I took the job as tournament director for the eight GolfStyles Solstice Survival events, and I’ve just completed my first one at The International in Bolton, Mass.

The private facility was founded in 1901 and has two golf courses, one designed by Robert Trent Jones and updated by Geoffrey Cornish, and the other, newer one by Tom Fazio. We played the older one, called The Pines, which purports to be the longest course in America at 8,350 yards. It was 54 holes in one day in a stroke play format, and the 119 guys who played went ape-you-know-what for it. Gluttons. Freaks. Golf lovers. Our GolfStyles guys played it all the way back three times, and I think the best score was 80, which is its course rating.

I learned a lot and only embarrassed myself by forgetting to give the five gross and net winners their crystal trophies. It was grueling in detail and I awoke at 4 a.m. to get it done. But it was so well received that most of the players asked me how to sign up for next year. It was a certifiable hit. I really enjoyed the company of four Boston firefighters after the whole thing was done in the hotel on site.

Here’s my bitch:

I flew to Baltimore from Columbus and drove to the Boston area on Sunday for the event. I guess I should start by admitting that I’m from Ohio, and we little Midwestern bumpkins don’t have big traffic jams that last for hours. I thought Boston wasn’t that far from Baltimore. Ever driven through the Bronx on I-95? Jesus Christ. There are too many people competing for too little space. It took nine hours. There was a soccer match at Giants Stadium and it was mayhem getting through there.

I then drove on Tuesday from Bolton to Philadelphia for the second Solstice Survival tournament at Ravens Claw. That took from 10:30 in the morning to 6:45 in the evening, with at least five major traffic clusters on the way. If I never drive on I-95 again as long as I live, it will be soon enough. A storm blew trees across I-76 north of Philadelphia and I spent an hour waiting at a toll booth station waiting for them to clear it. Then, the dude in the toll booth had the balls to charge me $3. As far as I’m concerned, he owes me $100. I told him to tell his boss to go #%*@$^! himself. Classy.

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