Breakthroughs in Golf-shirt Design and Beer Transportation

Solomon Islands ck P., the Sunday Morning Group’s Jordan Spieth of beer-chugging, works for Custom Ts ‘n More, a company that, among other things, embroiders cool stuff on golf shirts. Here’s Nick last weekend, at my club’s annual men’s member-guest tournament, wearing one of his custom golf shirts:


Recently, Nick’s company acquired a machine that prints on fabric, in full color, and Nick used it to make shirts for him and Carl, his regular guest. The image he chose was a photograph that someone took at last year’s member-guest. It shows Klinger and Fritz (during a low moment for Fritz) at the big poker game on Saturday night. Nick was worried that the ink would run on the fabric, which is synthetic, but he primed it somehow, or something, and everything came out great. All SMG shirts from now on will take advantage of this remarkable technology:


Nick and Carl were the defending champions, so during the big steak dinner on Friday night Corey, our pro, made them sit by themselves, at the Champions Table. I don’t know who the third place setting was supposed to be for:


And here are the steaks:


A second major innovation introduced at this year’s member-guest was the Arctic Zone insulated beer backpack. Fritz bought one at CVS for less than the cost of two sleeves of Pro V1s, and he was able to fit a full case into it. It freed his hands for other functions, such as swinging a golf club, caddying for Nick and Carl during the closing shoot-out, and holding additional beer:


Fritz and Klinger are long-time member-guest golf-shirt innovators. Their wardrobe last weekend included this shirt, from Loudmouth Golf—now unfortunately out of stock in every size except small:


Member-Guest News (Part Two): Men at the Outer Limits of Fashion

Fritz and Klinger, men's member-guest, August, 2014.

Fritz and Klinger, men’s member-guest, August, 2014.

The day after the member-guest, Addison and I realized that we were still golf-deprived, so we went out at five in the afternoon for a Two-Hour Eighteen™. I played pretty well but felt like a chopper because Addison made five birdies on the front nine alone, even though he was tired from the weekend and from hitting a couple of hundred range balls that morning while getting fitted for new clubs. We had to play through one pair of slowpokes but were otherwise unimpeded, and we finished our round, walking, in just under two hours. Among the topics we discussed was the stuff other people had worn during the member-guest. Some highlights:

Tony and his son, Timo, looked either like members of the Italian Tour de France team or like busboys at Sbarro:


The main issue, perhaps, was their socks:


Ferris and his sons—Matt, Dr. Mike, and Adam—always dress alike, even though they play in two different flights. This year, no plus-fours or hockey uniforms:


Tim and his son Nick, possibly for strategic reasons, usually dress almost alike but not quite:


Les’s regular partner, Duncan, is from England:


Nick P.’s company embroiders stuff on clothes, so he made shirts for himself and his partner:


Reese (Addison’s father, right) and Lance (Addison’s uncle) wore shorts from (I think) Loudmouth Golf, but they took some grief for wearing them two days in a row:



Mike A. (right) and his brother-in-law, another Dave, are football fans:


On Sunday, Rob was one of several players who wore the green FootJoy golf shirt we’d all been given when we registered:


In the photo below, Jaws is rubbing Rob’s head for good luck. (Jaws is called Jaws because when he was a baby he wouldn’t stop talking; Rob is called Catbird for reasons I don’t fully understand.) Before the member-guest began, I ran into Rob’s mother in front of the grocery store, and she told me that she hoped he would behave. He did!


The best-dressed pair, as always, was Fritz (right, in the photo below) and Klinger. They do their member-guest shopping at T. J. Maxx and Kohl’s, and if either or both of those companies would offer us a volume discount the Sunday Morning Group would probably make them official suppliers. Klinger is getting married, in Mexico, in October. He is perhaps slightly heavier than he was when he proposed, but I think it’s wise to establish a comfortable baseline—something I should have done before my own wedding, seventy pounds ago:


My brother, John, and I wore the same thing—khakis and seersucker shirts—to the stag dinner, on Friday night, but that was an accident. The explanation, according to John, is that we both “work from a limited palate,” and he said that it would be interesting to keep track of what we wear on days when we’re not together, to see how often we coincide. On Saturday, he dressed almost exactly as I had dressed on Friday (white shirt, reddish shorts), but that was an accident, too. We’ve talked about wearing the same things on purpose, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. For at least the past six or seven years, no identically-dressed team has won the member-guest shootout—although he and I did win last year while wearing the same hat. And no one has ever qualified for the putting-contest final with feet that look like these (name withheld):