This page contains a Flash digital edition of a book.
down five crisp “cecils” (what we called $100 bills) because he had no space. But through cancellations or no-shows there was usually a little room to ma- neuver, and it was then that I could, in clear conscience, accept some very large thank-yous. Golf ’s most famous waiting game happens at Bethpage State Park, on Long Island, as every day (and night) hordes of hackers try to squeeze onto the famous Black Course, which has hosted the 2002 and ‘09 U.S. Opens and costs the princely sum of $65 for New York state residents. In May of 2009, just a couple of weeks before the Open was to be played, I hung around Bethpage for a Sports Illustrated feature. It was there that I met Ed Cybulski, who, incredibly, woke up four days in a row in the parking lot to secure a tee time on the Black. His odyssey had begun in the wee hours of Thursday, May 28, when he made the late-night drive to the Black from his home in Laurel Springs, N.J. The trip takes


52 / NCGA.ORG / SPRING 2011


2 1/2 hours each way, with Cybulski careful to stay near the speed limit as he tried to squeeze a little better mile- age out of his 1996 Ford Thunderbird, which had just under 100,000 miles on the odometer and a noisy front-end


“It’s crazy, I know,” [Cybulski] said, “but once you get the idea in your head to play Bethpage, it’s hard to get it out.”


rattle that registered every pothole. He arrived around 4 a.m., parked in the numbered stalls to secure his place in line for the next morning’s tee times and promptly fell asleep in the backseat. Cybulski spent most of the day reading (an unholy combination of golf maga- zines and a book of Lincoln speeches) and that evening was joined by John K. Mack, his longtime golf buddy and brother-in-law. Among friends, Mack goes by Jack, to distinguish himself from his son John, who also came along for the Bethpage adventure. On Friday


morning they were to be the fourth group out on the Black when a power- ful thunderstorm closed the course for the day. Heavy-hearted, Cybulski and the Macks drove home. That night Cybulski was watching TV when his wife, who was pursu- ing a master’s in nursing education, announced that she would have to spend the weekend work- ing on a paper. Sensing


his opening, Ed hopped back into his car at around 10:30 p.m. and returned to Long Island. “It’s crazy, I know,” he said, “but once you get the idea in your head to play Bethpage, it’s hard to get it out.” On Saturday morning Cybul- ski’s was the second car in the queue for Sunday morning’s times, behind Kevin Atieh, a 20-year-old George- town undergrad who had arrived seven hours earlier to save a spot for himself, his two older brothers and one of their Wall Street pals. Later in the day the Macks rejoined their vigilant buddy, and


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52  |  Page 53  |  Page 54  |  Page 55  |  Page 56  |  Page 57  |  Page 58  |  Page 59  |  Page 60  |  Page 61  |  Page 62  |  Page 63  |  Page 64  |  Page 65  |  Page 66  |  Page 67  |  Page 68  |  Page 69  |  Page 70  |  Page 71  |  Page 72  |  Page 73  |  Page 74  |  Page 75  |  Page 76