Minnesota Golfer - Spring 2017 - 40

BACKSPIN
Golf . . . No Matter What
* BY MARK CRAIG *
Like waving a magic wand, swinging a golf club
can make friends of us all.
T
he Craig brothers needed about 200 swings and almost
as many laughs to get around a golf course. I'd
shoot a couple 45s. Rick would post 110 and swear
off the greatest game as only the man we called " Eeyore "
could. Then we'd order two pitchers and talk about the next
time we'd play.
Decades and many a pitcher passed, but it seemed as if there
would always be another round tomorrow, or next month, or
next year or on that trip to Scotland someday.
Even as Rick's cancer was spreading unmercifully in January,
the Craigs had five more tomorrows planned. The Craig
Brothers' Fubar Classic-the annual golf
outing we said we'd never miss " no matter
what " -was turning 10 in late February.
The Fubar began for me as a good excuse
to escape Minnesota winters. It became a
year-round bond between brothers with little
to say and 1,600 miles between them. In
fact, without golf, our hometown Cleveland
Browns and email, I wonder how little contact
Rick and I would have had as adults.
Fortunately, golf required us to be together.
To actually talk. To share an unspoken
love for the older brother who grew up
rapping me on the noggin with his Kirtland
High Class of '79 ring. To down enough pints
to unearth the fond memories of a father who died of cancer
at 45. To create lasting memories with friends as both of us
grew grayer than Dad.
The Fubar gave us countless laugh-out-loud memories
from its first swing. Literally.
In what became tradition, Rick teed off first. After far too
many photos were snapped for posterity, Rick proceeded to
hit golf's greatest worm-burner a good 9½ yards.
For months, we had stressed that every player finish every
hole no matter how many strokes it took. I believe the PGA
Tour has a similar rule.
Well, Rick was three dribblers into the par-5 first hole when
he declared, " #$@%$#, " followed by, " I quit! " I looked at our
playing partner. We tried unsuccessfully not to laugh, looked
40
MINNESOTAGOLFER Spring 2017
at the group behind us and decided that perhaps a 10-stroke
maximum would be a much better rule.
Eeyore regrouped. As he always would. As he did when he
won the Fubar IV trophy that still sits proudly in the home
office of a highly successful IBM vice president who had everything
a person could ask for. Except his health.
In early January, Rick still was bantering via email with his
fellow " Fubarians. " A tougher-than-a-2-iron cancer patient,
he had been fighting this vile disease since it began spreading
internally from a spot he found on his back three years ago.
About six weeks before the Fubar, Rick said the cancer had
spread to his brain. We were hoping he'd be
able to hit one more worm-burner and then
ride along.
He and I exchanged texts before he began
radiation treatment. I told him I'd see him in
February and offered to make the tee times
and get a cab from the airport. On Jan. 12, he
responded, " No, I'm good for now. "
Those were his last words to me. Eighteen
days later, I landed in Houston for the Super
Bowl. My phone rang. It was mom. There
was nothing more anyone could do.
I arrived at Rick's bedside in Tampa by
midnight. He was unconscious when I told
him I loved him for the first time in my life.
He passed away two hours later.
There were a lot of tears and some laughter as the family
remembered Rick. He'll never get to see his Browns in a Super
Bowl, nor will he have another tomorrow on the golf course,
at least not on this side of the clouds.
For the first time, playing The Fubar didn't sound right
anymore. But in his final days of being able to speak, Rick
relayed a message: " Tell Mark they have to play the Fubar. No
matter what. "
And we played The Rick Craig Memorial Fubar Classic.
I always had a brother. Golf made him my friend.
Mark Craig is the NFL/Vikings columnist and a golf writer for
the Star Tribune.
www.mngolf.org
http://www.mngolf.org
Minnesota Golfer - Spring 2017

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