TORREY PINES, 2012 “It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over”
by Dennis Ginoza
I was at the Farmer’s Insurance Golf Tournament for my second time. Saturday, January 21, at our marshal’s meeting, I got my red jacket, hat, ID, packet, and my assignment—the 18th green.
This year I was not the new kid on the block. I had worked the ropes, on the tee, the fairway, and on the green. Last year, I watched Bubba Watson finish the course with a victory. Phil Mikelson made his challenge but came out short. It was an exciting moment to see. I also watched the movement of the crowd as Tiger Woods got ready to tee off at the 18th. The crowds filled the course, from the tee, down the fairway, to the green. It was an ocean of people moving with anticipation and excitement. That was last year.
A woman named Jenny, a golf instructor, told me, “The crowd is way down this year.” Where was Tiger? He was lured to Dubai for $1.7 million. John Daly, last year had an entourage following him. This year, he was not there. On Friday, we had a disappointment. Phil Mikelson missed the cut. He had much on his mind. His ten year old daughter Sophia fainted and had a small seizure on January 20. Phil is a favorite of the San Diego crowd.
As one spectator told me, “It’s good to see these young players competing.”
The Union Tribune, each day, would print a story of some of the golfers to watch. Bubba Watson’s father surely thought Bubba was going to be a pro baseball player. Then when he was six, Hiram Cook, a pro golfer from San Diego, a left hander enthralled Bubba. At 12 he had shot 62. Once he won a junior tournament by 46 shots. At Torrey Pines, Bubba was back.
Tod Leonard, sportswriter, wrote about how a young 20 year old, Ryo Ishikawa from Japan, was a true competitor. He won a tournament at 15. In 2009 he was the youngest player to reach the top 50 in world rankings. When I was marshalling at the 18th green north, a large group of followers, including reporters with cameras, were watching his every move.
When these pro golfers drive the ball, it is an incredible thing to watch. They make it look easy. When they drive the ball over 300 yards, it disappears from the eye into the blue sky. Then you recapture the ball as it bounces on the fairway. It is then, one realizes why these golfers are pros.
Geoff Ogilvy who is a native of Australia is a seven time PGA winner at the age of 34. On Wednesday at the Pro-Am, a pro with four amateurs who paid for the right to play, had a day of fun. Of the pros that day, Ogilvy had one of the best drives. It went straight, good height, with a distance even a pro would be happy with. He looked content.
The Saturday Union Tribute had this headline about Kyle Stanley, a 23 year old from Gig Harbor, Washington: “Out of Nowhere.” At the end of the day on Saturday, Stanley was 18 under. Tim Sullivan says that the most recent measurement of his drive traveled as fast as 176 miles per hour. Ah, that explains why the ball just disappears from normal vision until it lands on the green. Excitement began to surround this golfer, one “not well known outside the PGA,” says Tod Leonard.
As the tournament proceeded, Brandt Snedeker began to make his mark. As a PGA rookie in 2007, he tied the course of 61 on Torrey Pines North Course. Snedeker can be known as a “comeback kid.” On November 1, he had surgery on his right hip. He was on crutches for five weeks and couldn’t practice fully until New Year’s Day. In 2008 he had a heart break with a Master’s loss. On Friday he had 5 under 67 on the South Course, “the best score in the field, “ writes Todd Leonard.
For five days, the golf pros met the challenge. By Friday, of 158 golfers, 73 made the cut. The rest went their way.
As marshals, we did our job. Keep the crowd controlled and quiet at the time the golfer is making his move, driving, chipping and putting. We are told not to speak to the golfers unless spoken to first. As I opened the ropes for the one the golfers moving from the 17th to the 18th green north, he acknowledged with a, “Thank you.” My response, “You’re welcome.”
To improve the service, the new director of the Tournament said, “We have now 22 concessions for food.” That was a help. Each morning we are given a meal ticket for lunch. For a quick lunch and a break, a concession nearby is a big help.
Sunday, the last day. The field was cut in half so we didn’t have to arrive so early. As the day proceeded, it looked like Kyle Stanley had it wrapped up. At one point he was at 21 under. Those closest to him were trailing by five strokes.
At the 18th green south, Stanley was three strokes ahead of the next player. At 520 yards and par five, all he needed was a 7 stroke round and he would have won. It looked like an easy win for Stanley. The Century Club members were at the green ready for the ending celebration. Kyle Stanley’s name was on the $1,080,000 check.
Brandt Snedeker had already conceded the win. As marshals we were waiting for the victory shout from the crowd and the raised fist from the winning golfer. It didn’t come. Stanley ended up in the waterway. Then he chipped into the upper deck of the green. What we all couldn’t believe was that Stanley triple bogeyed the 18th. It called for play-off on the 18th. The sudden death ended with another tie.
This called for another play-off at the 16th hole. The hundreds of spectators hurried to watch how this drama was going to unfold. Stanley missed his five foot putt ending his chance for victory. Snedeker was the winner and he felt bad for Stanley. He told Stanley, “I’m sorry.”
In the Union Tribune Tod Leonard entitled his story on Monday: “On Top to Flop.” Nick Canepa wrote: “As heartbreakers go, Stanley’s was a doozy.” Hats off to Stanley, he stayed for the media interview. Twice he broke down with tears. His purse was $648,000, not quite the million for Snedeker.
Those of us who watch the best of the best, we are awed by their power, finesse, and precision. But, we also see that they are human. Golf is as much a mental game. It also rides on the emotion.
We also learn that in failure, if we wait long enough, golf as in every game of life, has a silver lining. Just yesterday, February 5, Kyle Stanley won the Phoenix open. Just a week later, he overcame a a major disappointment. The Associated Press headline read: “Tearful Stanley Bounces Back to Claim the Phoenix Open.” Stanley’s last words: “I’m speechless.” A lesson for all of us: tomorrow is another day!
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Close Calls
CLOSE CALLS
by Dennis Ginoza
“Near Drowning”
When we look in the mirror of time, it leaves us with wonder, a feeling of relief, and a question on the mystery of life. Just when we seem to understand that our life is based on the logical, the predictable, and the circumstantial, there remains still a question.
We can often conclude that life’s experience will remain, a question upon a question.
I have had some close calls, to be at the edge. The edge seemed next to finality.
When I was a young boy, often we would go to the reservoir not too far from our village. We lived in the midst of the sugar cane fields at the foothills of the mountains in Hawaii. One day, a bunch of us went swimming.
I was not a good swimmer, but had no fear of the water. Right at the entry to the reservoir, at the intake area was what we called the waterfall. A mound of silt had built close by. As I waded in the water, I came to a spot where the bottom fell out into the deep. I sank in the deep, came up for breath and yelled, “Help!” I sank and came up and again yelled, “Help!” This I did three times; no one was there to come to my aid.
I had a feeling: I was finished.
Just then, I felt the rocks under my feet. I was able to climb out of and away from the deep hole. As I stepped on the rocks, I felt a deep certainty that I was going to be all right. I waded to higher ground and was able to get out.
It was a near drowning experience that I shared with no one for a long time. I was just thankful and had a feeling, I was guided and helped. This experience I retained in my memory throughout my life.
“Caught in the Middle of a Raging River”
One Wednesday afternoon, I was in a jeep with the executive director of our association, the
4-H Home Economist, and two young 4-H girls. In Costa Rica, 4-H was called 4-S (for Saber, Sentimiento, Salud, Servicio for: in English Head, Heart, Health, and Hands.
We were going from the town named Nicoya where I was serving as Peace Corps volunteer to a meeting in the next municipality of Santa Cruz. It was a rainy day. There was no bridge over the river and we had driven this route many times. As we were crossing the river in the jeep, the torrential rain had created a raging river unbeknown to us at that time.
In the middle of the river, the water kept rising, above the floor board. Jorge Coto, our driver, was confident that we would be able to cross. The engine sputtered and eventually died. We were stuck. The water was now a swift current waist deep.
It was far too deep for the girls to manage to shore alone. Jorge carried one girl, I carried the other, and we all crossed the river. We made it to shore, soaked, but relieved and safe.
I told Jorge, I’ll go to town to find Omar Salazar, the 4-H agent. He had a jeep with a winch and our meeting was scheduled with him.
As I walked along the road toward the town of Santa Cruz, I saw a grass hut with a ten speed bicyle leaning against the side. I quickly went up to the young man and said in Spanish, “I want to borrow your bike. I need to get some help. We got stuck in our jeep crossing the river.” He acted surprised but didn’t object.
I got to the 4-S Office, found Omar and we drove back to the site. We returned the bike and the young man was totally relieved. We pulled the jeep out of the river and waited for the river currents to subside. And we returned home.
“We Lost Our Brakes on a Mountain Road”
In the town of Nicoya, in the province of Guanacaste, Costa Rica, I had served as a Peace Corps volunteer. My assignment was with the Regional Association for Development for the Peninsula of Nicoya.
Our task as an association was to help deveop this region of four municipalities and two districts. We engaged in self-help projects, agricultural development, community action, 4-S loans, and the construction of impact roads.
One of the leaders and movers for the association was Pedro Arauz, whom we called Don Pedro. He had a brother who was a senator for the central government. He was therefore a strong influence and effective leader for change.
Don Pedro and I would meet with leaders in various communities to identify needs and we would help them organize to develop projects (such as health centers, irrigation systems, etc.)
One day Don Pedro and I had gone to an isolated village to meet with the leaders. I was driving. On the way back from this mountain village, on a steep winding dirt road, as we descended, I could feel the brakes giving out.
We had no brakes. I had to act quickly.
I didn’t say anything to Don Pedro. So he had no idea what was happening.
I had one chance. I knew what I had to do. I had to double clutch, and shift into the lowest gear. If I couldn’t get into the lower gear, we would have been in trouble. I double clutched, pulled the shift in the lowest gear, and walla, we came to a crawl.
Phew! Did it!
We made it down safely. Then I told Don Pedro what happened. (I didn’t discuss my faith in God with him, but I was thankful to God for a safe journey down the hill. Don Pedro was a man of faith himself. He attended the Roman Catholic Church in town with him family, wife, son and two daughters).
An experience such as this amplifies our need to rely on the Greater Source, whom we know as God the Father.
“Close Call on a Construction Site”
It was summer of 1962. I was a college student in Iowa and has secured a job with the Toledo Construction Company.
Our task was to tear down the old fiber glass furnace for the Mansfield Company in Defiance, Ohio. With sledge hammers, crow bars, air hammers, and wheel barrows, we did our work. It was hard work, but with great wages.
The project was coming along. The foundation was ready for the new construction. The iron workers, plummers, and the carpenters brought progress to the building of the new fibre glass furnaces.
On this particular day, I was checking some work along the forms before the concrete could be poured. I had one foot on the supporting 2 x 4 on the wall, the other foot on the dirt wall. What I didn’t see was the huge over hang of dirt above me.
Then it happened. A huge clump of dirt broke off above me and it knocked me off the ledge. The next thing I knew, I was down on my knees in two inches of water. Here is the surprising thing.
My face was in the water, but my head was turned to the side. My nose was just above the water so I could breathe. Why I didn’t end up face down in the water is beyond me. I believe today, still, I was helped by a mysterious hand. My face was turned so I wouldn’t drown. .
I heard the foreman yell out. “Somebody, get down there and help that guy!” One of the men came down, shook off the heavy clump of dirt off my back. I had cut my forehead on the fall. I must have hit one of the protruding wires that held the forms in place. That was all my injury.
Some years ago, as I was reading a book about angels in preparation for a Sunday sermon and I came across this verse. It leaves one to ponder the presence of angels.
For he will command his angels
concerning you
to guard you in all your ways.
Psalm 91:11
Those who love me, I will
deliver;
I will protect those who know
my name.
Psalm 91:14
“Saved on the Highway”
In the late 1970’s and the 1980’s I would often drive along Highway 8 linking Santee with the rest of San Diego. I drove a 1973 Toyota Corona, a two door, stick shift, four cylinder car. It was comfortable, efficient, and adequate for my travels.
One day as I was heading east, I had to stop at the La Mesa United Methodist Church for a district matter. My exit was Spring Street.
I was driving in the third lane in from the right shoulder. As the Spring Street exit was getting closer, I needed to change lanes. I was about to move into the next lane when I could see an eighteen wheeler on the far right lane traveling parallel to me.
There was that open lane between us which seemed fine at the moment. Just seconds before I turned into the next lane, I had an inner feeling. “Don’t move into that lane, it’s not safe!” I didn’t hear a voice, but a thought entered my mind. I had begun turning, just then the eighteen wheeler moved right into the second lane.
I quickly pulled back. Had I not had that inner sense and reacted, I would have been crushed. The driver in the car behind thought I was changing lanes so it was about to pass me when I turned back. It quickly went around me, of which I was very aware.
This was one experience I truly felt I was being watched over. The sentient side of me was being assisted. It came from somewhere beyond me. I came to this conclusion with assurance. With confidence I have learned: we are connected with God and looked after. (See Psalms 91:14-16)
by Dennis Ginoza
“Near Drowning”
When we look in the mirror of time, it leaves us with wonder, a feeling of relief, and a question on the mystery of life. Just when we seem to understand that our life is based on the logical, the predictable, and the circumstantial, there remains still a question.
We can often conclude that life’s experience will remain, a question upon a question.
I have had some close calls, to be at the edge. The edge seemed next to finality.
When I was a young boy, often we would go to the reservoir not too far from our village. We lived in the midst of the sugar cane fields at the foothills of the mountains in Hawaii. One day, a bunch of us went swimming.
I was not a good swimmer, but had no fear of the water. Right at the entry to the reservoir, at the intake area was what we called the waterfall. A mound of silt had built close by. As I waded in the water, I came to a spot where the bottom fell out into the deep. I sank in the deep, came up for breath and yelled, “Help!” I sank and came up and again yelled, “Help!” This I did three times; no one was there to come to my aid.
I had a feeling: I was finished.
Just then, I felt the rocks under my feet. I was able to climb out of and away from the deep hole. As I stepped on the rocks, I felt a deep certainty that I was going to be all right. I waded to higher ground and was able to get out.
It was a near drowning experience that I shared with no one for a long time. I was just thankful and had a feeling, I was guided and helped. This experience I retained in my memory throughout my life.
“Caught in the Middle of a Raging River”
One Wednesday afternoon, I was in a jeep with the executive director of our association, the
4-H Home Economist, and two young 4-H girls. In Costa Rica, 4-H was called 4-S (for Saber, Sentimiento, Salud, Servicio for: in English Head, Heart, Health, and Hands.
We were going from the town named Nicoya where I was serving as Peace Corps volunteer to a meeting in the next municipality of Santa Cruz. It was a rainy day. There was no bridge over the river and we had driven this route many times. As we were crossing the river in the jeep, the torrential rain had created a raging river unbeknown to us at that time.
In the middle of the river, the water kept rising, above the floor board. Jorge Coto, our driver, was confident that we would be able to cross. The engine sputtered and eventually died. We were stuck. The water was now a swift current waist deep.
It was far too deep for the girls to manage to shore alone. Jorge carried one girl, I carried the other, and we all crossed the river. We made it to shore, soaked, but relieved and safe.
I told Jorge, I’ll go to town to find Omar Salazar, the 4-H agent. He had a jeep with a winch and our meeting was scheduled with him.
As I walked along the road toward the town of Santa Cruz, I saw a grass hut with a ten speed bicyle leaning against the side. I quickly went up to the young man and said in Spanish, “I want to borrow your bike. I need to get some help. We got stuck in our jeep crossing the river.” He acted surprised but didn’t object.
I got to the 4-S Office, found Omar and we drove back to the site. We returned the bike and the young man was totally relieved. We pulled the jeep out of the river and waited for the river currents to subside. And we returned home.
“We Lost Our Brakes on a Mountain Road”
In the town of Nicoya, in the province of Guanacaste, Costa Rica, I had served as a Peace Corps volunteer. My assignment was with the Regional Association for Development for the Peninsula of Nicoya.
Our task as an association was to help deveop this region of four municipalities and two districts. We engaged in self-help projects, agricultural development, community action, 4-S loans, and the construction of impact roads.
One of the leaders and movers for the association was Pedro Arauz, whom we called Don Pedro. He had a brother who was a senator for the central government. He was therefore a strong influence and effective leader for change.
Don Pedro and I would meet with leaders in various communities to identify needs and we would help them organize to develop projects (such as health centers, irrigation systems, etc.)
One day Don Pedro and I had gone to an isolated village to meet with the leaders. I was driving. On the way back from this mountain village, on a steep winding dirt road, as we descended, I could feel the brakes giving out.
We had no brakes. I had to act quickly.
I didn’t say anything to Don Pedro. So he had no idea what was happening.
I had one chance. I knew what I had to do. I had to double clutch, and shift into the lowest gear. If I couldn’t get into the lower gear, we would have been in trouble. I double clutched, pulled the shift in the lowest gear, and walla, we came to a crawl.
Phew! Did it!
We made it down safely. Then I told Don Pedro what happened. (I didn’t discuss my faith in God with him, but I was thankful to God for a safe journey down the hill. Don Pedro was a man of faith himself. He attended the Roman Catholic Church in town with him family, wife, son and two daughters).
An experience such as this amplifies our need to rely on the Greater Source, whom we know as God the Father.
“Close Call on a Construction Site”
It was summer of 1962. I was a college student in Iowa and has secured a job with the Toledo Construction Company.
Our task was to tear down the old fiber glass furnace for the Mansfield Company in Defiance, Ohio. With sledge hammers, crow bars, air hammers, and wheel barrows, we did our work. It was hard work, but with great wages.
The project was coming along. The foundation was ready for the new construction. The iron workers, plummers, and the carpenters brought progress to the building of the new fibre glass furnaces.
On this particular day, I was checking some work along the forms before the concrete could be poured. I had one foot on the supporting 2 x 4 on the wall, the other foot on the dirt wall. What I didn’t see was the huge over hang of dirt above me.
Then it happened. A huge clump of dirt broke off above me and it knocked me off the ledge. The next thing I knew, I was down on my knees in two inches of water. Here is the surprising thing.
My face was in the water, but my head was turned to the side. My nose was just above the water so I could breathe. Why I didn’t end up face down in the water is beyond me. I believe today, still, I was helped by a mysterious hand. My face was turned so I wouldn’t drown. .
I heard the foreman yell out. “Somebody, get down there and help that guy!” One of the men came down, shook off the heavy clump of dirt off my back. I had cut my forehead on the fall. I must have hit one of the protruding wires that held the forms in place. That was all my injury.
Some years ago, as I was reading a book about angels in preparation for a Sunday sermon and I came across this verse. It leaves one to ponder the presence of angels.
For he will command his angels
concerning you
to guard you in all your ways.
Psalm 91:11
Those who love me, I will
deliver;
I will protect those who know
my name.
Psalm 91:14
“Saved on the Highway”
In the late 1970’s and the 1980’s I would often drive along Highway 8 linking Santee with the rest of San Diego. I drove a 1973 Toyota Corona, a two door, stick shift, four cylinder car. It was comfortable, efficient, and adequate for my travels.
One day as I was heading east, I had to stop at the La Mesa United Methodist Church for a district matter. My exit was Spring Street.
I was driving in the third lane in from the right shoulder. As the Spring Street exit was getting closer, I needed to change lanes. I was about to move into the next lane when I could see an eighteen wheeler on the far right lane traveling parallel to me.
There was that open lane between us which seemed fine at the moment. Just seconds before I turned into the next lane, I had an inner feeling. “Don’t move into that lane, it’s not safe!” I didn’t hear a voice, but a thought entered my mind. I had begun turning, just then the eighteen wheeler moved right into the second lane.
I quickly pulled back. Had I not had that inner sense and reacted, I would have been crushed. The driver in the car behind thought I was changing lanes so it was about to pass me when I turned back. It quickly went around me, of which I was very aware.
This was one experience I truly felt I was being watched over. The sentient side of me was being assisted. It came from somewhere beyond me. I came to this conclusion with assurance. With confidence I have learned: we are connected with God and looked after. (See Psalms 91:14-16)
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