I don’t usually remember my dreams. Probably for the better. I feel like most of them are strange. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night from a dream and think about how crazy it was for a second or two¹, but then by the time I get up in the morning it has vanished from my memory. You’re probably thinking I need a dream journal. Someone who thinks up such incredible things while they are awake probably has a real untapped resource in their dream scape. I feel like things have occasionally come to me in dreams. Epiphanies. Nothing worthwhile like a lottery number, but I think one or two writing ideas have come to me while I was asleep. Or, maybe I just dreamt that I thought of the ideas in a dream. Wrap your head around that one. This was not a dream with any value, other than I find it mildly amusing. Why would I dream about knowing Tiger? And, more importantly, why was I such a d*ck about it?
It started out having nothing to do with Tiger. I was a spectator at a PGA Tour event that doesn’t exist. I wasn’t conscious of being at the Masters, or anything like that. I was watching guys hit shots, Phil Mickelson was there, and it was all relatively normal. It started to get a little odd when I made my way over to what was supposed to be the first tee. You should have seen this hole. It was a par-3. So, right off the bat you know it’s a figment of my imagination, because what course on Tour starts with a par-3? This is no ordinary hole, though. It’s like the 17th at Sawgrass on steroids. I wish I was an artist² and could relay a rendition of it, because it was something else.
It was all carry over water. It wasn’t a pond or lake, though. It was like this lake/ocean hybrid. It was a mini-ocean. That’s what I’m calling it. I guess I should mention now that it was extremely windy, and this was causing some serious whitecaps out on the mini-ocean, and at one point a wave crashed down onto the putting surface and that sent the announcers into a frenzy. I was standing right next to the first tee, but I could also hear the announcers. Behind the green was a massive stand of bleachers, one-level stadium seating, creating this amphitheater effect. I can’t imagine what the rest of the golf course looked like if this was the first hole.
So, up to the first tee saunters David Toms. I am within earshot, and he is incredulous. He can’t believe he has to play this hole. The green looks like a ribbon of land with this wall of humanity rising up behind the putting surface. Toms takes out a hybrid³ and asks where is he supposed to hit it? The caddy looks at his yardage book, and then down at this ridiculous hole (did I say it was aggressively downhill yet?), and tells him to hit it into the grandstands behind the green. That’s the only safe play, right? So, D-Toms kind of curses a few times under his breath about the shot and then rips hybrid into the gallery.
Are you wondering where Tiger comes in, yet? Well, this is it. After D-Toms hit his shot I take one of those sudden in-dream trips and I am sitting on a couch watching the same tournament. I either don’t remember the transition, or there wasn’t one. I’m sitting there with a guy I don’t know and the announcers start talking about Tiger. Oh, Tiger isn’t here. He’s having all these problems, and no one knows when he’ll be back playing. Pretty standard stuff, but the guy sitting next to me all of sudden throws out, “It’s his drinking.”
I can’t believe what I’ve heard. “What?”
Guy: “He’s got a drinking problem. That’s what started everything.”
Now, this is odd, because of all the theories out there on Woods, I actually haven’t heard the drinking problem hypothesized by anyone. Does vodka weaken your Achilles? I get defensive, like the guy has just accused a dear friend of a moral deficiency.
Me: “He doesn’t have a drinking problem.”
The guy isn’t really buying it, he rolls his eyes, or whatever. Then comes the kicker.
Me: “When I was down in Florida with him, I only saw him drink water and Red Bull.”
WHAT? When you were down in Florida with him? You see what I did there? I didn’t explain that I knew Tiger Woods to this guy. I just threw it into the conversation like everyone plays a quick nine with him now and then. Talk about your name-dropping. So pitiful. Clearly, I wanted the guy to challenge me. I wanted him to say, “You know Tiger Woods?” Because then I was going to come over the top with the big hammer about how we were boys, and yes I was in a position to know that he only drinks water and Red Bull. Dreamland me is a douche. A little troubling. And, Tiger too. Who drinks only water and Red Bull? What the cuss?
1–The best dreams come after you are out drinking. Everyone knows that. But, you can’t be hitting the bottle every night. For a substitute, eat a big bowl of chocolate ice cream about 15 minutes before bed. It’s like hopping on the Wonka boat.
2–I’m now taking applications to be the official illustrator of 3-Putt Territory.
3–Classic Toms move.
You’re welcome for the footnotes.