• Local man finally sinks birdie putt, beats friend at round of par 3 golf

    Editor's Note: The following game recap is the first in an ongoing series of recreational sports the Daily Texan sports staff and friends will enjoy over the summer.

    It took seven rounds of pitch and putt golf, but recent Texas graduate and software salesman, Trevor Nichols, finally sunk his first birdie.

    “It felt like I was being initiated into a privileged club,” Nichols said after the nine-hole round.

    The ever elusive birdie had pecked at him since he picked up golf two months ago, but at the seventh hole, the second longest hole at Butler Pitch & Putt Golf Course on 201 Lee Barton Rd, Nichols finally pecked back. He shot a 36 on the day.

    The birdie didn’t come easy though. After three straight double bogeys to begin the day, Nichols altered his shot.

    “The minute I teed off at the fourth hole it felt clean, which was nice because I had begun the day horribly,” he said. “When you shank a ball across two holes like I did on the first and second holes, you have to retool. Especially when you’re swing is laughable as is.”

    Nichols credits his swing adjustment to his opponent, Sameer Bhuchar. Bhuchar, who was also playing golf for only the seventh time in his career, and who had joined the “birdie club” way before Nichols, lost the match.

    “I feel like my game took off when he [Bhuchar] pointed out I wasn't getting low enough,” Nichols said.

    And took off it did. Not only did the software salesman score his first birdie yesterday, he also hit his first green. And then did it again and again and again.

    “To hit those four greens in regulation was huge for my confidence,” he said. “When I didn't get on the green on the eighth hole after never getting on the green in all of my trips to the course, seeing my little streak end was sad.”

    Though this was also his first time to shoot under a 40 on this par-3 golf course, Nichols firmly believe yesterday’s round was the turning point in his game.

    “I'd say this is the turning of a leaf,” Nichols said before adding, “in that the more accurate I hit, the less leaves I seemed to cleave off of trees.”

    Bhuchar on the other hand, was all over the place. His tee shots were either erratic or sluggish, and he putted impatiently.

    “I’m really re-evaluating myself as a golfer after today,” Bhuchar said. “It hurts to post a 45 on the scorecard and watch your opponent average a bogey a hole. I’d kill to have averaged a bogey a hole.”

    Bhuchar had chance to achieve his goal of shooting a sub-40 round if it weren’t for that pesky second hole which played venus fly trap to his tee shot. Bhuchar had to take a drop, and in an effort to speed through the hole in order to allow the golfers waiting behind him to play, rushed his drop shot and it landed 16 feet past the hole. From there Bhuchar lost his cool and missed putt after putt before finally posting an eight on the hole. He was really kicking himself.

    Bhuchar said despite his detractors, he plans to work through his poor performance and reemerge as a formidable just-above-average pitch and putt player.

    “I don’t expect very much for myself, but a 45 is embarrassing,” he said. “All I’m asking for is a 37 or so and I’ll be content. A round at Butler's Pitch & Putt is only eight dollars, so I can easily just buy another round and practice some more until I meet my goals.”

    Though it is all trash talk on the links for these fierce rivals, both Nichols and Bhuchar can agree that of the many things to do in Austin over the summer, a round at the pitch and putt course is a must.

    “The beauty of the rolling hills, painted on the earth, amidst the urban jungle is intoxicating,” Nichols said. “Walking the 805 yards of golf course makes me feel as if the city carved out this little oasis just for me.”

    “I definitely recommend anyone, of any skill, playing a round out there, Bhuchar said. “It’s all the glamour of Augusta National, with a B.Y.O.B. rule.” 

  • Road to Omaha: Father’s Day

    I was unable to spend Father’s Day with my Dad, due to the fact that I am currently in Omaha for the College World Series.

    Just like my dad predicted. Let me explain.

    The year is 2003, and I am the starting pitcher on my little league team. I had just thrown a complete-game shutout, scattering three or four hits, in a sixth-grade baseball game. As was the custom, my dad wanted to take me out for a celebratory ice cream at the Ben & Jerry’s down the street. We were about done and ready to go home, when he turned to me and, in a serious tone, said something I will never forget.

    “Son,” he said, “I want you to start spending most of your time getting better at baseball. You’re talented. If you keep working hard, well, you may be on your way to the College World Series with Augie Garrido one day.”

    I nearly choked on my waffle cone. My dad was always my biggest fan, a man who seemingly lived and died by the results of my baseball games, sitting right behind home plate, on hand with a yellow Gatorade whenever I needed it. But he was never one to push sports or demand particular greatness, yet there he was suggesting to me that I would one day be good enough to play at the University of Texas.

    A year later, I played my last baseball game. There was no horrific injury — yeah, you know, I had to get Tommy John surgery in sixth grade. I just wasn’t very good at it anymore, and I didn’t love playing it like I used to.

    There would soon be something I enjoyed doing even more: writing. As I have worked my way up the ranks — from some very ridiculous blog posts to my high school news magazine and now The Daily Texan, my dad has been the one person who reads every single article I write, akin to the days when he would miss an important meeting before he missed one of my games.

    My dad was just as supportive of my final athletic endeavor — rec basketball — showing up to every single game. He cheered wildly at each of them, except the final game of my senior “season,” when we were losing to annoying private schoolers by 40 and became belligerent — laying into them with hard fouls and language so offensive it would have made Augie Garrido blush (the refs swallowed the whistle because it was the final game of our high school “careers”).

    Disgusted, my Dad walked out of the gym after I picked up what should have been my ninth foul, a hip-check that sent a pretty boy flying into the scorer’s table. Needless to say, there was no Gatorade after the game.

    I had a nice phone call with my dad on Father’s Day. We talked about my trip — he’s thrilled for me — and how he thinks his Longhorns will do Monday. He didn’t ask or expect a Father’s Day gift — which is good, because I’m still deciding what to get him.

    Maybe we can just get ice cream.

  • Omaha: Day 2

    An aerial view of cheetahs from the sky safari, a gondola lift that passes over the parks collection of African animals.
    An aerial view of cheetahs from the sky safari, a gondola lift that passes over the parks collection of African animals.

    With baseball still a day away, I took the opportunity this morning to see what else Omaha had to offer in terms of entertainment. Rosenblatt Stadium sits south of downtown just off of I-80, and the Henry Doorly Zoo shares the same parking lot.

    A docent at the Omaha Doorly Zoo kisses a chimpanzee through the glass. Docents and other volunteers help greatly at the Zoo, which is a non-profit organization.

    I was really impressed with the level of interaction I was able to have with the animals. I stood in front of a window as a 400 lb. gorilla beat its chest and slammed itself into the glass and I walked along a corridor as an alligator swam in its tank next to me. I rode a ski lift over the giraffe and rhinoceros exhibits I haven’t been that close to lions since I was in Africa.

    There are already enough animals in the College World Series, what with Longhorns, Gators, Bears and Gamecocks, but I took a half-hearted attempt at comparing Texas’ starting lineup for Friday to animals that matched their looks or characteristics. I promise to be more normal once they start playing baseball.

    Children play in front of a penguin tank at the Omaha Doorly Zoo.

    Taylor Jungmann, RHP, meerkat
    He’s really not going to like this, but there was a meerkat colony at the zoo and the resemblance is striking. Taylor may actually punch me in the face the next time he sees me.

    Tant Shepherd, first baseman, lobster
    His teammates call him a lobster because of his giant first baseman’s glove, and I’m not one to mess around with team chemistry. I’m still getting over the fact I just wrote Taylor Jungmann looks like a meerkat.

    Jordan Etier, second baseman, Tazmanian devil
    Etier is dynamic at second base and unpredictable at the plate, but the thing that he does that reminds me of a tazmanian devil the most is the way he spins around in a small tornado while running the bases.

    This is the first year the College World Series will not be held next door to the Doorly Zoo. Officials there expect higher than average attendance over the next week as a result. 

    Brandon Loy, shortstop, spider monkey
    Loy bounces around in the six hole and can cover more ground than any infielder in the conference, but I haven’t seen him hang from a tree by his tail yet.

    Erich Weiss, third baseman, ostrich
    It’s easier for Weiss to fly than it is for an ostrich, but he may not want to with all the extra fees airlines charge these days.

    Jacob Felts, catcher, rhinoceros
    His catcher’s equipment is similar to a rhino’s armor-like skin, and Felts probably spends just as much time rolling around in the dirt as one.

    Jonathan Walsh, left fielder, mountain lion
    This is by far the most flattering comparison I’ve made so far. Maybe Walsh can help me out when Jungmann comes after me.

    Paul Montalbano, centerfielder, hyena
    Paul strikes me as one of the happiest players on the team, no matter if he’s hitting well or in the middle of a slump.

    The Zoo’s aquarium will be expanding in the next few years. It’s already one of the most crowded attractions.

    Mark Payton, right fielder, badger
    Payton’s from Illinois so he may not like the comparison to a Wisconsin mascot, but he fits the fits the bill nicely. Mark has a tough, scrappy attitude while in the field and at the plate, something he probably got from his hockey days, and even though badgers are small they are definitely not to be messed with.

    Kevin Lusson, designated hitter, tortoise
    He came on slow this season, but Lusson might have the most power in his bat on the team.

    Augie Garrido, head coach, owl
    Physical comparisons aside, coach Garrido conducts himself like a wise owl, even the way he perches himself at the steps of the dugout during games.

    Photos by Andrew Edmonson.

  • Omaha: Day 1

    A patron at the Ice House sits under a Longhorn flag. The next two weeks will determine whether the horns win the College World Series like they did in 2005.
    A patron at the Ice House sits under a Longhorn flag. The next two weeks will determine whether the horns win the College World Series like they did in 2005.

    We all slept in till around noon today. That’s what 13 hours on the road will do to you. It was a pretty slow day with a lot of time spent stealing wi-fi at Starbucks (sucks to suck, La Quinta Internet).

    Despite the lack of action (media activity gets in full swing Friday), we still found a way to make a connection with the Texas baseball.

    We went to Ice House, a sports bar where Texas had its celebration in 2005 after the national championship. It’s a really cool place — about 25 TVs, two of them with a Keno game — and a lot of sports memorabilia on the walls.

    We spoke with the Ice House manager, Brian, who worked during the post-game party.

    “I hardly remember anything because of how busy I was,” he said. “It got pretty late and we didn’t think anybody was coming, and then about 20 [players, families and baseball staff] showed up. And then, about 10 or 15 more people would show up every 15 minutes.”

    Ice House, which is about 20 miles away from downtown Omaha, hasn’t hosted any more team parties since then.

    “Most of the teams are staying downtown now, closer to the stadium,” Brian said. “They probably don’t want to come all the way out here.”

    Thanks for reading, stay tuned.

  • Road to Omaha

    9 a.m.

    We depart.

    11:07 a.m.

    We are sitting in the van in the Czech Stop parking lot in West, Texas. Their kolaches are a must for any trip along North Interstate Highway 35.

    Customers at the Czech Stop bakery shop for kolaches.

    Nothing very noteworthy in the early stages of the drive, and then the tragedy of embarrassment struck as I mixed up my Buffetts.

    When told that Warren Buffett hails from Omaha, I asked if they had a big Margaritaville.

    Warren sounds like Jimmy, OK?

    Dreading the drive through “Chokelahoma” and Kansas.

    1:48 p.m.

    Our entry into Oklahoma was greeted by the smell of kerosene and a giant WinStar World Casino. No, we did not stop. It’s worth mentioning that Andrew lived in Laton, Okla. for eight years.

    Did he like it?

    “No, I did not,” he said, solemnly shaking his head.

    3:47 p.m.

    A few thoughts on the state so far: First, Bob Stoops deserves props for the recruiting magic he does. I know Oklahoma is a school rich in tradition and one of the best college football programs in the nation, but man, Norman does not seem very appealing. And that’s saying it nicely.

    We recently passed a billboard advertising that “Secretariat” was coming out Oct. 8. What a time capsule.

    There are other weird billboards in Oklahoma…

    A pair of signs in the middle of Oklahoma. Methamphetamine usage has been a plague in the West and Midwest since the nineties. Public service announcements discouraging it’s use aren’t uncommon.  

    And other bizarre agriculture happenings…

    Trey Scott watches a controlled fire from a passing van outside of Tonkawa Oklahoma, near the Kansas border. The fire was on a patch of farmland and fizzled out quickly, dying out in minutes.

    We entered Kansas sometime in the late afternoon; I forgot to mark the time.

    We stopped at Long John Silver’s, not to necessarily eat the food, but to use their restrooms. We threw in a sympathy purchase — an order of popcorn shrimp and a small order of fries between the four of us.

    10:02 p.m.

    According to the sign that says, “Welcome to Nebraska,” we’re not in Kansas anymore.


    Finally, finally, finally in Omaha.