It was lovely to see everybody again--Janet
and Eddie, I'm sorry I missed saying goodbye to you too, and it was wonderful to
meet the 'newbies'.
I don't know what magic Char was workin', but the condo was gorgeous, like
something out of a TV series. Brand new, with ceramic tile floors, marble
countertops, etc. Huge and expansive, so of course we spent all our time in the
kitchen.
Sunday Q & Bobbert plucked me up from the airport and we went noodling around
Myrtle Beach. Took a bit of effort, but we finally found a restaurant which was
not a) a national chain or b) a pancake house. Then enjoyed a lovely stroll on a
fairly unpopulated beach--guess it's pretty early in the season, but it was
about 78* and the sky was a cloudless azure. We left just in time to avoid
sunburn.
Had just gotten back to the condo when Char called. In a sly little voice, she
reported simply, "we found Jason".
I shrieked. She and Marie had been part of a recon party out to the course
clubhouse that morning, to get an idea of what to expect location-wise on
Monday, and for some reason, after stuffing their rental car full of bargains
from the outlet mall, they'd stopped back over, and as they were standing
scanning the course from the beautiful wraparound veranda, who should walk past
on the path below but Himself! So Marie, who is, as my Brit in-laws would say,
"not backwards going forwards", yells, "Hey Jason!" at him, to which he
responds, "Oh hi girls", and explains he's got to go practice or something.
So I made tormented puppy eyes at Q until she relented and whisked me over to
the clubhouse--only a mile or two--though she adamantly refused to remain,
insisting that I was being very rude.
About which I couldn't give a @#%$, at that point.
So the Monday morning we all gather our assorted bits and bobs and roll out
bright and stinkin' early, assembling at the House o' Blues to park, hook up
with the others, and jump in the Luxury Motor Coach jobbies laid on for the
occasion. A nice man with a 'volunteer' badge around his neck asks if we already
have tickets; when told we did, he said we could just get on the bus. And
somewhat to our consternation, that was the last we heard about tickets the
whole rest of the bleedin' day.
We had all been very sensible and slathered on our high-powered sunscreen, and
almost everybody had a hat of some description, as well as way too much other
crap--but how could we know?? We decided to take a chance and check out the
"Celebrity Long Drive" contest. We seemed to be about the earliest people there
with any kind of plan, so we had a quick consult over the program (exclaiming
with horror over the previously noted misspelling of Jason's name) and parked
ourselves around the practice drive...green...thingie.
So there's our little coterie, and not too much other action; a big-ass boom
camera with a honkin' lens, and multi-coloured rings of weights at the other end
is being positioned. People in unattractive monogrammed shirts are milling
around. Finally some good-looking guy with a mic comes and introduces himself,
explaining that he's from a local sports show, I think. I expected him to be a
completely useless git, but he was actually very quick, very funny and fast on
his feet. He chatted with some other 'Celeb', a man who immediately confessed he
and several of the others had been up the night before "drinking like Mickey
Mantle" and we shouldn't expect too much (he sounded like he hadn't quit all
that long ago). He seemed inclined to confess to other activities but the host
jokingly reminded him that it was a family event and moved on. We were beginning
to think that Jason would not be there for the contest, as one of the officials
said it was really informal, there were no scheduled players, it was just
whoever felt like turning up.
We'd bumped into Vicki, and she and Caroline had decided they would go and wait
where the carts were arriving, but apparently Jason walked, because all of a
sudden, there he was. And he looked just like Jason Isaacs. It was so....weird!
Jason Isaacs! Right there! He was trying to figure out what was happening, how
to get included, as they'd already started, and there was the requisite
interview with Little Old Lady (who'd never seen any of the movies the other 'celebs'
had been in--they kept saying "Michael O'Keefe of 'Caddyshack'!" like the poor
bastard had never done another film, though I guess it was natural considering
the venue). Finally he managed to worm his way in, and was announced: Jason
Isaacs of "The Patriot". At which I began bellowing other titles, until Q pulled
my hat down over my head--O, the shattered decorum.
The deal was that they were supposed to get 3 goes, but most of them got 4, and
one or two more (I think Drunk Guy couldn't count any more). It was very low-key
with lots and lots of teasing. I think JI may have taken 4, but can't recall, I
was still so dazzled. He was also very good-natured, goofing about and cringing
violently at his first couple of shots (and I mean violently, he screwed his
whole body up in chagrin, finally straightening to yell "FORE!!") but it was
also clear that he really wanted to do well. It's apparent he's pretty
competitive.
At last he was done, and to my surprise, he came right over to us and began
distributing hugs, a bit awkwardly, with the rope in between us. He was very
very gracious, and said how grateful he was that we'd come, and how kind we
were, and how he hoped we were enjoying ourselves.
We chided him (well hell, he was lined up in front of 7 mommies or something)
about his sunburn. He said sheepishly that it was from his practice the day
before, and expressed astonishment that he had gotten burned: "I didn't expect
it", he said, "there was quite a good breeze, and it didn't feel that hot out."
Yeeeaaaah. Mukluk. Host dude came over and teased him about clogging up the
joint, asking jokingly if we were JI's fans, and was genuinely taken aback when
he heard that, no @#%$, we were, and one of us had come all the way from Chicago
for the occasion! He observed somebody's "CHILL" button, and I yelped, "we've
all got them!" He looked up, and his gaze went along the length of the rope, and
he was really surprised. It was very cool. So he pulled Kate under the rope and
had a chat with her (it could turn up on the Golf Channel in May, ladies!). JI
signed a ton o' crap and finally, expressing regret, said he had to go and eat
something--and put on sunscreen (Mr. Barndoor after the Horse).
So we gathered our stuff and levitated over the 6th tee, where JI's 5-man team
was starting. The deal was everybody would tee off, and then all the players
would use the position of the best shot to start their next shot from. So they
had 5 chances every time, if you see what I mean. DH says that here that's
called "Captain's Choice", but Marie calls it "Scramble". Anyway, they used JI's
shot several times, and I know @#%$-all about golf, but his ball never landed in
water, he never swung and completely missed, and he never struck a spectator, so
he did better than many. At first his teammates seemed really puzzled by the
entourage, but after a while they got used to it. They teased him a bit, but JI
seemed very pleased to have us there. He said he was sorry he couldn't give us
all a ride, and a couple of holes later did insist on taking up a bunch of bags
and stuff. We ended up not using the stools much at all, since the golfers had
carts and several of the holes were a significant distance from one another--and
as reported, JI drives like a drunken madman. I was seriously worried about him
at one point, because he had his leg sticking out the side, and I thought, if
you roll that sucker on your ankle you'll know all about it. (He'd already told
us the story of the cart he'd rolled on Owen Teale, saying that he hadn't been
injured by that but that he'd feared that Owen, all 6'3" of his bad self, might
beat him to death) JI seemed to take great pleasure in nearly mowing us all
over, cutting over hills, driving the cart under the "gallery restraining
ropes", and hopping over the edge of the walkways. The carts have electric
motors which make them almost silent, and he wouldn't shout or anything, just
come zooming up and nearly take you out. He was like something from a Warner
Brothers cartoon that got vetoed as being a bad example to children. His poor
team- and cartmate just clung on stoically.
Speaking of children, he was remarkably responsive and gracious to little
children, stopping and chatting to all who approached him. It was kind of hard,
because I think some of them couldn't understand his accent so he had to repeat
himself a lot. One couple approached him somewhat timidly, asking for an
autograph for the children they had left at home. They explained that they
hadn't realized he was going to be there, and their kids wouldn't forgive them
if they let the opportunity pass. JI immediately volunteered that he had some
"Harry Potter" pictures in his cart that he would be delighted to sign for them.
They were so surprise and thrilled, and he scampered over and retrieved one for
them. So much for "NO MEMORABILIA!!"
The whole day was like that, very laid-back, and as Q said, we essentially
followed him around the whole day, peeling off in ones or twos to rest aching
knees (or bladders) or snag a much-needed sandwich (not all of us were bold
enough to stroll over and help ourselves to the player food). JI took a lot of
ribbing about us, but proudly declared that we were what made his team play so
well. One by one most of us crept over and got an individual photo taken, and he
was gracious and easy with all.
Those trousers--every time he went to hit the ball, he went through the same
silly ritual: he'd toss his hat and glasses on the grass, and then search
through both front and back pocket on the right side, pulling out his cell-phone
and all kinds of other junk before finally extricating his tee, ball, or place
marker, then returning all the other items before finally lining up. He almost
invariably shot with his back to us, and it was hard to get informal shots in
which he was facing us and had his glasses off.
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