The week started in a secret courtyard in New Orleans, Louisiana. Obviously.

—

To pull off this reimagining last week, I had to get up really early. 5am Wednesday, 5am Thursday, 4am Friday, and 4:30am Saturday. In fairness, I’ve become used to it. I’ve got a lot I want to do, and it was no different just because it was Thanksgiving Week.

I spent Monday night in New Orleans with my son and his granddaddy. I spent Tuesday night just outside of Hattiesburg with a whole slew of family. After an afternoon of teaching, I spent Wednesday night down on the coast, alone with my son’s cat. I spent Thanksgiving morning on the coast with roughly forty golfers, Thanksgiving afternoon with my North Carolina family via FaceTime, and Thanksgiving night with my Mississippi family outside of Hattiesburg. Exhausted and back on the coast after Black Friday at the golf course, I went to bed at 6:30pm. Saturday, refreshed and rejuvenated after what felt like a lifetime of sleep, everything was back to normal.

I did enjoy my roughly six hours of turkey, traditional family, football, and nap time, but in true abk fashion, it was the nontraditional food and activities that really stole my heart. I’ve never really liked holidays. As you all know, I like action, and traditionally on holidays, the action slows to a snail’s pace.

I don’t personally care much for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, but I do love Monday Night Basketball in New Orleans. I don’t personally care much for Black Friday shopping, but I do love the Thanksgiving Day Shootout now in its second year that I put on at our golf course. I don’t personally care much for sitting around doing nothing, but I do love autumn leaf watching. I don’t personally care much for turkey, but I do love oysters, sushi, and Chicago style hot dogs.

However, along the abk journey, I’ve tried to learn to be respectful of the traditions that are important to the people I care about while still experiencing the new things that I find interesting and fulfilling. It requires lots of compromise, lots of driving, and lots of getting up very early. (And the occasional alone night with my son’s cat.) But I’m getting better at it every year.

Which is how I found my way inside a secret courtyard in New Orleans last Monday night.

—

I knew it was going to be a memorable meal when the host asked, Do you want to sit inside or in the secret courtyard? I had eaten here once before, and I had no idea there was any courtyard, let alone a secret one. It was 75 degrees outside, so it was a no brainer.

Also, happy hour in The Big Easy on any night is like a holiday in and of itself. $5 glasses of red wine. Insane deals on oysters. Since it was a holiday week, a decision did not need to be made. Bring six of those. A plate of those. Some of those. We will graze like cattle.

Good grief it was good! Grandaddy offered me a beer at the game about an hour later, and I had to decline else I spontaneously combust.

—

It makes me happy that these new, exciting, and interesting traditions are gaining some traction. It makes me happy that other people, not just me, are enjoying these new ideas and activities. I finally feel like I understand myself, and I’m building a community that I understand and that understands me.

On that note, it’s time to see if the 3rd Annual abk Golf and Friends Holiday Hunger HackerFest will make an appearance this year.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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For six and a half years now, I have shared my experiences in unlearning, experimenting, and building. It has been quite the journey leaving a stable career as a banker in North Carolina to somehow, some way becoming a golf professional in coastal Mississippi.

Along the way, I’ve tried to share as many experiences and learnings as possible. Because I hate being told what to do or how to do it, I’ve never had any interest in telling anyone how to do anything, only in telling the accompanying stories that might provide an aha moment here and there.

It has been a complex journey to build the abk lifestyle that personifies how I want to live my most fulfilling and authentic life, but one of the main tenets of the journey remains so simple.

Discover (by doing lots of things) those things that light my heart on fire.

—

It’s no secret that I have a never ending list of interests. I love variety. I love living. Of that list of interests, I have found that I like certain things, enjoy doing others, really like others, and then a select few set my heart ablaze.

I like jet skiing. I enjoy playing golf. I really like big family dinners. And then there is another category that produces a feeling, yes a feeling, that is hard to articulate. I feel it at certain times with my daughter when after causing a ruckus all evening long, she lays her head on my chest. I feel it when I get to break away from the golf course midday on a Saturday to speed over and watch my son play soccer. I feel it every year now as Labor Day approaches, knowing that the Annual Father/Son Sports Trip is about to commence.

And I really, really feel it when I see the leaves on the trees begin to turn. The bright yellows, dull oranges, and piercing reds literally take my breath away.

The feeling of being alive.

—

For my first few years in coastal Mississippi, I lamented the lack of leaves changing. Maybe because I was paying attention to so many other things, I overlooked some sneaky good areas that were right in front of my face.

The golf course that I look at every single day has ten to twenty sneaky good trees. Many of the roads just fifteen miles north have sneaky good trees. Hell, even the parking lot at the local Lowe’s has sneaky good trees.

After I dropped my daughter at school this morning, I went tree hunting and leaf watching. I found a beauty, and it set my day ablaze.

—

It’s T-Minus 24 days until a trip to New York City, but I’m certain the beautiful leaves there will all be gone by then. That’s the thing about this particular beauty. It’s fleeting. It comes and goes. It’s why I love October and November so much.

But luckily for me, the changing leaves linger into late November where I live. Next week, I have to travel just over an hour north along a route that used to bore me to bits. But I’ve got good news. The route has sneaky good trees, especially the reds.

So if I’m late for Thanksgiving dinner, just know that I’m okay. Better than okay. I just had a few pictures to snap to hold me over for the next ten months.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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The only purpose of the lesson was to help my player, a very good 9th grader who is one of my favorites, be prepared for anything, and I mean anything, that could happen on a golf course.

Whether the situation was good or bad, weird or annoying, odd or downright goofy, I wanted this lesson to help him learn how to keep a steady attitude and stay focused on the task at hand.

I had no idea how fantastic this lesson would actually turn out to be.

—

I give most of my lessons out on the golf course instead of the driving range. Most of my players are trying to get better at playing golf, and golf is played on the golf course. With many of my players, I play with them during the lesson. This way, they get to watch how I handle myself, we sometimes compete, and many a times I want to show (not tell) them something.

With this particular student, it’s a little bit of all three, but he has gotten so good, we now definitely compete. (There’s a standing offer to his dad that the first time he beats me the lesson is free.)

But in this particular lesson, it was all about demeanor, resilience, attitude, and mental fortitude regardless of what might happen. I had a few simulated tricks up my sleeve, but it turned out I wouldn’t need many of them.

—

Straight out of my office, I double bogeyed the first hole like I’ve done a million times. It used to be annoying. Now I just laugh.

I birdied the second hole, as I confidently told my player I would.

My player jumped up to the third tee in front of me, which usually doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. But I wanted to throw some things his way, so I kicked his ball off the tee. Don’t jump in front of my birdie. He got pissed and started to unravel. Had he not chipped in for a remarkable par about five minutes later, this lesson would have been over.

The fourth hole runs adjacent to an outside neighborhood, and every now and then, a teenager or two sneak onto the property. On this day, it was a guy and girl, the guy dressed like Spider-Man, and they decided to roll around in our bunkers and steal our boundary stakes and bunker rakes. Caught in two minds between playing, teaching, and being the golf professional, I ran them off with my glare, but I was indeed annoyed. Distracted, I double bogeyed the hole after a perfect drive, a victim of my own golf lesson.

I birdied the next hole, obviously.

I double bogeyed the next hole, inexplicably.

I narrowly missed birdie on the seventh, then remarkably again double bogeyed the eighth. Boy, we were all laughing. Double bogey, birdie, kicking a golf ball, Spider-Man, birdie, double bogey, nearly another birdie, and then another double bogey? Little did we know I was saving the best for last.

—

Throughout the roller coaster of a lesson where I almost had to call the police to eradicate the trespassers, I stayed focused on the next shot, kept a great attitude, and laughed a lot. I couldn’t do squat about what had already happened, and that’s what I wanted to teach my young blossoming player. Laugh (or be annoyed) about Spider-Man, but birdie the next hole.

After I made my fourth, yes fourth, double bogey in eight holes, my player and his dad were nearly speechless as we approached the ninth tee. Just finish strong. That’s all I was thinking as I piped one down the middle. I had 158 yards into a front left pin, and just to put an exclamation point on the greatest golf lesson ever given, I hit the ball straight into the hole for eagle.

Four doubles, two birdies, two pars, one eagle, a kicked golf ball, my player chipping in, a Spider-Man sighting, and a near phone call to the police.

How did you do that, my player asked as we all laughed hysterically.

One shot at a time. Nothing less. Nothing more. It’s a goofy game.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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I have a tattoo on my right tricep that says, dream big. I’m certain that when I got that tattoo, I thought to myself: dream big, work hard, achieve said dream. What I never thought about was that the simple act of dreaming big could lead to something beyond my wildest dreams.

—

Never in a million years did I think I would spend twenty or so random nights each year in New Orleans, Louisiana, one of the most culturally unique and culinary obsessed cities in the world. Never. Yet here we are, back for another season of Nights in New Orleans, the 2023-2024 edition.

It just kind of happened. Proximity to my new home. My love for cities. Creative food and drink. NBA basketball. My endless appetite for the spice of life. From October to March two to three times a month, the city keeps me jazzed up. As the darkness sets in, the gumbo heats up.

—

For outsiders like me who didn’t grow up close to New Orleans, the city is thought of more as a destination. Think Mardi Gras (been twice), the Super Bowl, and JazzFest (been once), not a random Tuesday night. That’s why I have to laugh to myself now and again, usually on the drive home, usually with a full belly, usually with my son chattering at me or sound asleep in the back seat.

The logistics of these nights are simple. They are typically Monday or Tuesday night, though I will entertain other nights for more exciting matchups. They require about seven hours of time, $150 to $200, and an open mind and empty belly. Let’s do Lebron and pizza. Let’s do Luka and seafood. Let’s do Giannis and soul food.

Dream big.

—

Last year, Christy, Banks, and I went to Mardi Gras. Banks and I (and sometimes granddaddy) went to twelve Pelicans games. Christy and I ate until we were blue in the face for my birthday. I flew out of there a few times. I played a couple of golf tournaments in the general vicinity. It’s wild to go to a once in a lifetime place twice a month, but that’s the new routine. (The new routine that is anything but routine.)

I hope to make that about fifteen games this year. Fifteen new restaurants. Fifteen interesting meals. Fifteen chances to watch ball with my son.

—

The brilliance of these nights is that most of them are unplanned. That’s why I haven’t bought any of the partial season ticket packages that the team constantly emails me. I love the variety and playing the game too much. Most of the time, I buy tickets and choose that evening’s restaurant on the ride over to The Big Easy. I’m feeling like being close to the action and Cajun food or I want a good deal on tickets and a roast beef po’ boy.

Never in a million years. Seriously. But here we are. We did it again last Tuesday. Paolo and ribeye tacos. I’d love to do opening night next week vs. the Knicks, but I have a conflict. But the following Monday, now that poses a real abk question.

What type of food pairs best with Steph Curry, Klay Thompson, and CP3?

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“I ran my second NYC Marathon back in 2018 almost completely with my mind.”- Benj

Over the past couple of months, I have taken an online class at Harvard called Managing Happiness, listened to multiple podcasts in a series called Mind Games, begun reading a book called Fearless Golf, and studied for a week out in Texas under multiple PGA Master Professionals.

I did some of this for me. I did some of this to help my ever growing and ever improving list of students. I did all of this because my fascination with the intangibles of life is as high as ever. Happiness. Mental strength. Emotional control. Confidence. Concentration. Commitment. Joy. Risk. Fear. Resilience. Grit. Stamina.

Did I really run over twenty six miles almost entirely with my mind?

—

Six or seven years ago, with the help of my good friend Junior, I made a pact with myself that from that day forward, I was going to own my life story. Things that I wanted to do, I would do them. Things that I could not control or that didn’t matter, I would not think twice about them. Things I could control, I would control. And irrational fears, I would work to eliminate them.

Once I made the conscious decision to own my life story, I got to work immediately with much success. Through lots of daily, intentional, and internal work, I got better at all of the things above.

But when I started the golf journey, even as I got better and better, I noticed something very strange. This game, especially when played at a high level, is loaded with irrational fears. How could I be more afraid of missing a putt than of the eight foot alligator lying a few yards away?

There was work to be done.

—

There are an infinite number of takeaways from these last couple of months of observing and listening to such high level thinking, but my favorite nugget was, You have a lot more control of your life (and golf game) than you think you do.

Much of this control stems from how good your mental and emotional stamina is, and what you are doing to improve it.

For years as an athletic but undersized teenager, I had to outsmart my opponents. As I matured into a more physical specimen, I had to rely less on the mental, yet it always remained clearly in the back of my mind as something that was important.

For years, I thought there was something wrong with me because I rarely showed outward emotion. Throughout the journey, I’ve acknowledged and worked to improve certain pieces of this, but having the ability to control my emotions remained clearly in the back of my mind as something that was important.

Just because I don’t show it doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.

—

My favorite part of teaching golf is when my student and I get to the point when it is time to tackle the mental and emotional side of the game. When we’ve gotten passed the angles and tempos of the swing into the good stuff: the mind and the heart. When we stand on the tee box of a hole with sand and water, I ask them what they see. Inevitably, they then ask what I see, and our answers are rarely the same.

In the same way that I ran that marathon with my mind, I tell most of my students that my ability to get better over the past four plus years is primarily due to mental and emotional stamina, and that their ability to progress further in the future will have so much to do with their mental and emotional stamina.

They ask me how it’s done. What do you do? What do you practice? I tell them that I consciously practice thinking positive thoughts. I rarely ever just go through the motions. I don’t compare myself to anyone. I understand risk and reward. I consciously practice grit. I actively manage myself. I work to focus on the right things at the right time. I work to ignore those things that are irrelevant. In short, I actively practice all things mental and emotional as I know I have control over all these things.

It takes practice to be in control of your emotions. It takes practice to be in control of your mind. You must take care of your mental and emotional prowess just as you would your body. Just like you were practicing your swing or putting stroke. A massive portion of expansion of self, personal growth, the process, and the journey takes place in the mind.

Getting better is a conscious skill and activity.

—

I’ve played and taught enough golf now that I’m no longer afraid of that putt. It either goes in or it doesn’t, and my life goes on either way. So what was I so afraid of? Was there something to be afraid of? Or had I just not done enough of the work yet?

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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By design, I live a very full life. It’s not overly insane. It’s not overly stressful. It’s just very full (and fulfilling). That’s the whole point. I have places I want to experience, people I want to interact with, teams I want to see play, and foods I want to eat. In the past, my desire to experience all of these things may have caused me to overlook an opportunity so brilliant in its simplicity. So obvious. So normal.

But if abk promotes on thing, when it’s time to adjust, I better make the adjustment. Or else I miss my own message.

—

I love being a dad. It’s my favorite thing in the entire world. In some senses, I’m a very normal dad. I take my daughter to day care every day, I take my son to soccer practice twice a week, and I wear dad shoes (shoutout to arthritis). In other respects, I am a very abnormal dad. I work every Saturday and Sunday, I still possess and act on a myriad of personal interests, and I would rather take my son on a sports trip to Detroit or Los Angeles than down the street to the park to play. For better or worse, it’s who I am.

So when a multitude of interesting and exciting opportunities sprouted up in the general timeframe of my daughter’s second birthday last week, I was pleased as punch that my immediate internal reaction was, I just want to be completely present for her birthday.

—

Still nursing a happy hangover from my recent father/son trip to Los Angeles, it came to my attention that the incredible Dave Chappelle was going to be performing a show in New Orleans last Friday. Better yet, tickets were actually affordable. Even better, they were actually available. I love Dave Chappelle, but not as much as I love my daughter. As I did the time math in my head (get home at midnight Friday night + get up at 4:45am Saturday morning to open the golf course + drive 1.5 hours Saturday afternoon to birthday party + actually be present and engaged at said party), I didn’t like the odds.

As I mulled Dave Chappelle over, I also had an interesting conversation with my parents who live just outside of Charlotte, NC, where I previously lived my entire life. During the conversation, my mom (I think abk has rubbed off on her) told me I should jump on a plane Sunday night, fly home to Charlotte, and go to the Panthers-Saints Monday Night Football Game with my dad. I jokingly told my mom she was becoming a bad influence, told them that idea hadn’t even crossed my mind, then briefly considered it before politely declining the offer.

All I want to do is be fully present for my two year old daughter’s birthday.

—

I did not go see Dave Chappelle. Instead, I had plenty of energy available to spend with my little Cutie Toot on the eve of her second birthday.

I did not fly to Charlotte to watch the Panthers-Saints play Monday Night Football. Instead, I took my son to soccer practice. And then we all watched both my Panthers AND my Cleveland Browns lose on Monday Night’s Double Feature.

If I had flown home to watch that nonsense…

—

Life is good right now. It really is. My biggest problem remains that I have so many things I want to do and not enough time to do all of them. My second biggest problem is that, as I mentioned earlier, I work every Saturday. It comes with the territory of being a golf professional at a beautiful, very popular golf course. However, my son’s soccer season has just started, and most of the games are on Saturday.

During their opening tournament two weekends ago, his team played six games across Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and I miraculously got to go to three of them. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. This coming weekend is their first regular game, and I just found out they play Saturday at 3pm, which I can totally make.

I feel like I just won the lottery.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“Life is not a spectator sport.” – the great Jackie Robinson

We had to wait 2.5 hours for a rental car upon our arrival in LA, but when the gentleman pointed us to a Ford Mustang GT 5.0, all was forgiven.

When we finally left the rental car riff-raff, we had to fight Beyoncé traffic. And Prince Harry traffic.

We went straight to Dodger Stadium from the airport. Dodgers-Braves round one. It was my favorite event from the trip.

I loved the stadium. I loved the vibe. The Braves were great. But the Kobe Bryant drone light show after the game was out of this world.

We checked into our hotel in Burbank around midnight, so we slept in Saturday morning.

On the west coast, college football is on television at 9am. I thought we had slept until noon.

LA Sports Cards was right across the street from our hotel. Half sports, half Pokémon. My son was stoked.

I walked in wearing a Zion jersey. They had that same jersey on the wall. That started the nearly two hour long conversation.

My son had $170 of his own money to spend. He spent all but $9 of that on cards, which he joyfully played with while we watched TCU vs. Colorado on television.

The Hollywood Sign is The Hollywood Sign. I’d seen it before, but it’s just cool.

I drove the Mustang down Sunset Blvd., and it roared like a lion.

Going to The Rose Bowl was all about the stadium. I could care less about UCLA football.

My official order at In N Out Burger is a double-double, spread only, add pickles. Hits the spot every time.

Chicago-style hot dogs beat the socks off of Dodger Dogs. Not even close.

Dodgers-Braves round two was Sunday afternoon. We got down on the field. Banks ran the bases.

When that game was over, we headed over to USC to watch our first WNBA game. So much fun. It was my son’s favorite thing we did.

We both really liked the in-game DJ, DJ Mal-Ski.

When that was over, Messi was playing right down the street. Tickets would have cost me $2,100. I begrudgingly passed.

We went to an old school pizza joint to wash away the pain of not seeing Messi. By all accounts, it worked.

The swimming pool area of our hotel was so picturesque. I can see why so many movies and television shows have filmed there.

I wanted to see the Friends set. Banks wanted to see Harry Potter world. We both wanted to see The Big Bang Theory set.

Anaheim was a very pleasant suburb. The stadium was pleasant. The people were pleasant. But nothing spectacular.

Ohtani injured himself during pregame batting practice, so that was a bummer. So we just watched a normal Angels vs. Orioles game without the star of the show.

I got to make a custom Angels hat with cool patches, so that was dope.

Every stadium we went to had mountains as the backdrop. It was 70 degrees and usually around sunset. My heaven.

I saw more Teslas during these five days than I have seen cumulatively in my life.

We made it to Venice Beach to shoot ball before we had to get on the plane Tuesday. Have no fear, this white man still can’t jump.

Five sporting events. A movie studio tour. Two trips to Hollywood. Two trips to LA Sports Cards. Shooting baskets at the beach.

I feel very confident that this young tradition in its second year could last a lifetime. Every Labor Day weekend.

Sports trip? Surely you know it’s more than that.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“If you are not willing to change, you will not get better.”- one of my master instructors last week

Have you ever had the opportunity to meet someone at the absolute pinnacle of their craft? As a huge fan of sports, I immediately think of Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, or Lebron James. But those are the sexy names. Have you ever thought about who is the best writer in the world? Or the best interior decorator? Or the best maker of sunglasses?

If you aspired to make sunglasses, how awesome would it be to spend an hour, a day, or an entire week with that person?

That’s what happened to me last week.

—

For the past four years in the golf world, I have been the least experienced person in every room and on every course as it relates to aspiring golfers, golf instructors, and golf professionals. The room last week in Frisco, Texas was no different as I spent the week with eighteen peers aspiring to be something more.

I haven’t used this word much because it isn’t used much anymore, but in retrospect, I’ve really been an apprentice for the past few years, on a mission to learn an exorbitant amount of information through listening, observing, and getting thrown into the fire. I brought a wealth of life experience into my position, so don’t let me fool you, but as it relates to golf, I was a forty year old apprentice.

As we introduced ourselves to each other on the first day of the seminar, I briefly told my story. They asked what my ultimate goal was, and I confidently told them I had no idea. How can I have any idea what my ceiling is when I am learning something new every single day? When I am experimenting and trying something new every single day?

—

“Be curious, not judgmental.”- Ted Lasso

Though the number I found varies, for simplicity’s sake, let’s say that there are only 400 master professionals in the world. Last week in Frisco, Texas, I got to spend five days with two of them. As the name implies, they are the best of the best, and with as many years of experience as I have been alive, the wealth of knowledge is astounding.

What struck me most, though, was that even though they were at the top of their fields, they were hellbent on the process of learning more. (Wonder how they got to the top of their field?) I felt so energized in their presence. They had ten stories for every question that was asked. But the real treat for me, other than the Texas Twinkie from nearby Hutchins BBQ, was the thirty minute lesson I got from each of them regarding my personal golf game.

—

For the past almost twelve months, something has been slightly off in my game. It’s been diagnosed, kind of fixed, rediagnosed, sort of fixed, over and over. But something is still wrong.

Never one to miss an opportunity and certainly not ashamed of my flaws, I jumped at the chance to get a free lesson with each of them, something that would usually involve a waitlist and upwards of $500. I couldn’t wait to hear what they observed and how that information would be communicated to me.

Would it be my swing path? Or my wrist angles? Or the shafts in my club? The answer was not just no, but hell no. As only a true master of his universe could tell me, my instructor said Ben, your feet are too close together. You’re 6’4”. This Texas wind is about to blow you over. How can you expect to swing as fast as you do with such a narrow foundation? And that was that.

He gave me homework. We discussed how the change felt. He talked to me as a human being. And then I hammered a handful of balls into that beautiful Texas sky.

My feet were too far apart? He diagnosed that in thirty seconds, and one week later, when performed correctly, I’m hitting the ball better than ever. A master, indeed.

—

As we shared thoughts with each other throughout the week, I pondered what I might tell everyone that would be beneficial for them to hear. When the moment was right, I shared with the whole room that this entire process is a journey of getting better. Not a journey of comparing yourself versus Tiger Woods, or yourself versus a master teaching professional, or even yourself versus me. It’s about ARE YOU GETTING BETTER, measured daily, monthly, and over a larger period of time.

I’m not going to be an apprentice for much longer. I’ve told my parents to circle a date on the calendar next year. But that’s really just semantics. For a curious person like me, the apprenticeship really never ends. Learn more. Get better. Pay it forward.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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Just over two years ago, I started my new career as an assistant golf professional in coastal Mississippi. I knew absolutely nothing about the golf industry, but I am a curious guy and quick learner, so what the heck?

The second half of July at our course, I quickly learned, is very busy with tournaments, so I got thrown right into the fire. I helped where I could, observed and asked lots of questions, but I really didn’t feel like I was of much assistance.

At one point, while our general manager, head professional at the time, and other assistant professional were busy in the weeds of the event, they asked me to handle the very simple task of preparing the scoreboard for the tournament.

I didn’t know that such a seemingly simple duty could be done so wrong by such a seemingly competent individual…me. I did everything wrong. The markers I used were wrong. The font was wrong. The spacing was wrong. The size was wrong. Two plus years later, I laugh and laugh. But at the time, I remember feeling a tad defeated. I can’t even get a scoreboard right.

—

We host this same tournament at the same time every year, so this year was my third time around the block. It’s a two day event with 128 players each day and involves lots of moving parts, but it’s similar in its operation year over year. However, there is one major difference over the past three years. Year 1, I screwed up a scoreboard. Year 3, I’m in charge of running the whole damn thing.

In the ten days leading up to the tournament, I have lots of responsibilities. Some days, I show up in street clothes to paint hazards and boundaries on the course. Other days I meet with our general manager to ensure that all parties are on the same page with how all of the food and drink will be served. Some days I need to understand and communicate the other particulars. It’s not rocket science, but there are a lot of moving parts.

On the days of the event, the checklist is long, but it’s no different than loan closing day from my past career in banking. Make sure the golf course is set up correctly, the driving range is ready, the carts are ready, the food and beverage operation is ready, create a festive vibe, on and on. This is slightly more difficult when my right hand tournament man is down with Covid, as was the case this past weekend, but the rest of the crew stepped up.

Again, none of this is brain surgery, but they are all things that had to be learned. 25 months on, I am no expert, but I have learned so much by just jumping in the deep end.

It’s a fine line when pursuing something so new and foreign. On the one hand, you just dive in, get a few things wrong, learn so much from it, and improve immensely. On the other hand, you get so many things wrong that it kills your confidence before you really get started. I’ve experienced this feeling with becoming a golf professional, becoming a teacher and coach, and becoming a tournament player. It’s a fine line.

In industries where getting things wrong isn’t life or death, I’m a big believer in getting the reps. Lucky for me, I did not pursue rocket science. Only golf.

—

When people ask me what my favorite and least favorite things about becoming a golf professional are, I answer very quickly. I don’t love marking the golf course in 100 degree heat, and I hate making scoreboards. I hate it.

So I am thankful to my team that did the tough work this year. The tough work of writing peoples’ names in a reasonable size in a reasonable font that I just can’t seem to get right.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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It could have easily been the pizza at local favorite Pequod’s Pizza, but it wasn’t.

It could have easily been the family boat ride on Lake Michigan, but it wasn’t.

It could have easily been the beautiful skyline views, but it wasn’t.

It could have easily been the 90th minute winner at Soldier Field, but it wasn’t.

It could have easily been the 36 hole walk at North Shore Country Club, eating, drinking, making birdies and new friends, but it wasn’t.

It could have easily been taking my kids, one in my arm and one by my side, into a liquor store on the north side of Chicago to get Mama a bottle of wine, but it wasn’t. (But it was close.)

No, without a shadow of a doubt, the moment of the trip was Wrigley Field. Red Sox at Cubs. Sunday afternoon. 1:20pm first pitch. Perfect weather. When the two gentlemen, one playing acoustic guitar and one playing saxophone, started playing God Bless America, it was on. When the 35,000+, myself included, started singing along, it was really on. I looked down at my son and thought, It just doesn’t get any better.

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Roughly two hours earlier, minutes after parking in some secret garage that made me wonder if the car was going to still be there after the game, I saw a sign that read Kids Run the Bases Today. Intrigued, we set off on a mission to make this happen. When we arrived to the sign up area, we were greeted with corn hole boards and a giant television showing the Wimbledon final. We played. We watched. We signed up. Then it was time to enter the cathedral.

The first order of business was to get a Cubs hat. Next, a program. Next, Chicago hot dogs.

If we were going to do a Cubs game, then we were going to do it right. At first glimpse, I was in love. The atmosphere was buzzing. It was a perfect mix of old school and modern. Hell, as an homage to the history of the game, I scored the game real time on a paper scorecard. I felt like it was 1950.

But the stars of the show were the two musicians that got the party started. Their rendition of God Bless America and The Star Spangled Banner, accompanied by all of us, brought chills to my arms and tears to my eyes. When done correctly, they are still the best hype songs to get the action underway correctly.

In a remarkable coincidence, the Cubs starting pitcher was from Lucedale, Mississippi, a town 45 minutes from where we live. Unfortunately, he got rocked. We saw multiple home runs, a grand slam, and before we knew it the score was 11-0 Red Sox. On the flip side, the Sox pitcher was brilliant, striking out nine and only giving up one hit. The pitching legend Rick Sutcliffe led us in Take Me Out to the Ballgame, and then things got a little weird for the last two innings.

—

I had told Christy that we would be back around a certain time, and at this point, we were right on schedule. But inexplicably, the last two innings featured a pitcher’s first outing in the major leagues, five runs that didn’t matter, and a backup catcher throwing 35mph lob balls from the mound, a la The Floater from the movie Rookie of the Year. Entertaining, yes. Time consuming, also yes. I mean, my son still had the bases to run.

An hour later, it was time to go down on the field, a tittilating, yet chaotic experience for sure. What a wonderfully surprising way to end what was already such a great experience, a true modern throwback of a day.

—

Big Tony (not his real name) at the liquor store looked at me with a puzzled look. Hey! What’s going on here? He was referring to the one year old in my arm, the eight year old by my side, and the twist top bottle of wine fancy enough for an I’m late apology but not too fancy to be drunk from a hotel plastic cup in my right hand.

Here’s the situation, I said. Me and my boy just went to the Cubs game earlier while Mama stayed with this one. The game went a little longer than anticipated, and then he got to go down on the field and run the bases. Mama is slightly annoyed, so here we are. Please help.

As if Big Tony and I had known each other for decades, he laughed, rang me up, and asked me if it was worth it. Before I could say a word, my son emphatically answered Yes, and that was that.

I thanked the clerk for his understanding as I giggled to myself. Who knew that an already epic day would now have a new ending? Instead of finishing when my son touched home plate at Wrigley, the story would now end at a liquor store on the north side of Chicago.

With one child in my arm and one child by my side.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

Join the abk community!

Follow along on Instagram @anythingbutkhakis, @abkgolf, and @anythingbutkhakisphotography.

If you enjoy these and would like to get the weekly piece via email, please follow on the website http://www.anythingbutkhakis.com.