FLOURTOWN, Pa. — Through two rounds of the Truist Championship, here at the soggy Wissahickon course of the Philadelphia Cricket Club, Justin Rose is in last place. With 36 holes left, the numbers-crunchers at FanDuel, the official gambling partner of the PGA Tour, are not even offering odds for Rose to win this event, played on Friday through a cold and often hard rain.
The Wissahickon, a creek that runs through the course, was swollen, high and flowing fast on Friday. Rose, a horse owner who knows the ins and outs or parimutuel betting, won’t be completing his Philadelphia Triple Crown this week. In 2010, he won a Tour event at Aronimink, 15 miles from here. Three years later he won the U.S. Open at Merion. He can try again next year, when the PGA Championship will be at Aronimink.
When Rose’s Friday round of 77, seven over par, was done and dusted, he sat in the second row of a two-row golf cart, hitching a ride from the 18th green back to the clubhouse, a quarter-mile away. Rain pelted him, his face protected only by a soaked baseball cap. He was stuck in the same human traffic jam hundreds of fans were stuck in, and he chatted with them amiably as he waited for a gate to open, so he could resume his life as a dry person.
For a few minutes there, an elite touring pro got a wee taste of what it’s like to be a drenched person, a hostage of the marshals whose highest priority were the men at work, the players still on the course. But it would be almost impossible for the ordinary pro to fully appreciate what the fan endures to see professional golf.
Consider this report from my wet-to-the-bone friend Emory Van Cleve, on the course with his brother-in-law, John Van Doren, and John’s grown sons, Sam and Charlie. Emory bought four tickets for this family golf outing months ago. Thursday was chamber-of-commerce gorgeous. The weekend looks to be lovely. Friday was miserable. That’s how it goes. I spoke to other fans to this sold-out event who had the exact same experience, walking through puddles that were darker than chocolate milk, white socks speckled with mud.
The drive to a remote parking lot, at the Fort Washington Business Complex. The shuttle bus to the course. The no-weapons entrance exam. A longish walk down a hill and to the course. And there — there, on the scene! — they saw things you cannot see at home. Austin Eckroat hitting a drawing 8-iron from wet rough over a distant tree with no more fuss than you might tap in from three inches. Emory and his people were so close to the back spray from his shot could almost have reached them. People love to be near the action. That’s the part of the business model you don’t hear much about. These are people who go to football games and baseball games in icy cold and in baking heat. For the love of sport, golf included.
