A Redlands Connection is a concoction of sports memories emanating from a city that once numbered less than 20,000 people. From pro football’s Super Bowl to baseball’s World Series, from dynamic soccer’s World Cup to golf’s and tennis’ U.S. Open, major auto racing, plus NCAA Final Four connections, Tour de France cycling, more major tennis like Wimbledon, tiny connections to that NBA and a little NHL, major college football, Kentucky Derby, aquatics and Olympic Games, that sparkling little city sits around halfway between Los Angeles and Palm Springs on Interstate 10. – Obrey Brown
There they were, lined up, one shot apart among the leader board at the 1997 “Augusta Invitational.” It’s called The Masters. In a keen world of professional golf, this event is considered sacred.
Tom Kite had Tommy Tolles beaten by a stroke after 72 holes, 282-283. At 284, there was a legend, Tom Watson, a multiple major tournament champion. He was followed by a pair of golfers at 285, Constantina Rocca and Paul Stankowski. Previous Masters champion Fred Couples, two-time Masters champion Bernhard Langer, British Open champion Justin Leonard, PGA Tournament champions Davis Love III and Jeff Sluman closed out their tournament with identical 286s.
They trailed by a lot, though. At 270 stood Tiger Woods. A dozen shots ahead. Dominant. A record 18-under par. Augusta, it seems, would never be the same.
He’d won The Masters.
It would be our lead story in that April 14, 1997 issue in Redlands. There was a local angle, a major one. Sixteen years earlier, Redlands Country Club head golf professional Norm Bernard had called me with an invitation. Maybe it was an assignment. Or a request. Maybe he was begging.
Little Eldrick Woods, already known to the world as Tiger, had been invited to Redlands to play in a 9-hole exhibition match. On Dec. 30, he would turn six. Norm and I started a little verbal sparring. I didn’t necessarily want to be there. He very definitely wanted me to be there.
“I don’t know, Norm. A 9-hole exhibition?” A 6-year-old? A 12-year-old? Would our readers even care? “What else have you got going on?” Norm asked.
In truth, he was correct. Nothing, at least locally, was taking place. School was shut down for winter break. Except for that San Bernardino Kiwanis Tournament, a basketball extravaganza for Redlands High, nothing of a sporting nature was taking place locally.
This was before an eventual explosion of boys and girls soccer tournaments, or prominent basketball tournaments for both sexes would take place during the winter holiday break, which has now been stretched to three weeks instead of two.
In reality, there weren’t many options to cover much local sports during this period. It seemed like I could be working on something more meaningful that day, which would be Dec. 29.
“Aw, Norm.”
“C’mon. I’ll buy you lunch.”
He was being as gracious as possible. While being demanding. Charming. A little pushy. Norm was always under fire at that club. Private golf members can be really demanding. They want their privacy. They also wanted a little publicity when it mattered.
Redlands CC was full of private club members that were movers and shakers in our community. One of them, Bill Moore, had been my publisher. There had long been rumblings and grumblings about country club coverage in our local pages.
The women’s club had its set of demands. Of course, there was a club tournament. Weekly twilight play, results in the summer. Usually, it was similar names. Norm’s edict was simple: Make certain those results were printed. It was Norm’s job to process results for newspaper publication.
No resentment from me. All part of this job. Bowling had its own set of demands. So did recreation tennis. We had local motorsports. Soccer people were everywhere. Youth baseball. Little boys football. You name it. The sports section is for everyone. Any achievements should be duly noted.
That was a little undercurrent of that relationship between that local country club and a local newspaper. Ah, the life of a local journalist.
That year was 1981. It was just after Christmas. Owner and publisher Bill Moore, who’d sold this local paper a year or so earlier, was gone. His country club cronies were no longer bugging him to light a fire under me. Meanwhile, they’d light Norm under fire to get publicity. No longer were there job-related demands hanging over my head. This was truly my decision. I had to admit I was a little curious.
One day after this nine-hole match would be little Tiger’s sixth birthday. Already, this little guy had been celebrated on television, once on the Mike Douglas Show as a three-year-old that could amazingly swing a golf club. Bob Hope, an avid golfer in his own right, was also a guest that day.
Another appearance came on ABC-TV’s “That’s Incredible,” hosted by John Davidson, Fran Tarkenton and Cathy Lee Crosby.
Norm’s connections led to an invitation to Tiger to play golf at Redlands.
Twelve-year-old Michele Lyford, who would one day go on to win a girls’ CIF golf championship, was selected to be Tiger’s playing opponent on that day. There was a small gallery as Tiger finished the nine-hole round by shooting 51.
Lyford, who shot 41, was champion of that 1986 Junior World in her older 15-17 age category, an event held every summer in San Diego. It should also be pointed out that other yearly winners included Carolyn Hill, Kim Saiki, nearby Brandie Burton from Rialto, and Christi Erb – future LPGA professionals.
Lyford, in fact, beat Burton, runner-up by eight shots in that 1987 CIF-Southern Section girls championship at North Ranch Country Club.
Tiger, meanwhile, was headliner at Redlands on Dec. 29, 1981.
The highlight of that day was, at least for me, coming at that No. 9 hole. Little Tiger had knocked his ball smack into that bunker, smack dab against the lip – an impossible shot for even the most experienced of golfers.
This little guy was poised even then. One day shy of his sixth birthday, Tiger took out his club, chipped his shot back into the fairway, then chipped onto the green.
Then he knocked the ball in position for a double bogey. Even then, he was trained to minimize trouble. Of those people in attendance for this little showcase match, they had to be awestruck at that shot and club selection.
No one discussed that shot. No one told him what to do. Tiger was left alone.
Bernard, described as a huge proponent of junior golf, had known Rudy Duran, who was Tiger’s personal coach. Together, they formed this match, a 9-hole exhibition on RCC’s front nine.
It was Duran, Tiger, Michele and Earl Woods, Tiger’s dad who, at one point, hoisted his little guy up so he could see down the fairway.
“I was nervous,” Lyford-Sine said. “I couldn’t let this 6-year-old beat me. I was twice as old as he was and he was half my size.”
Those scores, 41 — not a bad score for a 12-year-old on the par-35 RCC front nine — and Tiger’s 51 came under guise as a “friendly.”
This little golf prodigy had played bogey golf throughout this match. That in itself was incredible! Afterward, the club gave Tiger a birthday party.
Afterward, I’m somewhat embarrassed to say, I handed this little guy a piece of paper – and a pen. Yes, I asked him for his autograph. He made his letters carefully, his little tongue sticking out corner of his mouth while he wrote, “Eldrick Woods.”
Wish I still had that little slip of paper.
Sixteen years later, he won the Masters. That 1981 day was just starting it all. My column on April 14, 1997 was all about Tiger. Redlands. Winning the Masters. My reluctance to cover it. I’d written, “I’m glad Norm convinced me to come.”
Norm called later to recall the memories.
I asked, “Any more birthday parties you want me to cover, Norm?”
