Or not. About once a week for the past several years I get this comment, "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Mike Weir?" And by now I am used to this comment and kind of agree to a certain point, until you are playing in the same event. My entourage, (Turtle, Drama and "E", meaning Diana, Mom, Dad, and anyone else following who actually knows my name without looking at my golf bag or the standard bearer) noted that on countless occasions several random observers thought that I was Mike Weir, and after significant discussions with their friends, were convinced I was Mike Weir. But after hearing it enough, maybe I am Mike Weir, maybe I have a pretty severe (albeit, very cool) alternate personality. Most of the time I am just Garrett, from Millbrae, CA, golf professional, but I moonlight as a left handed major champion. All kidding aside, for the record, I am not Mike Weir. I am not Canadian (not that there is anything wrong with that), and I am right handed (not left handed), just a slight difference, eh.
Today was a busy day. Kevin Weeks, my instructor for the past seven months flew in this morning to help me prepare. Things went well, I made about 30 ten foot putts in a row, doing a drill, in front of about 300 people who were more interested in Tiger blowing his nose. I know where I fit into the big picture this week. We worked a lot on chipping out of the rough. And I hit balls on the range next to Ernie Els, yep he's really that big. We played the front nine by ourselves, which was nice because there were no distractions and we got to work on a lot of different things. After that, I rushed Kevin back to the airport just in time to catch his flight back to Chicago. It was great having him out there to bounce ideas off, and it was nice to meet some other people that he knows from hanging out on tour.
There are so many things this week that I did not anticipate happening, mainly signing autographs. Fortunately, after playing with Jim Furyk yesterday, I was able to watch him gracefully decline and offer his time later signing every last one, classy move. I just find it funny that people that have no clue on earth what my name is, ask me for autographs or pictures, most of them are for flags that have every other players signature, so my ego is staying in check. Now I understand that I am just playing a practice round, but considering the sheer number of people out there you cannot stop and sign autographs while you are playing, you'll never get away. But there are exceptions, for instance when there are just three little girls standing by the 9th tee box, with their mom and their hot pink baseball hats asking for an autograph, how can I say no? And good thing I didn't otherwise Diana probably wouldn't have spoken to me for the rest of the week. Until tomorrow, MW.