the event. So just a week before the big day, I had to call in a favor, something I really don’t like to do.
The favor was met with open arms by a parent of one of the all-stars, but I had to get him formally trained, screened, and background checked immediately. The sheer amount of logistical texts that went back and forth over these couple of days was insane. Much more pleasing to me were the texts and pictures I received from the parents recapping the day. I hated I wasn’t there, but I had a passion to chase. A passion that makes no sense and definitely doesn’t pay the bills, but one that is the whole reason I now do what I do.
—
Last Sunday/Monday/Tuesday-Starkville, MS
Our annual Gulf States Assistant’s Championship is the biggest event of the year (for where I stand right now). It’s a two day event, has a purse of roughly $10,000, and is uber competitive. I finished first spot outside the money two years ago, sucked ass last year, and was excited to get another crack this year. So I packed up the car and made the four hour trek to Starkville, Mississippi.
I love to play competitive golf, and I love to play golf at new courses. It’s probably my favorite thing about the entire lifestyle. These three days proved no different. I had a wonderful time as usual, met some new people, and saw some old (new) faces. I also sampled the local fare per usual, and played glimpses of decent golf. I birdied my first hole. I was two under through my first four holes. I made four good birdies overall. But then it crumbled like a cookie, made increasingly evident because I’m playing against guys who can really play. I’ve struggled for about a year now putting all the pieces together. In competition, I don’t yet trust all the great things that I have learned how to do. I know it’s in there, but the process is relentless and unforgiving.
—
Wednesday-Sunday-Gautier, MS
When I arrived back at work Wednesday, there was lots of work to be done to get ready for our Club Championship that would be held over the weekend. An event that historically has about 35 players, we had 57 this year, largest in club history. Excitement and anticipation were high, and I wanted this to be an event that both members and employees were insanely proud of.
I also had three students playing in the event, and each had their own very specific goals. One wanted to get as close to winning it as possible (he finished 4th). One was playing his first ever tournament, and he wanted to see where he would stand (he used to shoot in the hundreds and he shot 83 Sunday). One hired me with the goal to not finish dead last ( he didn’t…not even close).
As the members ate dinner, drank beer, and we crowned champions late Sunday night, I was exhausted but immensely fulfilled. Everything that I have been working on for five plus years was on display in some way, shape or form over the last ten days. There were successes. There were failures. There were opportunities to improve.
As I walked out of the building, per usual, my phone was loaded with texts, which sometimes annoys me. But not tonight. I took a quick glance, saw who they were from, and realized that something was indeed building.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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For my first career, I was a banker in Charlotte, North Carolina. For my second career, I am currently a golf professional in coastal Mississippi. For my third career, should I be so lucky, I am going to be a father/son sports trip travel planner.
My nine year old son and I have formally now done Dallas, Boston, Memphis, Detroit, Los Angeles, Houston, and Cleveland. We’ve informally done Miami, Chicago, and New York City as part of family trips. And we’ve done Charlotte, Atlanta, and New Orleans multiple times with our eyes closed.
There’s nothing quite like these trips and the bonds that they build. And as we learn more and our tastes change, so do the trips. So for the first time last week, the father/son expanded into father/son/granddaddy.
You’ll have to ask him, but I bet he’ll be back next year.
—
The first rule of these trips is that there is no such thing as a perfect trip. Stuff will happen. That’s just a part of the deal.
The second rule is that there will be a set itinerary of games and events but plenty of room for surprises.
The last rule is that each location does not have to be sexy or glamorous, just real. (abk is less Disney World, more Cleveland.)
And as such, we gassed up the car and headed north.
—
The trip was awesome. Absolutely awesome. But it was so imperfect, it was laughable. I mean, seriously, strap in.
After an absolutely beautiful first day of driving, our first real stop at the request of my retired Air Force father in law was the United States Air Force Museum in Dayton, Ohio. As we literally pulled into the parking lot, it started pouring rain. We had one small umbrella. My son is the size of a small adult. I am 6’4”. My father in law is even taller. I will never forget walking through history completely soaking wet. Good times.
By the time we left, the sun was shining, and it was time for Charlotte FC at Columbus Crew in Columbus, Ohio. It was an incredible vibe until halftime when the severe weather sign popped up on the Jumbotron and asked everyone to seek shelter. The Crew stadium is super awesome and super intimate, but it is not built for 15,000 fans to seek shelter together. An hour later, the weather passed, and awesomeness resumed.
The following day, I did something I had never done in my life: I walked out of a restaurant without paying. Not on purpose, of course. It just happened. We were just outside of Columbus at a local pizza joint, and when we were done we just left. Fifteen minutes down the road it hit me, and I called the restaurant laughing, gave them my credit card, and apologized profusely.
A couple of hours later, we arrived at our beautiful downtown Cleveland hotel, only to be informed that starting at 10:30pm that night through the following morning, the water in the entire building would be turned off. No shower, no bathroom, no nothing. Brilliant. I was hungry and thirsty, so we went straight to the hotel lounge. They had this beautiful mango orange tequila drink that would hit the spot. I ordered it immediately, and to this second, I have still not received it. I can only laugh.
The following day, apparently, the airline world shut down due to some CrowdStrike/Microsoft thing. I would have never had a clue except for the next day I was playing in a 110 person golf event, and these people were flying in from all over the United States. All of a sudden, our Discord group chat started blowing up. All flights are cancelled. Literally all of them. It didn’t affect me as I was already there, but I felt for everyone else. But like the sickos that we golfer junkies are, everyone, no matter where they lived, jumped in a car and started driving. 108 of the 110 made it. Unreal.
I couldn’t think too long about this issue because midday, my car battery died in the middle of a Cleveland intersection. We were barely able to get it restarted and went straight to the local dealership. $650 and a few wasted hours later, we were back in business. Fancy ass cars and their fancy ass batteries.
The following day at the historic Firestone Country Club in Akron, Ohio was damn near perfect. Beautiful courses, great weather, new friends, and I played well. However, on my 36th hole of the day almost ten hours after I began, I started feeling weird. Not bad. Not good. Weird. I stayed focused, birdied the last hole, and shook everyone’s hand. But I needed a restroom. And some water. And a restroom. And some water. And another restroom. Eventually, I made it back to the hotel.
I still felt a little unusual the following morning, but I made the decision to make a slight detour for one final excursion. The weather said it would be mild and cloudy in Pittsburgh, and I had heard that PNC Park was incredible. We arrived, met a college teammate of mine, and then the sun came out and it felt like we were sitting on the Equator. The laughs I had with my old college teammate were the best medicine of the day, and then we started the trek home.
My son is infatuated with Cracker Barrel, so we finally, after six days, took him to Cracker Barrel. It was near closing time, there were only a few tables in use, but all of the people there appeared annoyed. One wanted a manager. One yelled at the waitress. It was downright weird. Our meal was fine, and then we made our way over to our final hotel, unaware of one last hurdle we would need to overcome.
Due to the CrowdStrike/Microsoft thing, the hotel still could not make key cards, so the worker on call had to literally walk us to our room and unlock it for us. If we wanted to go to the pool, we would need their assistance. Workout room? Assistance. Luckily, we had already eaten and were wiped out. No pool. No workout. No assistance needed once we were in.
—
When I say the trip was awesome, I mean the trip was awesome. Each adventure always has a few hiccups, but this one made me laugh. Something or some things happened every single day. As a seasoned traveler now, I know that is simply part of the journey.
Although I never need to have a car battery die in an intersection in Cleveland ever again. Ever.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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Along the journey, there have been many firsts. Some good, some bad, some ugly, but all important.
This past Monday and Tuesday, I experienced a new first, one that I hope and plead will offer me some useful feedback for the future.
Because instead of spending a few days in North Carolina with my family and friends, I chose to test myself against my peers across the state of Mississippi.
And I failed miserably.
—
I arrived to the golf course at 11:15am Monday for my 12:36pm tee time excited, nervous, and cautiously optimistic. Though the vast majority of my time over the past few months had been spent as a manager and teacher instead of a player, I still knew how to play. But for every scorcher I had, I had three stinkers. But I knew it was in there.
Unfortunately for me, most of my peers experience the opposite, three scorchers for every stinker, plus a lifetime of experience. But I wasn’t playing them, I was playing the golf course, and I was playing myself.
I started fine, parring the first four holes and then making a good bogey on five. Then, inexplicably, I fell apart, and less than an hour later, I was seven over par. Then, the literal storm came, pausing the figurative storm for two hours and 53 minutes. Two hours and 53 minutes of nothing. I became stiff, hungry, and disinterested. I texted my family in North Carolina. Given the circumstances, I definitely wish I was there. With eight holes still to play, we resumed play at 5:45pm. On the way back out, I stopped by the bar. Give me all your snacks. I’m starving. I was truly pondering doing an Uber Eats order for barbecue. But I digress.
We finally finished our 18 holes at 7:36pm, seven hours to the minute after we started. I shot 84, good for next to last, and I lost my rangefinder. One of my playing partners shot 85, good for worst, and my other playing partner finished the round barefooted. (Don’t ask.) Certainly a day I will never forget.
I wondered what I was missing in North Carolina.
—
After grabbing a sandwich, I arrived home at roughly 9pm. My tee time Tuesday morning was at 8am, and it takes me a minimum of three hours to get my body going in the morning. The good news was that I had very little time to reflect on the nightmare of a day.
I was among the first back to the golf course Tuesday. I am a professional, so I will act as such. But what I really wanted to do was fly to North Carolina and soak in my sister’s pool. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck, and I wondered how in the world I was going to hit a golf ball today.
Luckily, or unluckily, it only took two holes to answer that question. After an 8 on my second hole, my round was over before it began. But I’m a professional, so I will act as such, and I strung together a couple of birdies and a few good stretches between the horrible holes. I shot 85, good for a two day total of 169.
Dead freaking last. That’s a new one.
—
After a four hour nap that afternoon, I had dinner with my boss Tuesday night. Always supportive of me and my insane goals, he offered me this friendly reminder. When I was shooting in the high 60s and low 70s, I was practicing for hours every day. Now, I operate a wildly popular golf course. I teach and coach all afternoon long and help others get better. I take my son to Pelicans games and collect sports cards. I eat dinner with my family. I travel. My body is older and stiffer. The amount of hours I practice now is very different. Thus, the results are different.
—
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen my name at the bottom of any leaderboard. Maybe once or twice in childhood sports, and I fixed that. Maybe once or twice as a banker, and I fixed that.
So even though it sucks to finish last, the experience provided me some excellent feedback.
Change something, so this never happens again.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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“There is nothing glamorous about what I’ve been doing for the past five years when it comes to golf. I had to do the work. The gains that I have experienced have been directly commensurate with the amount of work I’ve put in.”-Benj
On April 17, 2019, the golf journey officially began. On April 19, 2019, I became a member at Shell Landing Golf Club in Gautier, Mississippi, and promptly shot a 101 for my first round. The next day I shot an even 100.
Look at that…already improving.
—
Two Sundays ago, almost five years later, I rolled out of the golf shop at 4pm and drove straight to the first tee to give a playing lesson. The young man that I have been teaching for a couple of years had gotten very good, and on the top of his wish list is to beat me, which he tries to do once per month.
He may eventually do it, but it was not going to be this day, as I started birdie birdie birdie from the big boy tees, barely having to putt over the first three holes. We played nine holes, I made one bogey, four birdies, and four tap in pars, barely breaking a sweat to shoot three under par.
That evening, I felt very satisfied with my progress. It had taken nearly 1500 days of daily work.
—
Last Tuesday, my parents were in town visiting their grandkids, and both my mom and dad were able to join me for eighteen holes out at Shell Landing. Unlike the previous Sunday, on this day I started bogey bogey, uncertain as to what the day might bring. I quickly rectified the situation with a near birdie on three, birdie on four, and birdie on seven. On the very windy day, I thought if I could shoot around 75, I would be satisfied and my parents might be impressed. I made two sloppy bogeys on twelve and thirteen, but entered the home stretch needing just one more birdie to accomplish my goal. On sixteen, to a tough back pin, I stuffed it to about five feet, then turned to my mother and told her that shot was for her. Then, with me ready to raise the roof, I promptly missed the putt.
I tapped in for 77 on eighteen, a fair score for the day, and certainly one of the best I had ever shot with my parents in tow.
—
This past Monday, I played our PGA Section’s annual spring four ball tournament with my boss in Hattiesburg, MS. Exhausted from a busy week and staying up late to watch the Pelicans game Sunday night in its entirety, I rolled up ready to rock on about five hours of sleep. I did this on purpose, knowing that if I could just keep my mind quiet, I had developed the tools over the past five years to be successful.
I almost made a hole in one on my fourth hole, and tapped it in for birdie. I made a great birdie on hole ten, and then I made my first eagle ever in a tournament on the thirteenth hole, a long par five that I played essentially perfectly.
My boss and I tied for eighth in the twenty one team field of PGA Professionals, one spot outside the money. That was the third time now I have been one outside the money, so it’s coming. Outside of one hole, I couldn’t have been more pleased.
—
This is a journey about doing the work to get better. It’s not about making money playing golf. It’s not about bragging about shooting scores thirty, yes thirty, strokes lower. It’s about patience, diligence, sacrifice, and doing the work.
Nearly 1500 days. The game cannot be fooled.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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Because I wake up at 4:30am every Saturday morning, I usually avoid Friday night basketball games in New Orleans. Helping run a bustling golf course on four hours sleep is not a good look.
But there are exceptions to every rule.
—
Victor Wembanyama, the 2023 number one draft pick in the NBA, is the exception to every rule. He is a foot taller than my 6’4” frame, has an outlandish wingspan, and possesses a silky smooth three point jump shot usually found in players a foot or more shorter. He plays for the near dead last place San Antonio Spurs, who just happened to be in town this past Friday night.
Under any other circumstances, Friday night against the Spurs would not get my mojo going, but with my the opportunity to see Wemby up close and personal, I promised my son we would go.
To make it worthwhile, I also promised my son I would get tickets as close to the Spurs bench as possible so we could really take in the show.
—
Friday rush hour traffic. A major accident that closed I-10. A very busy Friday workday and an impending very busy Saturday workday. Four hours of sleep. The Spurs. Should I go on?
Anyways, I put on my game face. As soon as we get there, it will all be worth it. And it was. As soon as we laid eyes on Wemby, we couldn’t really stop staring. It was mesmerizing. What kind of car must he drive? How long are those leggings he is wearing? He is two feet taller than that ref.
Oh, we had a blast. It was a good game, and Wemby finished one assist shy of a triple double. We had awesome seats, and the popcorn was extra buttery. It WAS worth all the hassle.
But then something special happened.
—
Our seats were on row eight in the general vicinity of the Spurs bench, and once the game ended, a little gap opened up down to row one. I told Banks to walk right on down there. Get close. Enjoy. Who knows what might happen?
So he did, and I’ll be damned if Wemby didn’t walk right up to him on the way to the locker room and give him a high five! My son was so excited he could have run home from New Orleans! Dad! Dad! His hands are huge! They reached from my fingers to my elbow!
My boy has fist bumped and high fived any number of NBA stars, but none this big (both literally and figuratively). And I finally got one on video so that we could enjoy that moment over and over again.
—
One of the most desirable, if not THE most desirable, basketball cards out there right now is anything with the name Victor Wembanyama on it. My son had gotten a gift card for Easter and was dead set on buying cards. Before he started opening the box he purchased, I joked with him. After last night, I am feeling it. And then he pulled not one, but two Victor Wembanyama cards.
It was a VERY Wemby weekend.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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I started last week in Montgomery, AL. I finished last week at The Farm. In between, I visited Atlanta, GA, Jackson, MS and spent a few days at home on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. 1,126 miles. My car is tired. My body is more tired.
But it was a great week.
—
At the beginning of every NBA season, my son and I mark must see games. Lakers, Hornets, Wemby (this Friday), and of course, his beloved Boston Celtics. This year, there was an immediate conflict with the March 30th Pelicans-Celtics game in New Orleans. My good friend and Christy’s only cousin had chosen this day to get married in Jackson, Mississippi. My son was furious. I just laughed and immediately begin searching for a replacement venue to go see the Celtics.
In the past couple of years, we had seen them in New Orleans, Boston, Charlotte, and Houston and had an absolute blast doing so. Dallas would be viable. Memphis would be viable. But at the end of the day, we settled on Atlanta. Hawks vs. Celtics. Monday, March 25th.
Little did we know that we would witness NBA history.
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The month of March, especially the latter two weeks of March, is my busiest time of year. The weather is ideal and everyone wants to play golf. I could teach seven days a week if I wanted. I enjoy the month, but I remain exhausted for a good portion of it.
Having said that, driving 1,126 miles over a March week’s span adds insult to injury, but that’s just how it goes. I finished work around 4:30pm last Sunday evening, then boogied three hours straight to Montgomery, AL, a place I had never been. Upon arrival, I had zero desire to explore, which is unusual for me. I wanted to find the best pizza in town (which I had already done), and I wanted the televisions on March Madness. After a good night’s sleep, we would explore downtown Montgomery briefly Monday morning before heading to Atlanta. (Nothing really to write home about there.)
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Stop one in Atlanta was Cards HQ, a brand new innovative card store just a couple of miles from Truist Park, where we had a formal tour later that afternoon. My son was so excited to get to the card store he couldn’t stand himself. The first card that we saw upon arrival was a Pokémon card priced at $6,500. I told him he was in the wrong section.
He was looking for Tatum and Acuna. I was looking for Zion and Ohtani. Our eyes, hearts, and wallets were also open to cool surprises, which we both found. Our foray into sports cards has been wildly entertaining and incredibly fun, but I have also used it as a serious introduction to investing for my nine year old son.
—
It was Opening Week 2024 for Major League Baseball, although the Braves home opener still hasn’t happened. As such, the buzz was in the air as we got an intimate tour of the ballpark. We were even able to walk out on the field, though we were threatened with our lives if we got anywhere near the grass.
As a child, my grandparents lived just outside of Atlanta, and we went to Braves games all the time. Those are some of my best childhood memories, and it makes me very excited that my own son has become very fond of the Braves too. There’s just something about the talent and swag of Ronald Acuna Jr. that pulls you in.
—
After a quick check in at our hotel, it was time for the main event. The Boston Celtics are the best team in the NBA, so it was no surprise that midway through the second quarter, they were beating the Hawks by thirty, 68-38. What WAS a surprise was that when the final horn sounded, the Celtics had lost by two. When I say that my son was ready to fight grown men, I am not exaggerating.
As we debriefed on the way back to the hotel, I told Banks I had never seen anything like that before. Well, that was because it had not happened in over 25 years. We were in the building for the biggest blown lead in the NBA in 25 years. My son was upset, but when I say the vibe was electric, THE VIBE WAS ELECTRIC.
—
Now that we knew what the card store was all about, we made a return trip on Tuesday, more prepared for what our investments were going to be. Zion, LaMelo, Ohtani, Acuna, Tatum, and…
… a John Smoltz autograph out of 25. My grandmother, may she rest in peace, would be well pleased.
—
If you know me at all, you know that I have an internal map of where all the best BBQ spots are in the United States. On the drive back to the coast from Atlanta, it’s Chuck’s BBQ in Opelika, AL.
BBQ pork cooked with wood chips, baked beans, and Brunswick stew. If you are ever in charge of my last supper, this would be the menu.
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After a full week back home of working, teaching, and practicing, it was time to throw on a shirt and tie for only the third time in five years and beeline it to Jackson, MS. I told my buddy that I may be walking in with the bride, but I will be there.
I pulled in about 5:20 for the 5:30 ceremony and exhaled. It was a beautiful event, and thanks to a cavalcade of grandparents and babysitters, Christy and I actually got to have a fun, normal, adult night with a bunch of old and new friends. It felt like about the third time in five years that had happened, but it was lots of fun, nonetheless.
—
We still had The Easter Bunny and Easter lunch left on the docket, some two hours away from where I currently sat, bleary-eyed but extremely fulfilled. I would say that those events ended the week, but that’s not exactly true. The text from my brother, an NC State Wolfpack graduate, later that afternoon ended the week.
🐺 Pack, he said. 🐺 Pack.
If the Hawks can beat the Celtics after being down by 30, anything is possible. I’m pulling for them. Hopefully, I get two more identical texts in the coming week…
…after I have woken up from a very long nap.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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“You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”-Wayne Gretzky
Five years ago, I knew nothing. I had an idea of what I wanted, but that was about the extent of it. No specifics. Oodles of unknowns, but I had an idea, and that was a great place to start.
—
Let me begin by saying that the creation is far from perfect. I miss my North Carolina family and friends. I miss my former colleagues. I miss walking around Uptown Charlotte. I miss the Town of Wingate. I miss going to Panthers games, especially when they didn’t suck. I miss Bojangles.
Let me continue by saying that the creation is also reliant on many pieces of dumb luck. I had no idea that I was moving to one of the best small coastal towns in America. I had no idea that I was going to enter the world of outdoor living simultaneous with the onset of COVID, which encouraged an outdoor lifestyle. I had no idea that I would be joining an industry that was just starting an unprecedented boom. I had no idea I would stumble across a hidden gem of a golf course, which of course, is no longer quite so hidden.
But the rest, the rest had to do with that idea. Five years after moving from North Carolina to Mississippi, here we are.
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I am a 41 year old male, and I love sports, which is no different than any other 41 year old male, except for one slight difference. I love sports so much that I thought it would be neat to build a sports lifestyle and become totally immersed in it. Consider this: sports can be played, sports can be watched on TV, sports can be watched in person, sports can be a part of a cool trip, sports can be bet on, sports memorabilia can be collected, sports can be coached, sports can be taught, and sports can be your job. Most sports lovers might choose a handful of these to enjoy.
Not me. I chose them all.
—
On any given day here on the gulf coast of Mississippi, you may find me doing any of the following: watching my son play basketball or soccer, working as a golf professional at Shell Landing, playing a competitive golf tournament, practicing, teaching adult lessons, coaching my PGA Jr. League, riding down the street to the casinos to place a sports bet, riding over to New Orleans to watch a Pelicans game, watching March Madness on television, listening to NBA Radio, researching the next big sports trip, or trading sports cards with my son. On a hohum normal day, I do five of these. On a good day, I do seven. On a spectacular day, nine. (My body won’t let me do all of them on the same day anymore.)
That may sound extreme, but that’s the lifestyle. That’s the creation. That’s what has come about from an idea, some luck, and lots of observation, studying, and trial and error.
—
Five years ago, I was a complete outsider in so many ways. Five years ago, I was the low man on the totem pole. In this new life, five years ago, I was just a baby. As such, over the last five years, I’ve had to get good at some things to make this creation happen. I had to set my ego aside. I had to learn immense patience. I had to learn to lose and understand that losing is an integral part of getting better. I had to become comfortable with an entirely new risk/reward spectrum. And though I was already pretty good at it, I had to master the skill of being able to pivot and adjust. This is a COMPLETELY different way of life. Not perfect. Damn lucky. Reasonably well designed.
Immersed in sports every single day. What a grand idea.
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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“Never fall to the mercy of excuses. Instead find the problems and create the habits that will have you accomplish your goals.”- VJ Trolio
Let me start by saying I still have a long, long way to go, and I always will.
But damn, that felt good!
—
You must understand that as long as I am heading in the right direction competitively now, I am going to be pleased. I understand how insanely good elite golfers are, I understand what scores awesome golfers shoot, and I understand what scores are necessary to be competitive in the PGA Professional Section events that I now play in.
But I also understand where I was roughly four years and eleven months ago as I started this golf journey at the exact spot where I played my first tournament of 2024 this past Monday.
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I remember clearly the sight of that empty parking lot. It was an early Sunday morning in April 2019 at Timberton Golf Club in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. When I pulled in, there was not one car in the parking lot. I can’t remember if it was Easter morning or what, but I was there by myself, and I was ready to learn how to play golf.
I remember being on the chipping green behind the clubhouse, excited at each shot that I hit crisply and curious about each shot that I did not. I was just beginning a new life, one that saw me transition from being a banker in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina, to being the only car in the parking lot that day in southern Mississippi.
I was making a ludicrous leap and an absurd bet, and I was blind in knowing what the possibilities actually were. But I started chipping, alone with my thoughts, and for four years and eleven months now, I haven’t stopped.
—
When the 2024 Gulf States PGA Section tournament calendar came out, I immediately identified Timberton as the site of my first tournament of the year. Feelings of nostalgia greeted me warmly. I remember when I used to struggle to break 95 here five years ago.
The tournament format was not individual stroke play, but instead a more fun, less pressure packed mix between a four ball for nine holes and a nine hole scramble. But still, I got excited for the test. Let’s see how far I’ve come.
My boss/mentor and I play these two person events now, he a lifelong excellent golfer and me, a four year and eleven months work in process. He’s watched my progress, helped me with my game, and been very patient with me. This is a game where you can’t skip steps. You can’t suck and then all of a sudden be good. That’s why it’s a great game.
—
My heart still races leading up to my opening tee shot, but I’ve found a way to handle it. I keep myself busy and occupied until it is go time, and then I walk up to the tee box, tee it up, then calmly knock the shit out of the ball. Monday, my first shot couldn’t have been hit any more perfectly: 285 yards and right down the middle. I could exhale.
It took me pieces of two holes to settle in and feel comfortable, but I did, then it was off to the races. For holes 1-9, I shot 38 on my own ball, a couple of missed short putts being my only blemishes. For holes 10-18, we scrambled, but as reasonably as I can estimate, I shot 37 on my own ball. A season opening unofficial 75 (ish) on my own ball and an official two man team score of 68 started my playing year off with a fulfilling smile.
—
I hadn’t done anything spectacular all day. Good, yes. Really good, at times. Great, no. We were on our next to last hole, a par 3, and I had hit my tee ball to about 35 feet. I had an impossible putt, but hey, I practice impossible putts all the time. I looked it over, visualized it, hit it, and bam! We all yelled! Boom! One finally dropped.
I finished with a tap in par and exhaled. Did I really finally play an entire 18 hole tournament round from start to finish at a level that I deemed acceptable? First drive was great. Last three holes were great. Everything in between was more than satisfactory.
Did we really just finish smack in the middle of the pack (with me pulling my weight) in a PGA Professional Section event four years and eleven months after my being terrified of hitting the cars in the parking lot, had there been any on that Sunday morning?
—
If you want to know what the journey really looks like, take this into consideration. I had a great day Monday. I was happy Monday. I was happy about Monday. I am still happy about Monday.
But I woke up Tuesday, and I literally couldn’t move. I fight my body every day.
And thus the improbable journey continues…
—
Have a great week.-Benj
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