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Fore-gotten

Don't worry, her husband had said. Whenever a ball is headed your way, someone will yell. Right.

By COLLEEN JENKINS
Published November 3, 2005

Retief Goosen's golf ball hit me on the head Sunday.

Hard.

He was at the Chrysler Championship in Palm Harbor to win big money. I was there to win big points with my golf-loving husband. A gentle October breeze and a sunny blue sky made the weather ideal for an afternoon outside.

This was my first time at a PGA event. I silently marveled at how accessible the sport was in person. You could practically touch the golfers.

Less than an hour into our perfect afternoon, my husband and I were walking toward a clubhouse for some lunch. He noticed Goosen and two other golfers getting ready to tee off at hole No. 1. We stopped about midway down the edge of the fairway to watch, tucked safely beneath a shady oak tree and behind the security rope.

I was looking down at the event program. It didn't mean squat to me that this was a downhill, 560-yard dogleg right par 5.

I didn't notice when Goosen's driver tore into his ball.

"The ball is on its way," the golf marshal said.

He didn't sound concerned. My husband didn't flinch either. He had told me someone would yell "fore!" if the ball was coming at us.

No one yelled anything. The next sound came from me. It was a low moan of pain and surprise. I leaned over and clutched the top of my head. Seriously, had a ball just hit me?

What I said next is unprintable.

Next came an unwanted flurry of attention. The marshal offered to call paramedics. My husband choked back his disbelief at the odds of this happening to his wife and asked me many, many times if I was okay.

"You should demand a spa treatment!" one woman offered helpfully.

Someone else suggested I stick around. The players, onlookers said, often autograph a ball for anyone they accidentally hit. The only ball I was thinking about was the goose egg forming on my skull.

I tried to laugh. It still hurt.

My husband had a different perspective.

"You just got hit by Retief Goosen's ball! He's ranked No. 4 in the world!"

A few minutes later, Goosen arrived. His ball was in a terrible lie, stuck among trees, sticks and other unpleasant things for golfers. Someone pointed me out standing about 15 feet away.

Goosen turned toward me. Embarrassed, I couldn't bring my eyes to meet his.

"Sorry about that," he said in his cute South African accent.

Then he chuckled, turned back to his ball and muttered something about wishing he'd gotten a better bounce. The crowd laughed.

We watched as he hit the ball back onto the fairway (he went on to save par). Then he walked away, leaving me empty-handed.

I was okay with that. My husband, well, he was wishing for the autographed ball.

"We could have framed it for our living room," he said.

"The ball that hit Colleen's head," the plaque would read. Nice.

"He probably would have gotten a better bounce off your nose," my husband joked.

I hit him. Without yelling fore.

- Colleen Jenkins can be reached at 727 869-6236 or cjenkins@sptimes.com

[Last modified November 2, 2005, 17:56:38]