You know, I thought it would be kinda fun to share some stories of my adventures in golf reporting over the years.  I figured I would start at one of the first tournaments I ever covered.

It was 2003 and I was at the Players Championship at TPC Sawgrass in March.  It was my spring break in year two (of three) at college.  I stayed at the media hotel - a Days Inn - and had a room that allowed me to climb out of it and onto the roof of the hotel restaurant with a great view of Jacksonville Beach.  So, a few nights, I climbed over the railing with a chair and listened to music with a stogie.  Very relaxing.  Anyway, I digress.

This was my first time at an out-of-town PGA Tour event.  I checked in on Thursday, learned why writers love free catered food in the media tent, and walked the course a little bit.  I ran into ESPN's Scott Van Pelt, who was down there covering the event, too.  We met on the 18th hole where everyone was watching Tiger Woods approach the last.  We chatted for a bit while watching Tiger slam his club into his bag and scream an obscenity at his approach shot.  That was enough for us.

Scotty was heading to the clubhouse to do a little journo work.  Naturally, having clubhouse access, I had to check out the inside of the pre-Mediterranean style clubhouse with him.  Who do we run into but former University of Maryland golf coach Fred Funk?

That night, the Terps were taking on Michigan State in the NCAA tournament.  It was a big game for the Terps.  Van Pelt was talking about heading out to a bar to watch the game, but making sure to restrain himself from jawing with Sparty fans.  Funk told us he was going to head back home on the Sawgrass grounds to watch the game.  After all, it was tournament week.  We all go our separate ways for the night.

I head back to the hotel to figure out my night.  I'm still 19 at the time (a month away from turning 20), so not sure what fun a 19 year old can have in J'Ville.  So, to kill some time, I pop on my swim suit and head down to the hotel hot tub.  It's a pretty nice night out and I'm enjoying the tub, when these guys come in and they've got a cooler filled with beer.  I knew cause they each had two in their hand as they got in.

So, we start talking for a while and come to find out that they're from Baltimore, too - and they're Terps fans.  That alone got me a beer.  (I drank it.  Yes, I broke the law.)  I asked them what they were doing for the night.  They said they were heading to a bar down the street called Champs to watch the game.  Enormous screens they say.  The game's at 9:30 and they invite me down to watch the game with them. 

I'm thinking that there's no way they let me in that bar.  I didn't even have a lousy fake ID.  But, I figured I would try. 

About an hour after I get back to my room, I head down toward the bar.  There is literally no one on the street in Ponte Vedra.  I mean, no one.  I'm walking past condos that are being erected faster than Cialis pills work.  Finally, I get to the bar. 

I pull out my ID, hoping to give some kind of explanation - maybe they could draw Xs on my hands and I wouldn't drink.  I just wanted to watch the game, sir!  Please!

I get to the guy at the door and he just waves me in.  No ID check or anything.  Why?  It's before 9.  A trick I was able to use when I got back home to College Park a few times.  I stroll in, find the guys, and we watch the game.  I had a few Coors Lights.  In hindsight, what a mistake.  Not drinking the beer, but which beer I drank!

The Terps lose a low-scoring heartbreaker.  The fellas from B'more leave.  I grab a soda at the bar to get the Coors Light taste out of my mouth.  Somehow, I start talking to this lady - pretty good looking - about the Lakers.  They're on the jumbo screen and she is enamored with Shaq and Kobe. 

I tell her that the Lakers would be nothing without Robert Horry.  Nothing.  She turns to me and I'm pretty sure we politely debated for some 20 minutes.  I mean, she is riled up about it.  I don't really care, but it was fun.  In the end, I concede the point that I was completely BSing her.  No, nothing happened after that.  I can't get with a Laker fan, much less as a 19 year old with a baby face.

So, I walk home - not as a winner, but as a losing Terp fan who got some free beer - and sit out on the hotel roof.  That night was way better than the rest of the tournament.

I kind of made a boo-boo on Friday.  Not knowing the distinction between photo and print credentials, I took my camera out onto the course to snap a few pics.  I get to Davis Love III - the eventual winner, though it wasn't clear then - and I snap a pic after his swing.  (I, at least, know not to do it during the swing.  Thanks, Stevie Williams!)

DL3 knew it.

"Who took that picture?," he shouted.  Then he points at me.  He knew it was me.  I knew it was me.  Love sends a volunteer over the confiscate my camera.  Damn it.

I'm thinking to myself that I'm going to lose my press pass, get kicked out, and have to spend two more days in the Ponte Vedra Days Inn with nothing to do.  The volunteer looks at my badge, asks me my name, and takes my camera.  He says that I can get it at the main entrance - wherever the hell that is - in a few hours.  But that was it. 

No one else ever found out about that, until now.  It was a golf jounro virgin mistake, but the only penalty was having to go find my camera.  Once I did, I stored that puppy away for the rest of the weekend.

Everything was going to be ok, except the crappy rain on Sunday.  And since I could come back again, I'd live to see another day as a fledgling, utterly unknown golf writer.

NEXT TIME: My trevails at the '03 US Open in Chicago.