Full-Court Press
JUNE Jones got a telephone call yesterday from a friend back in Georgia who said he had two tickets to The Masters and asked if Jones could fly out for the weekend. I’m not the ‘Masters’
of my domainThese days, the new Hawaii head football coach barely has time to go to the corner and back, much less jet across America to see the first of the four grand slams in golf.
"But if I could go, I would," said Jones, who loves smacking a Titleist down the middle of a fairway almost as much as completing a 70-yard touchdown pass. "There's nothing quite like it. If you can find a way to get there, I've got the tickets."
On my way back to the office, I almost had two wrecks daydreaming about spending the weekend in Augusta, Ga., with my good friends Tiger Woods and David Duval.
The only two events I'd like to cover before I write my way into the sunset are the Masters and the Kentucky Derby. But I don't see myself ever getting there from here.
Foolishly, I called home to ask my wife, "If I can convince United Airlines to let me use some of my miles for a quick trip to Atlanta and back, can you find it in your heart to let me go?"
Silence on the line.
"You see, June has a couple of tickets for The Masters that he can't use. You know how I've always wanted to go. I may never get this opportunity again."
I'm not sure at what point she dropped the receiver on the hook, but I had my answer: Go to Augusta and don't worry about ever coming home.
I sat at my desk, pondering my future. Just a few years ago, I remember talking with former UH players Jason Ross and Gary Ellison about the Masters.
While in high school, the two Augusta residents went to the Masters all the time to do volunteer work. They talked about how beautiful the course was and how many people were on a waiting list just for the opportunity to buy tickets.
You would have a better chance of landing front-row, center seats to see The Beatles on a reunion tour than getting a weekend pass for the Masters.
"People spend thousands of dollars just to go on Sunday," Ellison said. "I remember we just went to see all the beautiful women walking around hoping the golfers would notice them."
Two years ago, Ellison felt a strong pull to return home to watch Woods win his first major. But it'd be tough to match what I was feeling.
Imagine following the last twosome through Amen Corner on Sunday afternoon. What would it feel like to walk up No. 18, only 50 yards removed from a man being fitted for the fabled green jacket?
Would it be Woods? How about Duval? Or could Greg Norman put together a magical round to help him forget the disaster of 1996?
"Honey, I know you think I'm crazy, but don't hang up," I said to my wife so quickly I barely understood the words. "Remember that scene in Rocky where the promoter says, "It's a chance of a lifetime, Rocky. You can't pass it by.' This is one of those moments."
I was talking so loud, people around my desk were getting a little nervous. Perhaps that's why I didn't hear the click on the end of the line once more.
"Oh well," I thought to myself as I stuffed my tattered and torn spring football media guide into my own bag. "Perhaps, it's for the best."
With my luck, I'd probably miss a connection or get lost driving from Atlanta to Augusta. They'd probably take one look at me and wonder, "What kind of company is June keeping these days, anyway?"
It's better I stick around and watch tomorrow's scrimmage. It's not the Masters, but if it's good enough to keep Jones around, it'll have to do for me.
Paul Arnett has been covering sports
for the Star-Bulletin since 1990.