Lee Geiger

A hundred years from now, when men and women gather on this high ground in the rolling hills of Maryland, we hope they will conclude that we built an enduring foundation for golf played by those who love the game.

Reg Murphy, on behalf of the Caves Valley Board of Directors, July 1991

It’s not often I get a severe case of the nerves. My 14-year old hands shook violently before I centered the football over our punter’s head in my very first football game. My already-upset stomach took notice of the lifelong commitment I was about to make and began cartwheeling upon hearing the opening notes of The Wedding March. And I completely lost the ability to speak (difficult to imagine, I know) when Bobby Kahan, my legendary Montgomery Securities boss, got into my face and asked me why I foolishly bid a customer 48 3/8 for a block of stock when he told me to bid 48 1/2. But I can’t recall a more anxious moment in my life than the one that had my knees knocking last Thursday at preciously 1:18pm in Owings Mills, Md.

After an eight-year absence, I was about to hit my first shot at Caves Valley Golf Club.

Long-time readers of The Marginal Prophet are well aware of my love for Caves Valley. My treasured home away from home from 1997 to 2007, Caves Valley is the ultimate golf experience wrapped in a pastoral blanket of tall pine trees and rolling green hills. Committed to the highest standards of personal service (especially you, Ms. Boston Sports Fan, and you, Mr. Former Duke Univ. Quarterback), Caves Valley is the consummate golf environment where each guest is treated as if he or she was a member. Like Pine Valley, Cypress Point and Augusta National, “Caves” is the gold standard by which other private golf clubs are measured.

Mr. Partner-in-Crime, a T. Rowe Price portfolio manager, invited me to spend a day at Caves. To say I was grateful would be an understatement. After a delicious lunch that included the best seafood bisque ever created by man, we were joined by two other long-time Caves Valley members; Mr. Tax Man (appropriately named because in the middle of our round he taught me a creative loophole to the tax code) and Mr. Silver Bullet (silver-gray hair, a brilliant mind, and a George Clooney jawline is a nice way to go through life).

Informed in mid-August that we would begin our round on Hole #10 (a short 310-yard par 4), I spent the ensuing three weeks thinking of nothing but my opening tee shot. Mr. Tax Man, a 70-year old single digit-handicapper, led off our foursome, and he hit a solid drive that found the dead center of the fairway. He proceeded to do this all afternoon, giving credence to my theory that he hadn’t lost a golf ball since the Carter Administration.

Mr. Silver Bullet, another single-digit handicapper, stepped up next, and he smoked a line-drive over the left-side bunker that nearly broke the sound barrier. After watching two senior citizens hit golf shots more attuned to college seniors, my mind drifted toward a line from the movie “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”…”Who are those guys?”

Mr. Partner-in-Crime spoke up. “Show us the way, Lee.” I grabbed by rented 4-utility club and nervously placed my ball onto the tee. I fought back my natural instinct to blab nonsensically about nothing, and focused exclusively on the task at hand. The fact I had turned white from fright seemed to have been lost on my playing partners. Yet despite nightmares of duck hooks into the trees on the left, or slices into the fairway bunker on the right, or worse, a topped-shank that didn’t make it to the forward tees, I managed to stripe a 200+ yard drive that drew ever so softly onto the short grass. If I had dropped dead that very moment, I would have died a happy man. Against all odds, I ended up having the longest drive of the foursome. How in the name of Les Disharoon (a former Caves Valley president and co-founder who frowned upon the use of “mulligans”) did that happen?

My glory was short-lived, however. I rode Mr. Partner-in-Crime for the entire front nine, which was easy to do because he shot a smooth 37 to my dreadful 48. Our 2-up lead at the turn evaporated quickly, as Mr. Tax Man holed his second shot from the fairway on Hole #1 (our tenth hole) for an eagle, and he followed that up by nailing his approach shot stiff on Hole #2. The 18-hole match was officially even.

Fortunately, Mr. Partner-in-Crime came to the rescue, holing difficult birdie putts on Holes #3 and #5. I made a contribution by staying out of the water and making par on Hole #4. Mr. Tax Man later made a brilliant par on Hole #6 (ranked the #1 handicapped hole at Caves), giving his team a 1-up lead on the back nine.

It was at this point that I finally managed to play some real golf. I made a par/net birdie on Hole #7 that pulled us back to even (and brought the 18-hole match to “dormie”), and I sank a 30-foot bomb (a putt that will no doubt grow in length with time) for a natural birdie on Hole #8 that closed out the 18-hole match and would have given us the lead for the back nine. I say “would have” because Mr. Tax Man sank his 10-footer for a half. With the back-nine money on the line, Mr. Partner-in-Crime saved the day by making his fourth birdie of the day on Hole #9 to counter the par/net-birdie posted by Mr. Silver Bullet. By virtue of winning the match, the front, and halving the back, we each won $7. And I promise you, Mr. Tax Man, that is one fin and two singles of yours I will pass on to my kids.

We retired to thirst-quenching beers and comfortable white rocking chairs overlooking the magnificent valley to relive our round. I ended up shooting 44 on the back nine for a semi-respectable 92, while Mr. Tax Man and Mr. Partner-in-Crime shot 74 and 75, respectively. Remarkably, our foursome shot a best ball 63 that included one eagle, seven birdies and only one bogey. Not bad for group of AARP types on a sweltering summer day.

Thank you, Mr. Partner-in-Crime, for giving me the opportunity to spend an unforgettable day at my favorite place on earth. Your generosity allowed me to scratch off one of the few remaining items on my personal Bucket List, a return to Caves Valley for one more day in the sun. For that I am forever grateful.