Results of 2018 McNabb Cup

Sept. 8, 2018
Muskegon Country Club
Muskegon, Mich.

It is the unexpected that always happens.

By MacDuff

Four days before the McNabb Cup, a lightning bolt caused a cottage three doors to the north to erupt in flames. No one was home, although there were people in residence next door. The charred ruins were still in evidence as the McNabb Cup players arrived.

An old wisdom holds that “the more unexpected events are, the more do they frighten and terrorize mankind.” The 2018 McNabb Cup would have its own unexpected outcome, but it would neither terrorize nor frighten.

On media day a few days before the playing of the eighth McNabb Cup, the August & Ancient Committee of The Cup dutifully answered, through its proxy and secretary, James Davis, questions from the variety of sporting news conglomerates whose business it is to ensure the public is fully aware of the minutiae surrounding the lives of those entered for the title of this most esteemed of modern hickory golf contests.

There were reporters from the Middleville Weekly Shopper, the Tinsley Antique Newsletter, the hallowed Eastmanville Times-Picayune, the mighty Hadleyburg Beacon, and the Falls-Hopkins Clipper.

The shades of Grantland Rice, OB Keeler, Ring Lardner, Damon Runyan, and Red Smith looked on as well, naturally drawn by the spectacle that is The McNabb Cup. 

There was a nervous anticipation as the learned scribes gathered in the marbled outer rotunda of The Committee’s private club. Weak coughs and strangled attempts at laughter deepened the moment.

“There’s a lot on the Golf Channel about this FedEx Cup thing, but not much on the McNabb Cup,” complained ‘Grannie’ Rice. “You guys hear anything?”

Red Smith wondered how Cova would hold up, and whether Rollo Schmidt would appear. (It had long been rumored that Rollo was secretly preparing special clubs for just this day.) “I have a feeling about this one,” Smith said doing his best to look wise. Keeler said that had Bobby Jones been in attendance there would be none of this “root rule” nonsense. Lardner rolled his eyes and looked around for an open bar, the while surmising that Ellington was a lock for the post-tournament corn hole championship.

A hush fell as the Secretary entered. He went right to his work.

Yes, answered the secretary, Mr. Bill Ellington would mount a repeat quest for The Cup, despite his legendary pursuit for the perfect bottle of cabernet sauvignon. And, yes to the follow up, his corn hole toss is a thing of beauty.

Yes, answered the secretary, it is true that the 2017 champion, Mr. John Cova, was struggling with a grievous and painful abdominal hernia and his participation was doubtful. (This announcement, we have heard, set the various boards at Las Vegas to furious recalculations.) 

“The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet,” noted Damon Runyan, who was nursing an enabling gin and tonic.

No, answered the secretary, Mr. Joe Bodnar would not be asked to recite, for the umpteenth time, “Mighty McNabb and the Mashie.” (Grannie Rice rushed away to claim the nearest telephone the which to transmit the painful news to his waiting re-write man.)

Yes, answered the secretary, incoming Captain of The Cup Mr. Timothy Stroshine would attempt an eloquent elegiac on the importance of the Vardon Grip. (Keeler shook his head and looked away. “How much can this greying old bean take?” he asked of no one in particular.)

Yes, answered the secretary, it is true that five new Cup hopefuls had been granted entry to the field:

• Mr. Scott Petersen, said to be a descendant of the great Donald Ross and a man for whom to enumerate the qualities and defects of any given club is but the work of a moment
• Mr. Benjamin Jones, a hard-laboring scribe in the employ of an economic think tank. For him, the world of hickory golf has opened new vistas of discovery, joy, and freedom beyond the tyranny of deciphering the language of the economist for the lay person.
• Mr. James “Rollo” Schmidt, one of the finer class of human beings as well as a club champion of no small reputation or, really, a large one either. Equipped with refurbished clubs that belonged to a beloved father-in-law, Mr. Schmidt had practiced diligently for The Cup.
• The fourth is the first female entry for The Cup, Mrs. Kris Ellington, long-suffering wife of the aforementioned oenophile. Mrs. Ellington is a popular figure on the fixture list of the Wyandotte Hickory Organization and of the Michigan Hickory Tour. Her good humor, though, is not to be tested as more than one hapless idiot has learned. (Lardner coughed.)
• And yes, said the secretary, laying to rest the question on everyone’s mind, Mr. William Tanner of Scotland had crossed the Atlantic to challenge for The Cup, only the third international entrant in The Cup’s history; a man of Hickory Grail mettle, a four-time winner of the Scottish Hickory Championship, twice a recipient of the Ray Gossage Memorial Trophy, winner of countless other British hickory fixtures – in short, a man feared on the great links and inland courses of the United Kingdom and probably other kingdoms, too.

“No more questions,” quoth the secretary and, ignoring shouted pleas, the raised and eager hands, he left. The scribes were not at a loss for their next move. All rushed the bar, with only a few heading for the telephones to transmit the first reports on The Cup. Rice, having already finished his report, smiled smugly at his scoop and ordered a whiskey and sour before bending Keeler’s ear on this new kid, Rollo, and the man’s uncanny golfing similarities with Johnny Goodman.

The Friday of the Test Round was cool and overcast. Tee times were set for 2 p.m. Those in the media tent were already aglow from free booze and sandwiches. Most sat themselves before the great video screens, lit cigarettes and hunched over keyboards; the bravest took up pen and pad and staggered out upon the course.

 The venue was the Donald Ross re-design of a Tom Bendelow original, the lovely, but tough, Muskegon Country Club. Though somewhat recast by architects W. Bruce and his son, Gerald H. Matthews, the course retains much of Ross’s elegant and dynamic routing though many greens, still fast and inscrutable, have been enlarged and two double-greens no longer exist. Several holes are as yet true to the original.

Grannie Rice was already on the phone. “You can cut the next two paragraphs,” he shouted into the receiver at his re-write man.

Mr. Bill “Touch” Tucholski and Mr. David Ramos were there, warming up on the range. Men of stout stuff, especially outgoing Captain of the Cup, Mr. David Ramos, a man of legendary steel. “Sunny” Bieszka had made the trip from Ann Arbor. One of the First McNabbians, Sunny has made no secret of his longing for the immortality bestowed upon Cup victors.

The rest need no introduction… so here they are:  Mr. Ed Ronco, the Brassie, chief of the WHO tribe; Mr. Jim Collins, the Parson; the braw Scottish entry into the field, Mr. Tanner; Mr. Frank Abrahams, an automobile enthusiast who drove to the course wearing a most enviable Jaguar coupe; the agreeable and cheerful Mr. Daniel Riley; Mr. Joseph Bodnar known for his relentless pursuit of golfing adequacy; the great Commissioner himself, Mr. Roger Hill, a man so revered that even his shadow is in awe; Mr. Lloyd Slinglend whose grace and style elevate any field beyond what it deserves; there was the great and powerful Mr. Gary Trapani and his counterpart, the very Wee Mon of the Michigan Hickory Tour, Mr. Scott Staudacher; Cup stalwart Jack Maynard was testing putts on the green as was the great champion from Indiana, Mr. James “Mad Max” Hollon; and, to round things out, the very pride of the Wyandotte Hickory Organization, Mr. Michael Pishlo, who had suffered indignant injuries only months before The Cup, but who had escaped from his hospital wards, shuffled off the patient’s gown, and girded his loins with knickers, stockings, cap, shirt, and tie for the great work that lie ahead.

A field, indeed, equal to that of any in the land, despite what happened in Canada.

The format for the day was the so-called “shamble,” in which each group selects the best drive from which to play, and each player then proceeds to hole out with his/her own ball.

At day’s end, the spent combatants repaired to a lovely and comfortable private room of the Club’s restaurant where good food was enjoyed, the service was impeccable, and the company even better.

Capt. Stroshine and Cup Secretary Davis presented Stephany Pawlowski, the Club’s professional, with a handsome plaque of local hardwood beautifully finished by Mr. Trapani and mounted with a Mitre brand two-iron, stamped with F.M. Dean of the Wyke Green GC.

As for the day’s competition, the winners were awarded a newly printed copy of the handsome first edition of The Golf as well as a curious small magazine printed some years ago and called Modern Hickory.

Next stop was the McNabb Cottage where refined drink and talk of golf lasted until the wee hours at which time men, and lady, drifted off to their rooms to dream, no doubt, about hearing their name mentioned as the 2018 McNabb Champion.

Well, they can dream.

The 2018 McNabb Cup

Again, the unexpected, the lightning bolt.

Some say the stunned look on Grannie Rice’s face when the final putt fell was worth the price of admission. Others vowed they would tell their grandchildren where they were when they heard the news.

It began innocently. After warming up, competitors gathered on the first tee for the inauguration of the incoming Captain of The Cup. Outgoing Captain David Ramos transferred the Captain’s Medal to Timothy Stroshine, whose short speech was much appreciated.

Then, with the confidence for which he is known, the new Captain waggled his driving iron and smote one of the best drives in modern memory, his memory, anyway, to drive in the 2018 McNabb Cup. The game was on.

The 2018 Cup  was played under the Stableford scoring system, with one point for bogey, two for par, three for birdie and four for eagle. (All scores in the narrative below are Stableford scores based on net returns for each hole.)

Davis, Ramos, Abrahams, and Stroshine went out first. It was not long before this group was embroiled in a tedious struggle for relevance. “I can feel The Cup slipping away,” said Davis after his sixth double bogey. “Slipping away, hell,” replied Ramos, “I feel like I’m being waterboarded.”

Watching this group on the big screen in the media room, Runyon sagely observed that “Life is tough, and it’s really tough when you’re stupid.”

The only bright spot in this foursome was Abrahams, whose crisp drives and generally accurate approaches brought home a 40, which seemed a good score to beat in the early going.

It was the next group that received the most media attention. Here were paired the Wee Mon Staudacher, Rollo Schmidt, Touch Tucholski and the Mighty John Cova, low handicap men of the first order, and the smart money had it that one of these would claim the hardware.

Rollo Schmidt carded five net birdies on the back and five on the front but was tripped up by triple bogies on No. 9 and 16. Despite these aggravations, Rollo brought in a 42, bettering Abrahams by two and posting a tough early lead. Would his long and laborious practice sessions pay off?

Red Smith turned to Runyon on his left and whispered, “Young men have visions, old men have dreams.”

Despite his steady play, Staudacher seemed unable to bring home birdies. He could do no more than a disappointing 37.

Cova, gamely playing through the pain of a nasty hernia, carded a 31. “No regrets,” said the 2017 Champion, “you play it as you find it.”

Tucholski, perhaps unnerved by the display of birdies from Rollo, brought home a dismal 33. Truly an off day for the man who has two hickory holes-in-one in 2018.

Hard upon their heels was Mad Max Hollon, the great champion from Indiana, playing with Commissioner Hill and and Mr. Pishlo, the hospital escapee. Hollon, too, had an admirable run of birdies on the back, but his sterling 41 fell just shy of the lead. Hill and Pishlo were merely along for the ride.

Coming into view now were Bodnar, Ronco, and Sunny Bieszka along with the redoubtable Scottish champion, Tanner. Of these, the great WHO chieftain Ronco maneuvered around the old Ross course like the cagy veteran he is. His 43 took the wind out of Rollo’s hopeful sails. “Oh, shoot,” said the latter, a phrase he learned from Byron Nelson himself. Las Vegas odds makers now put Ronco at 5-to-2. 

The Kris Ellington group with Petersen, Slinglend, and Maynard did not mount a serious challenge and were not in the mix. Possibly they were distracted by the gallery of young bucks who had followed the elegant Mrs. E. since her first tee shot, and by a bevy of lovelorn spinsters bused in from the Shady Rest Home for Wealthy Widows who flitted about the slender Slinglend and outdid themselves in casting flirtatious smiles whenever his eye happened to glance their way. He seemed nervous.

In the last group were 2016 McNabb Champion Bill Ellington, Parson Collins, Parish Minister Riley, and Gary “Lord Stormonth Darling” Trapani. The Parson’s repeated and loud prayers to any and all golfing gods netted a very good 39, better than most, but not good enough.   

Ellington did his best, but his 37 was far to weak. (“If he had any sense,” muttered Lardner, “he’d trade all his brains for a little bit of talent.”)

Parish Minister Riley, citing Vatican II, perhaps failed to pray enough, and came in at 32.

Then came the bolt of lightning to which we have been ponderously alluding.

Lord Darling, in the imposing figure of Mr. Trapani, turned in the card of his life. A welcome figure at Wyandotte hickory outings, the first to join his fellows in both golf and celebrations, generous and self-effacing, Trapani, it was safe to say, was that struggling golfer upon whom to cast a piteous eye had become second nature. Just one year ago, paired with Secretary Davis and near the end of a particularly forgettable round, Mr. Trapani confessed, “I hate to say it, but I am not having fun.”

“Well,” said Red Smith, “today’s game is always different from yesterday’s game.”

On this day the heavens aligned for this much-maligned gowfin’ addict. His near-perfect card showed five birdies on the front along with an eagle on the long par 5 sixth hole. Three birdies on the back nine were punctuated with the shot that secured his eventual victory – a rare double eagle on No. 13, a testing and doglegged par 5. Mr. Trapani not only utterly trammeled the hopes of Rollo and Ronco, he had done so by three strokes! Shades of Sarazen’s legendary “Shot”!

The galleries rushed the green as the great man holed out on 18. Uniformed officials and union goons struggled to protect Trapani from the hordes of celebrants, eager to share the historic moment and shake the hand of its unassuming hero. Somewhere, the spirts of Ouimet and Lowery wept and hugged. Mounted horsemen worked to restore order. Trapani allowed himself to be removed from the wallowing pandemonium, a curious calm in his demeanor.

The shade of sportswriter Red Smith spoke into the telephone with tears in his eyes: “It was Trap, coming home in the insubstantial twilight, the unconquerable doing the impossible.” Runyan and Keeler hugged one another while ordering double scotch-on-the-rocks. Lardner and Rice danced a little jig. “My bookie is going to love this,” shouted Rice over the tumult. 

“I have never played so well in my life,” Trapani later said during his interviews in the media tent. “I just felt good.”

And so did everyone in attendance, except for perhaps poor Rollo, who will have a long and bitter winter to contemplate those two triple bogies. And yet, this game competitor was chipper in defeat. “Gee Willikers,” quoth he, “this hickory golf is fun. What’s the date of next year’s Cup?”

Mr. Trapani’s was a popular victory, much celebrated in the national press. News of the great battle with Rollo and Ronco rang throughout the golfing world, or should have. In the great annals of McNabb lore, Trap’s March will long be sung and that double-eagle become as much a part of McNabb legend as Gene Sarazen’s Shot-Heard-Round-the-World has come to be associated with that other little tournament in Augusta, Ga.

Everyone repaired to the McNabb Cottage where the good-natured Rollo prepared juicy rib-eye steaks for all. Cheesy potatoes, corn-on-the-cob, a Ceasar salad, numerous desserts and snacks filled out the meal. Of course there were several choice and select adult beverages.

Capt. Stroshine appointed Mr. Slinglend as his 2019 Vice Captain, who promised a clean and transparent administration. The Secretary passed out playing cards in the style of the circa 1920s Copes Cigarettes cards. Each player was featured and profiled on his own card. 

Mr. Edward Ronco was awarded first place in the low gross score for his 81 (which is why Rollo took the second place for The Cup).

It was as memorable a hickory golf event as has ever been played. As the sportswriters returned to their heavenly posts, the sunset painted a palette of gorgeous hues over Lake Michigan and the McNabb celebrants. Corn hole, conversation, and laughter went long into the warm and easy night.

Official results of the 2018 McNabb Cup

Gary Trapani 46    First place, McNabb Cup
* Ed Ronco 43      First low score with a gross 81
* James Schmidt 42     Second Place, McNabb Cup
Max Hollon 41     Third Place, McNabb Cup
Frank Abrahams 40
Jim Collins 39
Bill Ellington 37
Scott Staudacher 37     Second low score with a gross 82
Tim Stroshine 35
Joe Bodnar 34
Roger Hill 34
Jim Davis 33
Bill Tucholski 33     Third low score with a gross 83
Dan Riley 32
Jack Maynard 32
John Cova 31
Mike Pishlo 31
Scott Petersen 31
Willie Tanner 29
Bob Bieszka 29
Lloyd Slinglend 28
Kris Ellington 27
David Ramos 27

*In this event, you could win one title/medal, but not both.

Unbeknownst to most competitors, a visit from the spirit of Donald Ross appeared on the 10th tee. Apparently, like the scribes, Mr. Ross was drawn to The McNabb Cup and took the opportunity to cast a wistful eye over one of his favorite courses. “It’s still in good shape,” he told Roger Hill, who captured the moment on film. “It’s a great joy to see that most of the course is as I remember.”

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