The reviews for the new golf movie, Seven Days in Utopia, are so rancid, so brutal that naturally, I had to see it.

 

For one thing, I am a sucker for a golf movie, any golf movie.  I can’t help myself.   In the case of Seven Days in Utopia I also had to see for myself if it could really be the worst golf movie ever made, as one headline suggested.  Of course, with competition like the cinematic turds Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius and The Legend of Bagger Vance, I found that hard to believe.  Could it possibly be hokier, with less convincing golf scenes, than Tin Cup?  More inane than Happy Gilmore? 

 

We’re talking about a genre of films, after all, where the crowning achievement is a goofball comedy turned cult-classic, Caddyshack.

 

Now that I think about it, the only golf movie I can recall that didn’t have me ducking out of the theater embarrassed for the entire game was The Greatest Game Ever Played, which didn’t suck, and before that, Follow Sun: The Ben Hogan Story, but that’s a reach going back 60 years.

 

Given the laughable history golf movies, and given the cruel and usual reviews, my expectations for Seven Days in Utopia could not have been any lower.

 

Based on David L. Cook’s novel of the same name, the book and the move have overt Christian undertones. The story is about a down-and-out young pro golfer (Lucas Black), who has just choked in a big tournament, humiliating himself in the process.  Running from his failure, he somehow finds his way to the tiny Texas of Utopia (pop. 373).  There, he falls under the spell of a wizened and compassionate old rancher (Robert Duvall) who, it turns out, was once a pretty fair pro golfer himself.  From there, it’s all about what really matters in life, which is where the movie takes a turn for the spiritual. (Oddly, even Christianity Today gave it a thumbs-down.)

 

The only thing that gave me the slightest cause for hope that Seven Days in Utopia might not stink was the disparity of reactions on Rotten Tomatoes between professional film critics and ordinary film-goers.  Professional critics, who can be a snooty, finicky crowd, killed Seven Days in Utopia: 13 percent approval; regular folks, however, give it a 73 percent approval.  Huge difference.

 

My personal approval rating: 50 percent.

 

I mean, it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t as awful as I expected.  If you made it through Bagger Vance, you’ll make it through Seven Days in Utopia.

 

And I will say this: Unless they used trick photography, or superimposed his head on a real pro’s body,  Lucas Black has the best golf swing you’ve seen in a golf movie in a long time.

 

So, then, why is Seven Days in Utopia getting pounded by the critics?  Because is indeed corny, corny, corny – and preachy.   It is one of several movies and books in recent years that tries to spread the Christian message in more subtle fashion.

 

Oh, and the dialog is often stiff and stilted.  A sampling:

 

Duvall: "The first step to finding a good golf game is finding some conviction."

 

Duvall:  "All golf shots start with a blank canvas.  We create the shots in our mind so we can reproduce tem with our bodies."

 

Duvall: "S-F-T: See it, feel it, trust it."

 

Still, as I left after Seven Days in Utopia, I’d gotten my golf fix on a rainy afternoon.  And considering that I was prepared to nod off or walk out, I was somehow vaguely pleasantly surprised.

The Bausch Collection of golf course galleries is growing again.

 

Since early July, when Joe Bausch, Villanova chemistry professor, unrepentant golf addict and itchy-fingered amateur photographer, uploaded three more course galleries, he has another six, a mix of private and daily fee: Skippack GC, Blackwood GC, Clayton Park GC, Torresdale-Frankford CC and Saucon Valley – Old Course and Weyhill Course.  The total is now up to 112.

 

If you are unfamiliar with Joe’s course galleries, they are the most complete assemblage of golf course photo galleries in the region, as well as an invaluable resources for golfers.

 

If you haven’t already done so, check them out.  Tell your golfing friends.  Even golf courses that offer photos of their courses on their own websites often do not provide the kind of complete overview that Joe comes up with, snapping away with his point-and-shoot camera as he plays.

 

Thinking about trying a new course?  Joe has probably already been there and photographed it.  Considering joining a private club?  You can probably narrow the list of possibilities thanks to The Bausch Collection.

 

Not surprisingly, Joe’s biggest body of work is from Pennsylvania (87 courses), followed by New Jersey (18 courses), then Delaware (4) and Maryland (3).  More are always on the way, especially since joined the ranks of course raters for Golfweek magazine.  Now, he has even more incentive to try new courses.

 

Enjoy.

For Temple golf and golf coach Brian Quinn, these are the best of times and the worst of times.

 

In the current rotation of Featured Stories on MyPhillyGolf, there are two stories that involve talented young Temple golfers.  One is about Andrew Mason, who just finished his eligibility at Temple.  He is riding the hottest of hot streaks right now, having won the Philadelphia Open, the Pennsylvania Amateur, the Patterson Cup and, soon enough, Player of the Year from the Golf Association of Philadelphia.  Next week, Mason will tee it up in the U.S. Amateur.

 

The other story involving a Temple golfer is nothing short of tragic.  It’s about Connor McNicholas, another talented young player who will be a sophomore a few weeks, assuming he returns to school.  He could be in jail.

 

McNicholas, who is only 19, faces 20 charges, including homicide by vehicle while driving under the influence, following the Aug. 6 high-speed crash that killed two of the four teens who were in the car with him that night.

 

As it happened, the fatal crash involving McNicholas occurred while I was researching the story on Mason.   You can imagine the tone of the conversation I had with Coach Quinn.

 

It started out upbeat, because my early questions were about the phenomenal success of Mason.  Quinn was so proud of Mason and so happy for him.  The coach couldn’t stress enough what a great young man and student athlete Mason is, in addition to being a golfer with an unlimited future.

 

Eventually, unfortunately, I had to broach the subject of McNicholas.  There was silence on the other end of the phone as Quinn gathered his emotions and his thoughts.  At that point, the toxicology reports on McNicholas were not back yet, so he had not been charged.  But there was so much sorrow in Quinn’s voice.  Even in a best case scenario,  if McNicholas were not charged, Quinn and I both knew that he would live the rest of his life knowing that two of his friends died that night.

 

Quinn did not want to speculate on how things would play out for McNicholas. The coach couldn’t get past the needless hurt and suffering, for all involved.   "Your life changes in an instant," he said, sadness in his voice. 

 

Quinn’s pain was only compounded by the fact that he also had high praise for McNicholas.   What a likable kid, fine young man and promising golfer.  Oh, and he misery of his family.  How could something like this happen?

 

I saw in the paper a couple of days ago that when McNicholas appeared in court to be formally be charged, there to support him were his parents of course, but also his golf coach.  I wasn’t surprised.  Sometimes coaching is about more than "Xs" and "Os."

When Tiger Woods announced that his big return to golf would be at this week’s WGC Bridgestone Invitational, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would end up eating my own words.  My last blog posting, after all, had been about my current indifference to Tiger and the future of his career.

 

Still, when he teed off  at 1:40 in the first round on Thursday, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I had taken up my usual position in front of the hi-def big screen, in my big leather chair.  I had to see what he would do.

 

So I watched, and I watched some more.

 

But then, something very strange happened.  I got a little bored.  Soon, I had my laptop on my lap, uploading stories to MyPhillyGolf as I kept one eye peeled to the TV.  A few minutes later, I was up puttering, loading the dishwasher, gathering up all the old newspapers and magazines that tend to pile up around my chair.  Next thing you know, I was away from the TV altogether, upstairs throwing a load of washing into the washing machine.

 

True, I continued to pop downstairs to check on the progress of Tiger’s round.  But I wasn’t glued to the TV, like I used to be whenever he played.  I wasn’t frozen in place, noting every loose shot, evaluating every birdie opportunity.

 

Here’s the real kicker.  Midway through Tiger’s back nine, I was totally disengaged.  I switched off the TV and went to the range to hit a bucket of balls.  You know, my own game over Tiger’s. It was clear by then he wasn’t going to shoot 64 and he wasn’t going to shoot 78, anyway.  As the cops say in the movies, "Move along, folks, nothing to see here." 

 

It’s just not the same any more.

The longer Tiger Woods is missing in action, the less I miss him.  My curiosity about him, the condition of his leg/knee/Achilles, the state of his game and, of course, the timetable for if and when he ever returns, stir very little interest or me these days.

 

If he shows up again, okay.  If he doesn’t, that’s okay, too.

 

Meanwhile, golf moves on, and I am finding other people to watch and like.  I like this Rickie Fowler kid.  I hate his hat.  I hate the flat brim, and I hate the way he pulls it down over his ears and his goofy haircut.  I’m not crazy about those Kandy Kolored Kool-Aid Klothes he wears, either.  But, hey, Rickie could probably find a few nits to pick with in my golfing ensemble, too, so I suppose it’s a wash.

 

What I like about Rickie is that he is exciting to watch.   He’s got flare and style and he goes for broke, like Phil Mickelson at that age.  I also have to admit I was very wrong about Rickie.   At the 2008 U.S. Open at Torrey Pines, when he was still a hot-shot college amateur, I stood behind Rickie on the range for 30 minutes watching him balls. I turned to my friend and said, "With that whippy, home-made swing, no way he makes on the PGA Tour.  Rickie hasn’t won yet, but Rickie appears to be making it.

 

I also like Rory McIlroy.  Gorgeous swing, hard-working, ambitious, humble.  Once he learns how to handle all the fame and success that is going to come his way, Rory McIlroy could easily settle in for a long run as No. 1 in the world.

 

Dustin Johnson I like watching but I cannot figure out him out.   He is perhaps the best athlete on the golfing scene today, and he kills it the ball.  Obviously, he has been at or near the top of the leaderboard at most every major for the past couple of years, biding him time for his big breakthrough.

 

But I don’t know what to make of that almost vacant-look on Dustin Johnson’s face so much of the time.  I wonder what he is thinking, if he is thinking.  I’ve sat through three or four of his press conferences and I come away yearning for some of the intelligence and sophistication you hear from the Australian players, like Adam Scott and Geoff Ogilvy.

 

I don’t know who is going to winner a major sooner, Dustin Johnson or Jason Day.  My money is on Day.

 

It’s good to see Matt Kuchar finally coming into his own, after a major swing change a couple of years ago.  It’s also good to see Steve Stricker, who is one of the most earnest guys on the planet, become one of the top players in the world.  I never would have guessed Stricker had it in him.

 

If you didn’t smile when Darren Clarke won the British Open, then you haven’t followed golf or you haven’t been following Darren Clarke.

 

I’m also rooting for Phil Mickelson to remain competitive and maybe win another major, preferably a fourth Masters.

 

John Daly?  I lost interest.

 

If Tiger ever returns and starts to mount some kind of career comeback, I might even find it in my heart to pull for him.  It would help if he would stop acting like a complete ass.

The AT&T National might be gone from Aronimink GC, but never let it be said that important developments in the life of Tiger Woods didn’t take place on the premises.

 

We learned after the fact that in 2010, the first of the two years Aronimink hosted the AT&T, Tiger finalized the divorce agreement from ex-wife Elin from his cell phone, supposedly in the Aronimink locker room.

 

Now, in the wake of Tiger axing long-time, loyal looper Steve Williams, we learn that the actual face-to-face firing took place in the board room at Aronimink after the final round of the 2011 AT&T.

 

Perhaps a couple of it-happened-here plaques are in order.

I was cleaning out the basement late Sunday afternoon as I pondered what I might write about the British Open and Darren Clarke’s heartwarming and long-overdue victory, when I made a pleasant and unexpected discovery.  Back in the corner, under a pile of junk, I came across my old pull cart.

 

When was the last time I saw this thing, let alone used it?

 

My immediate reaction was to set it aside for the trash truck on Monday morning, which I did.  But as I returned to my cleaning and rummaging, I kept thinking of the history this old cart and I have together. 

 

It’s old and creaky and layered with crud.  But when I stretched out its legs and extended its arm, I could see there was still life in the old pull cart.  A touch of arthritis, maybe, but no serious sprains or broken bones.  A cleaning rag here, a drop of oil there, and it would be practically as good as new.  When I laid my son’s golf bag into its waiting arms and gave it a whirl around the basement, I realized there was no way I was parting with this valued relic from my golfing past.

 

I say it is mine, because it has been for the past 40-plus years.  Originally, it was my late father’s.  He passed it on to me when I was in high school and he got a new one for himself. 

 

My father was a firm believer in pull carts.  He loved golf, and he played with a passion until he was almost 90. But to him, the game was as much about the walk and the exercise as it was about hitting the ball – he walked briskly and with a purpose.  In all our rounds together, I saw him ride in a cart maybe a half-dozen times, and it was always at some fancy resort or vacation spot where carts were mandatory.  He endured it like he was wearing a hair shirt.

 

I didn’t quite inherit my father’s insistence on walking, although I did put thousands more miles on that pull cart.  Why I have hung onto it for all these years, through six states and 20 or more moves, I can’t say.  Truth is, I wasn’t even aware I still had it. 

 

Sad to say, but I rarely see a pull cart these days.  Most courses want the revenue from the carts.  And young golfers, if they walk, prefer to sling one of those new ultra-lite bags over their shoulder.  Who can blame them?  Those bags are way cooler than a pull cart.

 

It’s different in the UK.  In all the golf I’ve played in Scotland, England and Ireland, I can recall riding in a cart no more than three or four times, usually at an Americanized resort such as the K Club.  Many courses over there don’t even have riding carts.  Golf is a walking game over there, and more than likely with a pull cart, or "trolley," as they call them.

 

I’m glad I found my old pull cart.  I intend to nurse it back to health with a cleaning and some oil, then take it for a spin.  Like in the old days, I’ve got a feeling my old cart and I are going to be spending a few late afternoons together.