Amateur Hour at the Children's Miracle Network Classic

ORLANDO -- There are some places on the planet where I never thought I'd end up. The Oval Office and Jennifer Aniston's bedroom come immediately to mind.

But there's nowhere I belong less than on the first tee of a professional golf tournament.

With a club in my hand. And people watching. And my score actually counting. All in all, I'd rather have been in Whoopi Goldberg's bedroom Thursday morning. What was a hack like me doing in a place like the Children's Miracle Network Classic?

I couldn't pass up the chance to see what it's like to be Tiger Woods. Or at least work in his office.

He isn't at Disney World this week, but 125 of his colleagues are. It's the final PGA Tour event of the season, which means it's the last chance for golfers to make the top-125 money list and earn a full exemption for next season. That means pros would rather play in evening gowns than with us dorks. But the Children's Miracle Network is one of only three tournaments where dorks play in the real event, not the early-week pro-am.

It would be like the Lakers letting Jack Nicholson get out of his seat and play point guard for a few possessions. The difference being Nicholson probably wouldn't need a diaper if he faced a crucial 18-inch shot.

For some reason, the kind folks at Disney offered me a spot in the field. Amateurs play the first two rounds with a pro, and the lowest best-ball score wins. A friend who works in the golf business gave me some advice.

Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't walk in the pro's putting line. Don't take more than one practice swing. Don't use bathroom humor. Don't use the bathroom. "My goal is to stay out of your way," I told my lucky pro, Joe Ogilvie.

I usually shoot anywhere from mid-80s to infinity, which qualified me as an 18-handicap for this tournament. I have no delusions of winning, but one name on the amateur board does intrigue me.

Johnny Damon.

How great would it be to beat a Yankee who just won a World Series? Especially just days after his agent, Scott Boras, started contract negotiations by comparing Damon to Derek Jeter.

Boras will say anything to enhance a client's value. Nothing against Damon, but if he can't beat me in any athletic competition his agent has no business demanding a $13-million-a-year contract.

As I stood over that first tee shot Damon escaped my mind. Another famous athlete became my swing thought:

Gerald Ford.

My first goal was to not completely miss the ball. My second was to not shank one into the gallery and kill a family of four. Of course, a gallery would have required actual people. And there weren't many around at 7:25 AM.

Too bad, because I somehow had a par on the first hole. Sanity returned on the next hole when I missed an 18-incher for par. The next tee shot went swimming. At least I hadn't hit Ogilvie in the head with a backswing.

Playing with him and Harrison Frazar was a pleasant revelation. From media to fans to passing pigeons, all eyes are usually on Woods or Phil Mickelson or a few other glamour boys.

As their intense circuses travel 18 holes, guys like Ogilvie, right, and Frazar just go about their business. The tour cards may be at stake this week, but they were nice enough to read putts, offer a few tips and not laugh when I broke out the 7-wood I got for $15 in the Edwin Watts discount bin.

You want relaxed? Have you ever heard Woods or Mickelson recite lines from Caddyshack while waiting for a green to clear? Ogilvie and Frazar were such regular guys I felt like the usual group of chops I play with.

"Good par," I told Ogilvie after he tapped one in.

No, stupid. When a pro misses a 10-foot birdie putt, he does not consider it a "good par."

Back on Planet of the Dorks, any par is grand. I had a few, and even lucked into one birdie. But as always, the good shots were more than matched by ones that make you want to cuss like Tiger.

But if a Tiger cusses in the woods and nobody hears it, can the PGA fine him? Ogilvie had a few choice words after a tee shot bounced behind a tree, but I wasn't about to report him to the nearest marshal. I gave him other reasons to hate merely being in my presence.

"Nice shot!" I yelled after he hit a wedge toward the hole.

I looked over and Ogilvie was slamming that wedge into the ground. No, stupid. Pros don't consider simply getting the ball on the green a "good shot."

Ogilvie ended up shooting a 70, which was great considering the 185-pound handicap he was saddled with. My key moment came on the final hole.

After a decent drive, I got to the ball and noticed there really was a gallery around the green. Being the grizzled PGA Tour vet at that point, I got out my trusty 7-wood and felt relatively confident I'd give the fans a treat. Splash.

Welcome back to Dorksville.

As much as I dreaded it, I got to the clubhouse and checked the pro-am leaderboard. Through the magic of getting a stroke a hole, we'd managed a 68.

T-33: Whitley.

And guess who I tied with?

T-33: Damon.

Poor guy will be lucky if the Yankees offer him $13 a year.