This column originally appeared in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer in 2006:
SNOQUALMIE, Wash. – “Don’t you have any new questions, like why am I fat?” Craig Stadler asked before yesterday’s Wells Fargo Pro-Am at Snoqualmie Ridge.
I was squeezing in an interview before Stadler teed off, and he was already busting my chops.
“Do I know you well enough yet to say ‘(Bleep) you?’ ” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Stadler replied. “The sun’s up, isn’t it?”
For the next three hours, the Go 2 Guy tagged along with Stadler on the front nine, posing as his caddie as he prepared for the Boeing Greater Seattle Classic, which starts today.
I say “posing” because I didn’t do much, and when I did, I generally screwed it up, failing to properly clean his ball and his irons while also giving him the wrong yardage for his approach to the 7th hole.
Stadler captained a marquee fivesome of Edgar Martinez, ex-Microsoft mogul Scott Oki, Wells Fargo senior vice president Jim Kerr, and Paul Morris, who must have been VP of something if he was in this group, but I didn’t ask.
I was too busy trying to keep up with Stadler and keep out of Martinez’ way. Proving he can still hit to all fields, Edgar duck-hooked his first tee shot into the brambles, then went wild right with his second, clearing a power-line tower before disappearing.
“Upper deck,” Stadler said, “but way foul.”
Minus the ex-wives, alcohol problems and Hooters girls, Stadler is the seniors’ version of John Daly, a rumpled, likeable figure who doubles as 1982 Masters champion and 2004 Champions Tour Player of the Year. You look at him and think “impossible” until you watch him play.
The Walrus still appears Sea Worldly, though the trademark moustache and goatee are mostly gray now.
“Ever think about shaving that off?” I asked. “Moustaches aren’t in anymore.”
“I’ve had it for 30 years,” he said. “It won’t happen today, not for you.”
Stadler is famous for many things, including being disqualified from the 1987 San Diego Open after improving his stance from under a tree at Torrey Pines when he kneeled on a towel. Stadler was merely trying to keep his pants dry.
“That still gets brought up about 30 times a year,” he said. “People come up with it like it was yesterday.”
As we drove down the fairway, I tried to ask better questions, offbeat questions.
Favorite beer: Bud Light. Workout routine: None, other than 12-ounce curls. Ever drink while you’re playing? No. Most memorable club toss: 1979 Southern Open. Mishit a 6-iron and helicoptered it into the water, drawing a fine.
“Unfortunately I did it in front of all five officials,” he said.
Then I asked: “Which performance-enhancement drug is used most often on the Champions Tour, steroids or Cialis?”
Quipped Stadler: “Actually, they go well together.”
By this time, we weren’t fast friends as much as fat friends, and Stadler started to ask the questions.
“So where do you work? The Post-what? Intelligence?”
“You mean you don’t read us on-line?” I asked.
“No.”
Edgar proceeded to hit another majestic tee shot that went about four feet in the air before trickling to rest, all of 24 yards from where it was sort of struck.
“How about if we pitch the ball to you next time?” Oki cracked.
I had seen enough, enough to propose a wager to Stadler as we waited for Martinez to tee off on the 4th hole, which requires a carry of maybe 140 yards over wetlands.
“Five bucks Edgar puts it in the hazard,” I said.
“Let’s make it 10,” Stadler said. “Oh wait, that’s right, that’s too much, you’re a writer.”
We leave it at $5, and Martinez hits it so poorly that he doesn’t even reach the hazard, his ball landing in rough adjacent to the ladies’ tee. Stadler smiled while I protested.
“The bet was in the hazard,” the Walrus said. “That’s awful, betting against a Hall of Fame guy like that.”
Stadler went double-or-nothing that Edgar’s next shot would find the fairway, and I accepted. Martinez blocked it so far right he had to yell “FORE!” to alert two carts that his ball was veering off-line again.
“That was an easy get-even one I gave you,” Stadler said.
“Yeah, but there’s a lot of fairway out there,” I said.
“Not for him,” Stadler said.
Finally on the green, Martinez blasted his 20-footer 10 feet past the hole.
Out of Edgar’s earshot, Stadler said. “That was a good putt…’til you hit it.”
For the record, Martinez put two tee shots on par-3 holes within 10 feet, including the ninth after I bet Stadler that Edgar’s ball would find the water instead of the green.
Coming off a 10-day vacation, Stadler played well, putting himself in the familiar position of fan and tournament favorite…once his regular caddie returns.
