The Militi Open

Heading off to two days of golf with my Syracuse buddies, and I had to make an adjustment to the room arrangements.

It’s been said that I snore.

Normally we go two to a room - based on how the event started about 30 years ago.

One year I was woken by my buddy, Rob, who was throwing wet wash rags at me.

“You’re snoring!”

The next year, my buddy, Tony, woke me at 4 in the morning as he was showering.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m going to sleep in the lobby,” he said. “It’s like sleeping with a bear.”

So, my buddy Tom called:

“I lost,” he said. “You’re my roommate.”

“That’s not happening,” I said. “I’m getting my own room.”

“But we’re supposed to split the cost,” he said.

“Good Lord,” I said. “You have more money than God. You can take the hit.”

After I booked the room, I mentioned to Kathy that I wasn’t sharing a room.

“You don’t even want to share a room with me,” she said. “I can’t believe the rest of them are sharing rooms.”

And it is a little odd, I guess, but that’s the charm of this little get-together.

Lunch in the parking lot of the course. A Friday round, dinner at an Italian restaurant, a Saturday round, and a long, aching ride home.

And a lot of thinking about our old buddy, Joe Militi - a man who was my grandfather’s age when I met him.

He reminded me of Grandpa.

The last year he was alive I walked up to him at the first tee.

“Hey Joe,” I said.

“Don’t start with your bullshit,” he said, laughing as he shook my hand.

Glad we’re keeping the tradition alive…

…but I ain’t sharing a room with anyone!