My Solheim Cup Runneth Over

A few weeks ago, Cheeseball Neighbor and The Queen of Connections (who used to be ChiSky Grrrl) asked us a if we wanted to go watch some women's golf. We don't know much about women's golf, but who cares? We didn't ask many questions--just the date, time, cost, location. (Have you noticed our neighbors ROCK--they've always got something awesome up their sleeves and they always have a good time for minimal cost. We've decided that the Queen has contacts EVERYWHERE. She really IS the Queen of Connections.) We agreed that the golf event sounded fun and, once the wife confirmed we had the day free, agreed that we would love to go.

Being that the wife and I are ignorant to the world of women's golf, we didn't have the wherewith all to get excited about the adventure we were about to take. We had no idea we were about to go to a kick-ass, well-publicized, bi-annual international event--that is only held on U.S. soil every four years. International! We thought we were going to wander around some links and have fun with fun people.

The wife and I learn we're going to some po-dunk place called Sugar Grove--an hour or so drive--to go see some tournament called the Solheim Cup--at some course named Rich Harvest Farms. We don't know what this means--what the hell is a Solheim Cup?--but, we are smart enough to research what we're supposed to wear. The wife goes on line to look up tournament information--a quick view of gallery photos suggests we can be casual--no need for collared shirts or fancy pants. I notice that a lot of the gallery peeps are wearing red shirts but don't realize (DUH!) they are sporting our nation's colors of red, white and blue. (Hello! Double Duh!) We stop at the ATM and get some cash, as we figure parking and food will cost a pretty penny.....and, since the Queen scored us the admission tickets, we figure paying for parking and gas is only right.

The Queen and Cheeseball Neighbor pile us into their car and away we go. We're yipping about this and that when the Queen casually mentions that not only do we have fully paid admission to the event, we have priority parking AND passes to the sponsor tents (read: FREE FOOD!). Score! Being that we are super naive, we don't actually realize how awesome this is going to turn out--we're thinking some hot dogs on a bun and chips....

As we approach the event, it becomes apparent that this is NOT a small event. It is a mega-huge event and there are people everywhere. Police are directing traffic to the various parking lots. The media circus surrounds us. Big, fancy souvenir programs are handed to us. Spectators are dressed like it's the Fourth of July.

We get out of the car and wander the grounds, mouths a-gape in surprise and awe. We learn all about the tournament, stunned that we are at an international event that people have given their eye teeth to attend. We get a good laugh when we learn people have been planning to attend this event for an entire year. We scratch our heads when it finally dawns on us that an international event has somehow found its way to only an hour away from where we life. We learn that the best of women's golf is here. I learn that my grrrrls Laura Davies and Julie Inkster are in the house! I am almost incredulous.....

.....and, then we see where we are going to be eating and peeing. Oh dear! REAL food, real tables and chairs, all you can eat, personal space away from the crowds, right on the 17th fairway. Better yet, fancy toilet facilities were ours for the taking! While the minions are standing in line at the port-o-potties, we're excreting urine through our urethras in air conditioned style. Incredulous squared!

The excitement of the crowd, the national pride, the talented golfers, the vast array of food and the beautiful fancy bathrooms all made for a wonderful afternoon. We ate ourselves into food comas. (I am not proud to say that I stuffed some extra cookies into my pockets before leaving the food tent--THAT'S how good they were. I had to keep my pockets out of the sun, lest my cookies "bake" while standing there.) Incredibly, and completely by accident, we plop ourselves along the 17th fairway....right in line to where the women are driving their first shots on said fairway. Plop! A little white ball falls right in line with us. Plop! Another little white ball. Next thing you know, two golfer approach--right smack dab in front of us. Um, that's Michelle Wie. Right there. Michelle Wie, for crying out loud! Wait--there's Laura Davies. (Holy cow, those are some calves. I'm not messing her.) Why, Julie Inkster's so close I can just about shake her hand.

It was a glorious day in women's golf.

Even more glorious, we can truthfully say we were there when Michelle went on to take the tournament into her own hands and slap her European competition into shape, because we WERE there. The gallery was on fire!

We were home in time to watch the awards ceremony on television.....

....and yes, I ate my pocketed cookies while sitting on the couch, watching the U.S. team accept the Solheim Cup.
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