When I got the call a couple of days ago from his daughter-in-law that Jim Sykes had died, I couldn’t help but think back over the 16 years I’d known him.

I liked Jim.  He was a no BS guy.  He’d tell you what he thought, whether you wanted to hear it or not.  He and I spent more than a few hours together, hanging around GAP events, walking golf courses, on the phone.  He even took me to Pine Valley, where he was a long-time member, a couple of times.  What’s not to like about that.

Up until the time he moved into a retirement home, Jim and I lived in adjoining suburbs and we’d bump into each other at the shopping center from time to time.  Those meetings took on new meaning after he retired as Executive Director of the GAP in 2000.  We’d catch up, gossip about GAP and about golf, and he would describe his new life as a retiree.  He missed being in the game.

That’s because Jim Sykes was the ultimate pro.  Years ago, when I was trying to figure out the proper balance for covering the national golf scene (i.e. Tiger, Phil, et al) and the local golf scene (GAP, WGAP, Publinks), I would often seek out fellow my golf writers at other big-city metro papers to ask how they did it.

I’d go on for a few minutes about all the GAP did and the time and space that the Inquirer devoted to their events.  More often than not, I’d be met with a blank stare from my fellow scribes.  They’d shake their head and say, "It’s not really an issue for me because we’ve got nothing like the way you describe GAP."

GAP is a very special organization, pretty much in a league of its own among local and regional golf associations.  For that, Jim Sykes deserves and enormous amount of credit.  That, to me, is his proud legacy.

The last time I spoke to Jim was two or three months ago.  I was writing a column for the Global Golf Post about the GAP Team Matches and I wanted to mention the one year GAP was forced to cancel the Team Matches because of the late snow, 1994.  I figured he would remember everything. 

I reached him in his retirement village in Audubon, where he and Sue had moved not too long before.   He complained a little about his health, but his mood was good and his mind was sharp.  Sure enough, Jim had instant recall of every detail I needed.   I wasn’t surprised.  I also wasn’t surprised when we gossiped for another 20 minutes.

Jim Sykes has earned his place in Philadelphia golf history. 

I can’t wipe the grin off my face this morning.  Yesterday, 11 weeks and a day since undergoing left hip replacement surgery on July 31, I played my first full 18-hole round.  Ah, the marvels of modern medicine.

My score (87) was irrelevant.  What matters is that I felt great, I had no pain and I could make a decent pass at the ball, including the necessary but worrisome rotation of the hips.

On top of all that,  it was an perfect fall day and the company was excellent:  Jeff Silverman, golf writer and a veteran of double- hip-replacement himself 11 years ago, who advised and counseled me throughout my own hip odyssey.

Until now, I had only played two nine-hole rounds and hit balls a few times.  I went to the range on the eight-week anniversary of the surgery, but after a a bucket, I realized I was pushing it.  I waited another week and tried again.  It was a little better, but I still feared asking my new titanium hip to do more than it was ready for.  This healing business takes time.

Two weeks ago, 10 weeks after going under the knife, I went out for my first nine holes with one of my regular golf buddies, Tim Black.  It went well, and my swing felt good, but I was pooped after nine and ready to call it a day.

I played my second nine one day last week, when I looked up my computer and realized it was another clear, crisp fall afternoon.  I jumped up and headed to the course.  That also went well, but again, nine holes was all I was ready for.

Yesterday, I was determined to go the full 18, and I’m glad I did.  I got tired toward the end and I limped a little the last few holes, but that was okay.  Another 18-hole round is in my near future.

I write this to share my own progress, obviously, but I also write to encourage anyone else who might be hobbling around on a bad hip or knee, potentially facing the same decision Jeff and I faced.

Joint replacement surgery and the weeks of recovery are no joy ride, that’s for sure. But the alternative is living in constant pain, and living a very restricted life.  I’m glad I did.  Faced with the same circumstance, I’d do it again.  Slowly but surely, I’m getting my life back.

Happy golfing.  Happy living.

If you’re a fan of college football, you might have read today that Beano Cook, the great ESPN pigskin prognosticator, has moved on to the hereafter.  NYTimes obit. Video: The Wit and Wisdom of Beano Cook.

Once upon a time, before he was famous, I knew Beano Cook and used to spend hours with him on the phone.  It was 30-plus years ago, when I was a reporter at the Minneapolis StarTribune, writing, among other things, a weekly column on sports media.

Back in those days, Beano was the PR guy for ABC Sports in New York, when Monday Night Football was in its heyday and Keith Jackson was dominant voice of college football.  Beano and I would talk at least once a week and oftentimes, two or three times a week.

What I remember most about those conversations is that we’d quickly discuss the business at hand – i.e., whatever or whoever ABC was promoting – then we’d spend 30 minutes gabbing and gossiping about everything from the sports departments at the other networks, to what athletes or sportscasters were jerks, to movies, to politics, to comedy. 

Beano was so funny and so acerbic, with a New York sense of everything, and it was like getting a one-man performance from Don Rickles.  He knew everything about college football.   I used to say, "Beano, why don’t they put you on TV?"

Up to that point, Beano was a voice on the other end of the phone.  I got my answer when I finally saw a photo him.  As smart, quick-witted and lovable as Beano was, he was not the network’s idea of hunky sports talent.  He looked like a middle-aged, balding man and a paunch, who likely took the subway to work.

Of course, ESPN eventually became part of the ABC/Disney empire and somebody in power there realized that Beano’s mug be damned, he was a real talent.  They put him on TV and he had a great, long run.  Meanwhile, every time his mug popped up on my TV screen, I’d think back to our wonderful phone conversations.

R.I.P. Beano Cook.

A guy came up to me at a wedding reception last weekend and said, "You’re a golf guy, do you think Tiger will break Jack Nicklaus’ record?"

"No," I replied without hesitation and, frankly, without a doubt.

Remember when Tiger Woods was winning a major every year, sometimes two a year? (Once, three in a year).  Back then, it was a foregone conclusion that Tiger would not just break Nicklaus’ record of 18 majors but most likely shatter it in spectacular fashion.  I can remember conversations where we kicked around the possibility of Tiger winning 25 or 26 majors before he was done.

In 2006, when the U.S. Golf Association announced that Merion GC would host the 2013, I can even remember realizing that Tiger could very well break there record in our back yard, making the East Course the setting for yet one more historic moment in the game.

Now, like golf fans everywhere, I watch Tiger and shake my head in dismay over what once was.  I know, I know, Tiger won three times this year, and he has climbed back to No, 2 in the World Golf Rankings.  But he hasn’t won a major since the U.S. Open in 2008, and he didn’t exactly grow his legend with that performance in the recent Ryder Cup.

I never thought I would write or utter these words but suddenly, the man can’t putt.  Four- and five-footers, which used to be his stock-in-trade, now bedevil him.  It used to be, the more crucial the putt, the more sure you were that he would bury it.  He was ice.  Not any more. Really, would you be surprised to see him show up at a tournament with a belly putter, or maybe going to the "claw."

I read something somewhere not long ago that suggested that Tiger can’t handle the pressure any more.  It’s like his gears have been shredded.  He wants to win majors and Ryder Cups too much now, to show the world that he has indeed fought back to reclaim his rightful place atop the game.  Sounds plausible to me.

All I know is, I have finally begun to believe that Tiger will be lucky to win one more major, never mind the four he needs to tie Nicklaus and the five he needs to eclipse him.  I don’t see it happening.

Is it just me or was anybody else a little surprised and disappointed to turn on the TV yesterday and see Jack Nicklaus standing on a stage in Ohio introducing and endorsing Mitt Romney.

I’ve been a great fan and admirer of Jack Nicklaus for most of my life.  It certainly doesn’t surprise me that he is a Republican or that he supports Romney in the presidential race.  But I must admit, it bothers me that he felt compelled to go so public with his politics.

Why? Because to me, Jack Nicklaus is all about golf.  Okay, he’s also known as a family man, a successful course designer and doer of good deeds for various causes and charities.  But mostly, Jack Nicklaus’ public life has always been about having earned the distinction of being the greatest golfer of all time.

Now, suddenly, he’s just another celebrity who has inserted himself into the national food fight of politics.  I hate that, because golf is one of my few escapes from the ugliness of modern politics and many other harsh realities of life, especially the realities that divide us as a nation.

Would I feel the same if it had been President Barack Obama he was endorsing?  Yes, I  would.   About the only thing I want to see Jack Nicklaus endorse is the next PGA of America initiative to grow the game.

I try to stay away from plugs for charity events because there are so many good charities for good causes doing great things.  But from some reason, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for The Jerry Segal Classic.

The 23^rd Segal Classic is this Friday the 21^st, at the ACE Club and Green Valley CC, both in Lafayette Hill.   Over the past years, The Segal Classic has raised more than $10 million to benefit patients at Magee Rehabilitation Hospital, which takes on some of the toughest cases around.

They’ve still got a few spots left in this year’s Classic.  Here’s a link to the event website.  To play, register here.

The Jerry Segal Classic is an all-day thing: breakfast, golf at two of the finer courses in the area and a banquet in the evening.   It is, in fact, the largest one-day charity golf event in Philadelphia.

If you are not familiar with Jerry Segal’s story, he was a prominent local attorney whose spinal cord was injured during surgery.  Jerry was sent to Magee and, weeks later, against all odds, he walked out.

Segal made a vow then and there to give back to the hospital as much as it had given back to him.  It’s a promise he has never forgotten.

My life on the couch, I am happy to report, is over.  I’m very close to being back in the game.

On Wednesday – six weeks and day since my hip replacement surgery – I paid an office visit to my surgeon.  He studied a set of fresh x-rays, poked and prodded me on his examining table, then pronounced me pretty much good to go.

"Everything looks good," he said, clearly pleased with my progress and his handiwork. 

My left hip, which is now a foot-long titanium thingy that on the x-rays looks like some kind of  Medieval weapon, is healing nicely.  My right hip, which wasn’t replaced but was sort of cleaned of dead and dying bone tissue, is regenerating, just as the doctor hoped it would.

Can I finally lose the crutches, I asked my doctor?  Yep.  The cane?  Not unless I need it for balance until I get my strength back, he told me.

"Now the big question," I said.  "When can I play golf?"

"Any time, now," said my doctor, much to my surprise.  "But you might to go with an easy swing for a while." 

He smiled.  I smiled.  

When I got home, first thing I did was take my crutches and my cane down to the deepest, darkest recesses of my the basement.  With any luck, I’ll never need them again.  Then I went for a walk around my neighborhood.  I was a little weak and a little wobbly, but I’ve gotta say, it felt good – and no pain.  Seven weeks ago, before the surgery, the 50-foot walk to the mailbox felt like somebody was stabbing me with an icepick on every step.

Tomorrow morning, my plan is to hit a bucket of balls, two or three buckets, if I can muster the stamina.  I won’t push it, though; I’m still a little afraid of the twisting and turning involved in pulling off a golf swing.  If it turns out all I can manage is chipping  and a few pitch shots, I’ll take it and be happy.

On Monday, I start the serious three-times-a-week rehab work to rebuild my strength.  Six weeks of doing almost nothing has left my lower body weaker than I could have imagined.  For now, I am taking three or four walks around my neighborhood every day.  I can feel I am getting stronger.  It feels good.