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  • Final Rounds
  • Written by James Dodson
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  • Final Rounds
  • Written by James Dodson
    Read by James Dodson
  • Format: Abridged Audiobook Download | ISBN: 9780553750706
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A Father, A Son, The Golf Journey Of A Lifetime

Written by James DodsonAuthor Alerts:  Random House will alert you to new works by James Dodson



Audio Editions

Read by James Dodson
On Sale: July 05, 2000
ISBN: 978-0-553-75070-6
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ABOUT THE BOOK ABOUT THE BOOK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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Synopsis|Excerpt

Synopsis

James Dodson always felt closest to his father while they were on the links. So it seemed only appropriate when his father learned he had two months to live that they would set off on the golf journey of their dreams to play the most famous courses in the world.

Final Rounds takes us to the historic courses of Royal Lytham and Royal Birkdale, to the windswept undulations of Carnoustie, where Hogan played peerlessly in '53, and the legendary St. Andrews, whose hallowed course reveals something of the eternal secret of the game's mysterious allure over pros and hackers alike.

Throughout their poignant journey, the Dodsons humorously reminisce and reaffirm their love for each other, as the younger Dodson finds out what it means to have his father also be his best friend. Final Rounds is a book never to be forgotten, a book about fathers and sons, long-held secrets, and the lessons a middle-aged man can still learn from his dad about life, love, and family.

Final Rounds is a tribute to a very special game and the fathers and sons who make it so. -->

Excerpt

Thus is the earth at once a desert and a paradise, rich in secret hidden gardens, gardens inaccessible, but to which the craft leads us ever back, one day or another. Life may scatter us and keep us apart; it may even prevent us from thinking very often of one another; but we know that our comrades are somewhere "Out there"--where, one can hardly say--silent, forgotten, but deeply faithful. And when our path crosses theirs, they greet us with such manifest joy, shake us so gaily by the shoulders! Indeed we are accustomed to waiting.
--Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars

It is nothing new or original to say that golf is played one stroke at a time. But it took me many years to realize it.
--Bobby Jones

Prologue: A Father's Voice

Toward the end of the afternoon, Tom Watson sits in his office talking to a golf writer. The golf season has just ended. The golf writer is me. We have been talking for almost two hours. There is a thin skin of ice on the pond in the park across the street. Traffic is a muted sigh in the winter shadows of Kansas City. Christmas presents for his children are stacked neatly in a shopping bag at his feet. Watson's wariness of the press is famous, but he has been relaxed and generous, talking about the Ryder Cup team he will soon lead to Britain, about his life, career, children, heroes, even making self-deprecating jokes about his well-publicized putting woes. This pleases me, confirms my best hopes. Watson is forty-three, five years my senior, the best golfer of my generation, now a lion in winter. In my former life as a political journalist, it would have been deemed grossly unprofessional to admit I am my subject's fan. But golf, unlike politics, as Alister Mackenzie is supposed to have once said, is at least an honest game. I am Watson's fan because he played with such honesty and heart during his golden days, and because of how he conducts himself now that the glory has faded and his game seems almost mortal.

Sometimes during these conversations, I find myself unexpectedly wondering with pleasure how I got here. For me, a kid who tagged after his golf heroes and was lucky enough to grow up and be able to sit and talk with them, it's a dream job and a question rooted perhaps as much in philosophy as journalism. All philosophy begins in wonder, and the wonder of what Watson suddenly, intimately reveals of himself in our conversation is both thought-provoking and surprising. I ask if he can identify the worst moment of his career, and he responds by telling me about once rushing out of the locker room at the World Series of Golf, brushing off a boy seeking his autograph. The boy's father followed him and tapped him on the back.

"He looked me straight in the eye and said, 'I just want to tell you, Mr. Watson, what an asshole I think you are. My son was really a fan of yours.'" Watson shakes his head. "I couldn't believe it--how badly I felt, I mean." He falls silent, pursing his lower lip. Somewhere outside the building I can hear Christmas music playing, a slurry rendition of "Jingle Bells" fading away. There are writers around who would love to challenge Tom Watson's sincerity on this, question how such a trivial moment could possibly compare, say, to his heartbreaking loss to Seve Ballesteros at the '84 British Open at St. Andrews. A wayward two-iron shot at the infamous Road Hole cost him a record-tying sixth Open title and made the fiery Spaniard the new darling of the British masses. For a second or two, Watson stares at the running tape recorder, then shakes his head again. "I still feel bad about it," he says simply.

The thing is, I believe him. Watson could not believe what he says he believes--namely, that golf represents the most honorable of games--and feel otherwise. So I flip the coin--best to part on a cheerful note--and ask him for the best moment of his golf life, certain he will either say his famous shot-making duel against Nicklaus at Turnberry in '77 or his "miracle" chip-in at Pebble Beach in '82 to win the U.S. Open. "It's funny," he says, pausing again, "the greatest thrill I had may have been the day my father invited me to join him and a couple of his regular golf buddies at his club. I was so excited, really aching to show him what I could do. I guess I was maybe eleven or twelve." Watson, the former Stanford psychology student, studies me with those eyes that always look as if he's been out walking in a linksland wind. "Even now I think about that. It was a very powerful moment. My father means so much to me. I can always hear his voice in my head, telling me to keep my head still or make a good swing.  I don't know if I ever felt that way again, you know?" He smiles somewhat wistfully, revealing the boyish gaps in his teeth. Turning off the tape recorder, I admit that I know what he means because I hear my father's voice, too.

Almost every day of my life.
James Dodson

About James Dodson

James Dodson - Final Rounds

Photo © Annie Rose

James Dodson is a regular columnist for Golf magazine and an editor of Departures magazine. His work has appeared in Gentleman's Quarterly, Travel & Leisure, Outside, and numerous other national publications. He won the Golf Writers of America Award for his columns in 1995 and 1996. He is the author of Final Rounds.
Praise

Praise

"A beautiful, deeply moving tribute to the love between father and son and their shared passion for golf. I have never read a more eloquent book about golf as a game where hearts can meet."
--Michael Murphy, author of Golf in the Kingdom

"James Dodson is a gifted writer who clearly understands and loves golf, but more importantly, he understands people and relationships. In the truest sense, final rounds is a moving love story."
--John Feinstein, author of The Majors

"A gripping, loving, and moving story...James Dodson is an excellent writer who understands golf...better than most."
--Ely Callaway, founder and chairman of Callaway Golf

"Final Rounds is about much more than the game itself. It is a journey of discovery for a father and son and for their relationship."
--USA Today

"You will enjoy this powerful and touching story between a father and son, and you will never read a sweeter testimony of that love."
--Ben Crenshaw

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