“So, how far back are you going to champion Sanderson Farms?” A friend asked the other day.
The answer was easy: all the way.
Rick Cleveland
It dates back to 1968, when it was known as the Magnolia State Classic and was played at Hattiesburg Country Club. This is where I used to give a lot of scares to my high school golf team as a 15-year-old 10th grader.
She carried in the first round of the first Magnolia State Classic. My pro shot an 83 that day, stripping the bark off several pines and working his way around the beautiful old course. He was red in the face and still cursing, but then he bashed his club into the trunk of his car, and I never saw him again. He had to shoot 57 in the second round to make it, and believe me, it didn’t happen. I showed up for the second round and he didn’t. She never paid me for the first round either.
I watched rookie PGA player Mac McClendon, a 22-year-old fresh out of LSU, win his first Magnolia Championship, beating 52-year-old Pete Fleming in a nine-hole playoff after they had already played 36 holes that day. As McLendon hit the winning shot at dusk, cars were already streaming out of the parking lot, all lit up.
This week will mark the 57th game of what has become the Sanderson Farms Championship. I’ve seen and covered the vast majority of the previous 56 tournaments, except about 10 years ago when I assigned myself to cover another small tournament, the one they call the Masters.
In fact, I’ve covered Mississippi’s only PGA Tour tournament under its eight different names. Here’s the list: Magnolia State Classic, Magnolia Classic, Deposit Guarantee Classic, Southern Farm Peru Classic, Viking Classic, True South Classic, and of course the Sanderson Farms Championship, which has been that since Joe Sanderson saved the tournament in 2013.
I’ve covered it in Hattiesburg, at Annandale in Madison, and at Jackson Country Club. I’ve covered it in April, May, July, September, October and November. I’ve covered them in brutal heat and, more often than not, seasonal weather only suitable for frogs, fish and ducks. I went at least twice to cover the tournament for the sports section and ended up covering a torrent for the news section. Once, in Annandale, we at the media center narrowly escaped a nasty tornado.
From its humble beginnings — the total purse in 1968 was $20,000 — the tournament has evolved into a full-fledged $8.2 million PGA Tour event. That’s right: Many caddies will make more money this week than McLendon did in 1968.
The truth is, I’ve covered some of golf’s greatest players before they became household names. I covered Johnny Miller when he was, as they say, a can’t-miss prospect straight out of Brigham Young University. I covered Tom Watson when he was a recent graduate of Stanford University and had a mustache. Someone told me at the time that I had to see Watson’s rhythmic golf swing, so I went to see him. I found it on the fifth hole, the toughest on the big old Hattiesburg Country Club course. I was standing behind the green, looking down the fairway, when I hit a golf ball from the left side, bounced two big times, rolled about 10 feet and landed in the cup. There was no roar from the gallery. Hell, you’re a show. Watson came bounding onto the green, looking everywhere for his ball.
“Check the hole,” I told him.
He did so and then showed that gap-toothed smile that has become famous all over the world.
Watson didn’t win in Mississippi and Miller didn’t either, but Payne Stewart certainly did. That was before he wore underwear. I saw future Mississippi player Jim Gallagher Jr. win it long before he married Ceci and became a Ryder Cup champion. I’ve seen the late great Chi Chi Rodriguez play it and it entertains everyone who has seen it.
I walked the hallways with John Daly, when he was a skinny, chain-smoking rookie who had just returned to the United States after honing his game on the South African tour.
I’ve covered Pro Ams that have included the likes of Dizzy Dean, Clint Eastwood, Glen Campbell, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Joe Namath and many more. Dizzy Dean beat his pro in the 1970 ATP Championship, hitting just 73 shots, almost all of which started wide to his left and traveled wide to his right.
“How do you cut the ball so often?” Someone in the gallery shouted at Ol’ Diz.
“Jesus, if you had to swing around a belly as big as mine, you’d cut it too,” Dean replied with a laugh.
He had a point.
In 1980, Roger Maltby, a great player and later a popular golf broadcaster, shot a first-round 65, then sat out three days of torrential rain that drenched Hattiesburg. He sat through most of the storms at EJ’s Bar at the Ramada Inn on Highway 49. That’s where I found him after his victory was announced on a rainy Sunday.
“How much do I get?” – asked Maltby.
“Five thousand,” I answered.
“Hell, that’ll hardly pay for my pub ticket,” Maltby said.
It has been widely reported — to be precise, I’m afraid — that this may be the final tournament for Sanderson Farms, which has long been the only PGA Tour tournament in Mississippi. That’s a shame on many fronts, but mostly because the tournament has donated about $25 million to Mississippi charities, most of it to Mississippi Children’s, which provides medical care to about 200,000 children annually. If it comes out, it should go out with a bang. Perfect weather forecast. The field is excellent with established stars like Matt Kuchar and Rickie Fowler heading this way.
Hopefully a new sponsor will appear out of nowhere – as Joe Sanderson did – and save the event. If not, please allow me to say publicly about the heroism I have come to appreciate as an old friend: Thanks for the memories.
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